#and making all kinds of dumb jokes and ignorant comments

[shy9-29]

Crawling Back To You ☆ 이희승

“exes to lovers,” - enha campus series

✮ You both swore it was over—again—but somehow, it’s always one of you at the other’s door, breathless and breaking. It’s toxic, it’s inevitable, and no matter how far you run, you both end up crawling back to each other. ✉️ wc. 11.3k - 이희승 x f reader

🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @starniras @dearestdreamies @bloomiize @doririsstuff @isagistar @rairaiblog @steddie-steddie @melodiessvy @starboy-library @deluluscenarios

Everyone at Seoul University knew your name—and not because you were loud or flashy. No, it was because you were his.

You and Heeseung were the couple people talked about in whispers behind lecture halls and in dorm stairwells. The kind of pair that made others stare, wondering how something so picture-perfect could exist outside of a drama.

He was the golden boy—top of his class in business, vocals that melted through the walls of the music building, and a face that made professors and students alike do a double-take. And then there was you. Quiet but sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, the one person who never swooned at his charm.

Maybe that’s why he chased you so hard.

It started with harmless teasing during your shared elective. Heeseung always had something to say, and you always had something sharper to throw back. People thought you hated each other. The truth was—you couldn’t stop looking at each other.

By the end of the semester, you were inseparable. Studying under cherry blossom trees, eating late-night tteokbokki by the Han River, sneaking into the music room just to hear him sing something only you got to hear.

“You’re it for me,” he whispered one night, arms around your waist, your head on his chest. “You know that, right?”

You did. You knew it.

But what no one saw—what even you ignored—was the fire underneath it all. The way love started to sound like accusations. The way you started counting the hours he took to reply. The way he noticed every guy who looked at you. The way you started to like when he got jealous.

And before anyone else could notice the cracks, you were already learning how to smile through the breaks.

The first real fight happened on a Thursday.

You’d forgotten about some lame mixer your mutual friend had invited you both to, and when you bailed last minute to cram for an econ exam, he didn’t take it well.

“You always have an excuse,” he snapped, arms crossed, his voice low but tight with frustration. “Do you even want to be with me, or is this just something you do when it’s convenient?”

You blinked, stunned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small study room you’d claimed. “It means I’m always making time for you. Always showing up. And you? You don’t even try.”

You stood up, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not going to blow off my future for a night of watching you flirt with girls who laugh too hard at your jokes.”

The words hit their mark. His jaw clenched. “So that’s what this is? You don’t trust me now?”

You crossed your arms. “Should I?”

That night ended with slammed doors, unread texts, and a cold walk back to your dorm. But the next day? He was waiting by your class building with your favorite coffee and a half-hearted apology wrapped in a crooked smile. You took it. You always did.

Because no matter how bad it got, something about being with him felt impossible to let go of.

But fights like that kept happening—growing sharper, louder. You broke up once over a dumb Instagram comment. Got back together the next week after one too many drinks and a shared cab home. Then broke up again when he saw you talking to some guy from your lit class.

“You love the attention,” he said, venom laced behind the coolness in his tone.

“And you love being right,” you spat back.

Still, somehow, by sunrise, you’d be curled up in his bed again. Your clothes on the floor. His breath warm against your neck. His name a ghost on your lips.

It was toxic. It was exhausting. It was everything.

And you weren’t ready to let it go.

Neither was he.

Sunoo stormed into the café just off campus, eyes wide and expression dramatic as ever, practically vibrating with the need to spill. Jake, his girlfriend, and Sunghoon were already seated near the window, mid-conversation when Sunoo dropped his bag onto the chair beside Jake and huffed loud enough for the whole place to turn.

Jake raised a brow. “Let me guess. They fought again?”

Sunoo gave him a look. “Fought? Jake, it was like watching a K-drama unfold in real time—but with worse lighting and way more swearing.”

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression unreadable. “What happened now?”

Sunoo clutched his chest like the memory physically pained him. “Okay, so apparently Heeseung didn’t text Y/N back for like, five hours, even though she knows he saw her story, right? And she was already annoyed because she saw him walking around campus with that girl from his marketing group—what’s her name, Soojin? The one with the weird lip gloss?”

Jake’s girlfriend made a face. “Ew, her?”

“Exactly,” Sunoo said, pointing dramatically. “So Y/N confronts him outside the library, and he acts all confused, like ‘Why are you always accusing me?’ And she’s like, ‘Because you never take responsibility!’ and boom, they’re yelling in front of the vending machines like it’s their personal stage.”

Jake sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “How long did it last this time?”

“Long enough for me to finish my bubble tea and start a new playlist.”

Sunghoon glanced out the window, deadpan. “And they’re back together already?”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Give it twenty-four hours. Heeseung’s probably already typing a three-paragraph apology with a sad playlist link attached.”

Jake chuckled under his breath. “You’d think they’d get tired of the drama.”

Sunoo picked up Jake’s drink and took a sip without asking. “They won’t. You know why? Because they don’t know how to quit each other. And honestly? I’m sick of being the audience to their off-brand Romeo and Juliet sequel.”

Jake’s girlfriend grinned. “You say that now, but you’ll be the first one texting Y/N for updates.”

Sunoo didn’t even deny it. “Obviously. Someone’s gotta document this mess.”

What’s even crazier? Heeseung literally caught you making out with Jay in the janitor’s room—and somehow, you were back together in less than seventy-two hours.

You don’t even remember why it happened. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the way Jay looked at you like he actually wanted to listen instead of win. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way Heeseung had ignored you for two days straight after yet another stupid fight over a party you didn’t even want to go to.

You’d kissed Jay out of spite. Or desperation. Or both. It didn’t even last five minutes.

But then the door creaked open.

And there he was.

Heeseung, standing in the doorway like something out of a nightmare. His expression wasn’t anger at first—it was disbelief. Like he couldn’t even register what he was seeing. Then came the fury, slow and sharp, rising behind his eyes like a storm.

Jay had the decency to back off, muttering something about not knowing you were still together. Heeseung didn’t say a word. Not one. He just stared at you—like he didn’t know who you were anymore. Like maybe you didn’t, either.

You thought that was it. The end.

But it wasn’t.

Because three days later, he showed up at your door at 1:12 a.m., hoodie over his head, eyes red-rimmed, and voice barely a whisper.

“I hate that I still love you.”

And instead of slamming the door in his face like you swore you would… you let him in.

Because that’s what you two do.

You hurt each other. You leave.

And then you always—always—come back.

And then, of course, you made out.

It started slow—like neither of you were sure if this was a good idea or just another bad habit dressed up like comfort. His hands hovered over your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you anymore, and you just stood there, heart thudding too loud for the silence.

But then he said your name. Soft. Shaky. Like it hurt to say.

That was all it took.

You grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him in, mouths crashing like everything you’d been holding back—anger, guilt, loneliness—was begging for a way out. His lips were warm, familiar, desperate. The way he kissed you was almost apologetic, like he was trying to undo everything with his mouth.

You let him. You kissed him like you hated him for making you feel this way. Like you needed him more than you wanted to admit.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and wrecked, his forehead pressed against yours, he whispered, “I don’t want anyone else.”

And you hated that you still believed him.

You didn’t sleep that night—not really.

You laid tangled in his arms on your tiny dorm bed, the sheets kicked halfway to the floor, your thoughts louder than the silence between you. Heeseung had fallen asleep with his face buried in your neck, one arm slung over your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And maybe you would’ve, if you didn’t feel so tired of running.

The next morning, you woke up before him. The light from the window spilled across his face, softening all the sharp edges that came out during fights. For a second, you just stared—at his long lashes, his parted lips, the way his fingers twitched every few seconds like he was dreaming.

It would’ve been so easy to believe that nothing had happened. That Jay hadn’t happened. That all the fights and the screaming and the nights you cried yourself to sleep didn’t exist.

But the bruises under your ribs weren’t from fists—they were from words. From love turned weapon. From trying so hard to be enough for someone who was always halfway out the door.

Still… you didn’t move.

Because when Heeseung opened his eyes and looked at you like you were the only thing that ever made sense, it was enough to make you stay a little longer.

Even if you knew the next storm was already on its way.

You don’t even remember how it started—only how loud it got.

It was after midterms, late evening, the campus buzzing with people blowing off steam. You were supposed to meet him outside the library, but he was thirty minutes late and reeked of beer when he finally showed up.

“I said I’d be here,” he muttered when you confronted him. “What, you don’t trust me to show up now?”

You stared at him, arms folded, heat rising in your throat. “I don’t trust you. Not when you spend more time at parties than actually being present.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair like you were the one being difficult. “Right. Because you’re perfect. Always playing the victim. You ever think maybe you’re the problem?”

That hit harder than you expected.

You laughed—bitter, sharp. “You caught me making out with someone else and still took me back. Don’t talk to me about problems like you’re not the biggest one I’ve ever had.”

His jaw tightened. “You never even apologized.”

“Because you never stopped hurting me,” you snapped. “Every time I looked at you, I felt like I was begging to be chosen.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at you with this cold, unreadable expression. Then he shook his head, stepped back like you’d burned him.

“You know what? I’m done. For real this time.”

You didn’t stop him.

Not when he turned around.

Not when he walked away.

Not when you realized he meant it.

And for the first time, you didn’t chase after him.

You just stood there, heart pounding, hands shaking, unsure if you’d ever see him again.

And maybe—maybe this time was really the end.

The days after felt unreal.

Campus kept moving—students cramming for finals, couples holding hands under trees you used to sit beneath, laughter echoing through courtyards like nothing had changed. But everything had.

Heeseung was gone.

Not physically. You still saw him sometimes, across the quad or in the distance at the convenience store. But it was different now. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t even flinch when your eyes met. Just kept walking like you were a stranger he used to know.

The silence was suffocating. Not just from him, but from everyone else too. Your friends stopped asking about him. Even Sunoo didn’t say much anymore—just gave you quiet looks that said I know you’re still hurting, but I won’t make you talk about it.

And maybe that was the worst part. The quiet.

Because you were used to chaos with him—used to yelling, slamming doors, passionate apologies, messy kisses and promises you both knew would be broken. You weren’t used to nothing.

You told yourself it was for the best. That you needed to breathe without him taking up all the air.

But at night, when the world slowed down and there was nothing left to distract you, you wondered if he still thought about you. If he still played the songs he used to sing for you. If he ever regretted walking away.

You didn’t cry. Not really. Maybe once—quiet and quick into your pillow, just enough to let it out before shoving it all back down.

Because this time, it didn’t feel like a break.

It felt like goodbye.

It was two months. Two months of space. Two months of silence. Two months of trying to forget the taste of each other’s names.

You kept expecting him to show up again. Maybe outside your dorm. Maybe in the practice room where he used to pull you into his lap between takes. Maybe drunk at 2 a.m. with slurred apologies and soft I miss yous.

But he didn’t.

And it wasn’t until you finally worked up the nerve to see him—really see him—that you realized why.

You found him outside the campus café, leaning against the wall, sipping on iced coffee like this was just another day. And maybe for him, it was. But for you? Your heart hadn’t beaten this fast in weeks.

“Heeseung.”

He looked up. His eyes softened for a split second, then settled into something unreadable. Calm. Controlled. Different.

You stepped closer. “Can we talk?”

He nodded, motioning for you to sit with him on the bench nearby. It was awkward at first—quiet. The air thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ve been thinking,” you finally said, fingers nervously picking at the seam of your jacket. “About us. About everything.”

Heeseung nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the pavement. “Me too.”

You turned to him, hopeful. “Maybe… maybe we just needed time, right? To figure ourselves out. Maybe we can try again. For real this time.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you—really looked at you—with that same sad tenderness that used to follow every fight.

“I love you,” he said, voice low. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. “Then why—?”

“Because we’re not good for each other,” he interrupted gently. “We bring out the worst in each other. And I can’t keep doing this cycle where I love you and hurt you at the same time.”

You blinked, stunned. “But… we’ve been through so much.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I know it has to stop. I can’t keep being someone who makes you doubt yourself. And I don’t want you to keep being someone who breaks just to hold me together.”

Tears welled up, but you didn’t let them fall. Not this time.

“So that’s it?” you whispered. “You’re just walking away?”

Heeseung shook his head. “No. I’m letting go. So that one day… maybe we’ll find our way back when we’re better people. Not because we need each other. But because we choose each other.”

You didn’t know what to say. You just sat there, stunned, as he stood up and gave you one last look—the kind that said I still love you, even if I can’t stay.

Then he walked away.

And this time…

You let him.

The glow from the fairy lights strung across your ceiling cast a warm haze over the room. You were laying belly-down on your bed, face half-buried in your pillow, while Yeon sat cross-legged beside you, painting her nails some muted sage green. A tub of melting ice cream sat between you, half-forgotten.

“I just don’t get it,” you mumbled, voice muffled. “He said he loved me. Like, what was the point of that speech if he was just gonna disappear off the face of the earth?”

Yeon raised a brow without looking up. “Girl, he literally said it was because you two were toxic for each other.”

You rolled onto your side, scowling. “Yeah, but he could’ve at least tried again. After all this time, nothing? No message, no check-in, not even a story view. It’s like I never existed.”

Yeon let out a sigh, blowing on her nails. “Do you even think he’s over you?”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She finally looked at you, eyes sharp, tone flat. “You think he just flipped a switch and stopped caring? Come on. You guys were obsessed with each other. You still are.”

You groaned, flopping onto your back. “Then why isn’t he doing anything about it?”

Yeon shrugged. “Maybe he’s trying to prove a point. Maybe he’s hurting too. Maybe he thinks you’re the one who should come crawling back this time.”

You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip.

Then Yeon sat up straighter, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Or… hear me out… you could make him care.”

You turned your head slowly. “Yeon.”

She raised her hands innocently. “Not like anything dramatic. Just… see someone else. Post a cute pic. Let him know you’re moving on. If he reacts, there’s your answer. If he doesn’t… maybe it’s time to actually move on.”

You hated that the idea made your stomach flip. Hated that a part of you wanted him to care enough to spiral. To break. To fight for you.

You also hated that Yeon was probably right.

“Heeseung’s not the only one who can play games,” she added, reaching for her phone. “Now. Who’s single, hot, and dumb enough to fake date you for a week?”

And just like that, something in your chest—spite, maybe—snapped into place.

“Fine,” you said, sitting up. “Let’s see if golden boy really let me go.”

Jay was just the right guy to do it.

Handsome, charming, dangerously calm under pressure—and most importantly? Lee Heeseung’s best friend. Or, well… former best friend, maybe. The line had blurred ever since that night in the janitor’s room.

You weren’t exactly close, but you knew Jay. He was the type of guy everyone liked but no one could really read. And when you texted him out of nowhere with a simple, “Can we talk?”, he responded quicker than expected.

You met up behind the arts building, tucked away where no one really bothered to go. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, like he already knew what you were going to ask.

“No,” he said before you could even finish the sentence.

“Jay—”

“I’m not getting involved in whatever mess you and Heeseung have going on again,” he cut in, eyes sharp. “It’s not my thing.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “Please. I just need him to feel something. Anything.”

He exhaled hard, glancing away like he was trying to stay detached. “And what happens when he finds out it’s fake? Or worse, what if he doesn’t react at all?”

“Then I’ll know,” you said, quieter now. “I just… I need to know if he’s really done.”

Jay didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out what kind of mess he was about to walk into. Again.

Then he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered under his breath, “This is a bad idea.”

You smiled—just a little. “So that’s a yes?”

Jay shook his head, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You owe me for this.”

And just like that, the plan was in motion.

A fake relationship. A test. A game.

All to see if the boy you still loved would finally come crawling back—

Or watch you walk away.

It started small.

Just a simple story.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing that screamed revenge.

Just a quiet photo of you and Jay’s hands—intertwined, resting on the café table between two half-empty iced americanos.

No faces. No captions. Just the tag.

@jaypark.

You hesitated before posting it, thumb hovering over the “Your Story” button for a second too long. But then you tapped it. Sent it out into the world like bait.

And waited.

Within minutes, the views started stacking. Yeon replied with a row of screaming emojis. Sunoo sent you the skull. And then, like clockwork, his name appeared at the bottom of the viewers list.

Lee Heeseung.

No message. No reaction. Just a silent little view. But that was enough.

He saw it.

He saw you—your hand in someone else’s.

His best friend’s.

Your heart beat just a little faster. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was victory. Maybe it was that part of you that still wondered if he’d come running.

And across campus, not even an hour later, Heeseung was already plotting his move.

Because if you wanted a war, he’d give you one.

And this time, he wouldn’t be the one left watching.

Heeseung didn’t sleep much that night.

The image of your hand in Jay’s—Jay’s—looped through his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t tell if he was more furious or just sick. Like something was lodged deep in his chest and no amount of pacing or punching his pillow would get it out.

By morning, he wasn’t even mad. Just numb. Tired. But there was still something buzzing under his skin, and he knew exactly where to take it.

He found Jay in the gym locker room after class, slipping his duffel onto the bench like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just posted up with you on Instagram like it was no big deal.

Heeseung walked up behind him, quiet but sharp, voice low and flat. “You serious?”

Jay turned, eyebrows lifting slightly. “About what?”

Heeseung scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You and Y/N.”

Jay paused—just a beat too long—and that was all Heeseung needed.

“So it’s real,” Heeseung muttered, stepping forward. “You’re actually dating her now?”

Jay looked at him. Steady. Cool. Just like you asked him to be.

“…Yeah.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Right after everything. You think that’s not messed up?”

Jay shrugged once, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or drop the act. “Things change, Heeseung.”

And somewhere in that moment—somewhere in Jay’s calm delivery and blank stare—Heeseung believed it.

You moved on.

With him.

And you didn’t even flinch.

Heeseung didn’t say anything else. Just let out a bitter laugh and shook his head before walking off, fists tight at his sides.

Jay sat down once he was gone, letting out a slow breath as he stared at the locker in front of him.

He texted you two minutes later:

he thinks it’s real. you sure about this?

And all you replied was:

yeah. keep going.

Because if he wanted to believe you’d moved on,

You’d make sure he felt every second of it.

Sunoo wasn’t snooping.

Okay—maybe a little.

He’d just been passing through the locker room looking for his water bottle (which he definitely left on the bench last night, thank you very much) when he caught a glimpse of Jay hunched over his phone.

Nothing suspicious. Until he saw the name at the top of the screen.

Y/N.

And then he saw the text:

“he thinks it’s real. you sure about this?”

Sunoo’s entire body froze. He ducked out of sight just as Jay hit send, his heart thumping with secondhand guilt.

So it’s fake.

She’s faking it. She’s really faking it.

He waited until Jay left, then took off in a straight sprint across campus. He found Heeseung behind the rec center, leaning against the fence with his hoodie pulled low over his face and that same blank stare he’d been wearing since the Instagram story dropped.

Sunoo didn’t even catch his breath.

“Heeseung.”

Heeseung looked up, annoyed. “What now?”

“She’s not really with Jay.”

Silence.

“What?”

Sunoo took a step closer. “I saw Jay texting her. He said you think it’s real and asked if they should keep going. Y/N told him yes. It’s all for show.”

Heeseung just stared at him, lips parting slightly. “You’re sure?”

“I read it, Heeseung. She’s trying to mess with your head. And you’re letting her.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked down, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on every terrible thought in his head.

“She really went that far?” he muttered. “Dragged Jay into it?”

Sunoo nodded. “And you’re gonna let her win?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“No,” Heeseung said, standing up straighter. “I’m not.”

And just like that, the idea clicked.

If she wanted to play pretend, he’d give her something to choke on.

The very next day, Y/N’s feed lit up with his story this time.

Heeseung, smirking at the camera, with a girl beside him—leaning into his shoulder, her fingers brushing his.

Your ex-best friend.

Ina.

Tagged. Smiling. And just sweet enough to sting.

You almost dropped your phone.

Because if this was a game— He’d just made his next move.

You didn’t even knock before you barged into Yeon’s dorm, practically throwing open the door like a hurricane. Your phone was still in your hand, and the red notification bubble next to Instagram made your heart race in ways you didn’t want to admit.

“Y/N—what the hell?” Yeon jumped up from the couch, startled, and then her eyes caught the expression on your face—the tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw clenched.

Without saying a word, you shoved your phone in her face. “Look.”

Yeon blinked, frowning at first, then slowly scrolled through the story that had just gone up. Heeseung, arms draped casually around a girl who definitely wasn’t you, smiling like nothing had happened between the two of you. It only took a second for her to piece it all together—Heeseung’s signature smirk, his usual cocky posture, and the way he was looking down at her as if she belonged there.

Yeon froze, eyes wide.

“What the hell?” she whispered. “Is he serious?”

You exhaled sharply, slumping into the nearest chair. “Apparently. He’s really doing this.”

Yeon scrolled back to the top of the post, trying to find something—anything—that would prove it wasn’t real. But the more she looked, the more it felt like it was. Ina. The same Ina who’d been your best friend just months ago, the same one who knew exactly what buttons to push to get under your skin.

“Wait,” Yeon said, voice sinking low. “You really think he’s doing this to get back at you?”

You looked away, blinking back the sharp sting of embarrassment. “He’s trying to make me jealous. It’s the same thing he’s done every time. But this time, he’s not even pretending to care. He’s moved on—for real—and he’s showing it.”

You stood up suddenly, pacing the small space. “I can’t believe he would post this. Just like that.”

The door clicked open just then, and you froze, expecting it to be Sunoo, or maybe someone else coming to check on you. Instead, it was Jay.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” he asked, walking in with that casual, easy smile he usually wore.

Without saying anything, you just shoved your phone at him again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to look at it. The silence between you two stretched long as his gaze scanned over Heeseung’s post. Then his brows furrowed, and he rubbed the back of his neck, visibly unsettled.

“That’s… that’s your ex-best friend.” Jay shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “What’s he even trying to do?”

You watched his face closely, waiting for some kind of reaction, something that would show you if maybe he had a plan too. Maybe he could fix this. But instead, Jay’s face grew darker, and he let out a small laugh—almost nervously.

“Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Sunoo… he was looking over my shoulder yesterday when I texted you.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

Jay groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated now. “I didn’t think about it, but now it makes sense. He must’ve seen what I was texting you, and then told Heeseung. The timing is too weird, Y/N. He must’ve told him to post that.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought. “You think Sunoo told Heeseung to do this?”

Jay nodded, a frown pulling at his lips. “Yeah. He’s been getting weirdly involved in this. He’s been watching us both too closely.” He paused, gaze drifting away like he was trying to piece things together in his head. “And now Heeseung is doing this. This is… this is his way of pushing us both into a corner. I can feel it.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t just a post. It wasn’t just about Heeseung and his attempt to make you jealous. This was a game—a game that everyone had already been sucked into, whether they liked it or not.

“You think he’s manipulating all of us?” you whispered, barely able to comprehend how deep this had gone.

Jay gave you a look—half amused, half exasperated. “You know Heeseung. He’s not gonna sit back and let someone mess with him. He always plays dirty. This was probably his idea all along.”

Your mind raced. This was all too much. Too tangled. And the worst part? You felt like you were losing control of something that used to be yours.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the weight of Heeseung’s smirk on the screen staring back at you, daring you to react. You wanted to lash out, to post something in return, to prove that you could move on too. But the truth was, you felt like you were already too deep into a game neither of you should have ever started.

But you couldn’t stop now.

“I guess,” you said, voice colder than you meant it to be, “we’ll just see how far he’s willing to go.”

You were mad.

No—mad mad.

Heeseung thought he was slick? Using Ina of all people?

Fine. Two could play this game. And you were about to flip the entire board.

You had just gotten your nails done earlier that day—clean white French tips with tiny pink bows delicately painted on each ring finger. Cute. Sweet. Deadly.

And it just so happened to be Valentine’s Day.

The most petty, perfect, painfully strategic day of the year.

You texted Jay:

come over. wear black. don’t ask why.

He didn’t question it. By now, he knew better.

An hour later, you were leaning over him in the soft pink glow of your dorm, red lipstick in your hand, and vengeance in your veins. You tilted his face toward yours, studying him like a blank canvas.

“Hold still,” you whispered, then planted a soft, slow kiss on his cheek.

Then another.

Then one near his jaw.

And one by his temple.

Six lipstick marks—perfectly placed.

Jay just sat there, relaxed, one brow slightly raised. “This is for him, huh?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

You straddled his lap, hands gently cupping his cheeks. Your fresh nails—those glossy white tips and innocent pink bows—rested right under his eyes, framing his face with just the right amount of threat disguised as sweetness.

Snap.

One picture.

No caption.

Just @jaypark.

Posted to your story.

You stared at it once, twice. Smirked.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

It was war.

And you had just set the next fire.

Heeseung saw it within minutes.

He wasn’t even on his phone—Jungwon was. The two of them were mid-conversation in the common room, some half-hearted banter about classes and who was buying dinner, when Jungwon suddenly froze, eyes locked on his screen like he’d just witnessed something unholy.

“Dude…” he said slowly, cautiously. “You might wanna see this.”

Heeseung reached over without thinking, grabbed the phone, and there it was.

Your story.

His chest tightened immediately.

Jay.

His best friend—or what was left of that friendship—smiling, relaxed, and covered in your kiss marks like a walking Valentine’s card. Your hands—those cute little nails with the pink bows—framing his face so gently it looked like a scene from a damn K-drama.

Tag: @jaypark.

No caption.

Didn’t need one.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Heeseung leaned back against the couch slowly, staring at the screen like it might change if he blinked hard enough. But it didn’t. It stayed burned in his vision, red and soft and sweet in the most infuriating way.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Heeseung let out a cold laugh—short, humorless. “She really went there.”

“You gonna ignore it?”

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. He stood up, hands in his pockets, jaw tense. “She wants a reaction,” he muttered. “She wants me to do something.”

Jungwon tilted his head. “So… are you going to?”

Heeseung paused in the doorway, eyes flicking back toward the screen one last time. He could still see the imprint of your lips on Jay’s skin, your nails against his jaw, like a photo burned into film.

“She wants war?” he muttered under his breath.

“Fine.”

And just like that, he pulled out his phone.

Because if this was how you wanted to play—

He was done holding back.

Heeseung’s fingers were already flying across his screen.

u still down to help? he texted her.

Ina replied in less than a minute.

always. what’s the move?

I need a story. Your place. You post it first. Tag me. Make it obvious.

obvious like…? she replied, with a winking emoji.

He smirked.

red lips. hands on me. I’ll handle the rest.

Within thirty minutes, he was at her apartment. The lights were low, her place smelled like overpriced perfume, and she was already waiting in a cropped sweater and glossed lips that matched your exact shade of red.

She moved fast—placed a kiss at the corner of his jaw, just below his ear, then added a second one right under his cheekbone. Two bold red prints. Then she sat sideways across his lap, her long nails trailing down the side of his neck, and pulled out her phone.

“Smile,” she whispered, grinning.

Click.

The photo was even worse—better—than yours.

More skin.

More closeness.

More everything.

She posted it right away. No caption. Just a tag.

@lee.heedeung

Within ten seconds, his notification lit up.

He tapped it, viewed the story once, and then hit “Add to Story” like it was muscle memory.

You’d started this round, but he was going to finish it.

And when his story refreshed—Ina draped over him like she was exactly where she belonged, her kiss stains darker, bolder, more deliberate—he didn’t even hesitate to add the final touch:

“She’s not the only one who moved on.”

Just words.

But he knew you’d see it.

He wanted you to.

You couldn’t think straight anymore. The war was on, and it felt like everything—every move, every word—was just pushing you deeper into a place you didn’t recognize. But you were determined. You were done playing games with Heeseung. You wanted to make sure Jay knew you weren’t trying to replace anything. This wasn’t a rebound. It couldn’t be.

You couldn’t let him see you fall apart again. You just couldn’t.

So you showed up at Jay’s dorm, heart racing, fingers trembling as you knocked on his door.

When he opened it, you didn’t hesitate. You barely even processed the look of surprise in his eyes before your lips were on his. It was desperate. It was reckless. Your hands were already pulling him closer, feeling the weight of the day’s chaos pressing against your chest. His lips tasted like mint, like the cold air outside, and for a second—just a second—it felt real. It felt like something could finally be simple.

But when you reached for his shirt, tugging it off over his head, he froze. His hands gripped your wrists, pulling them gently away from his chest, and pushed you back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Wait—wait,” he said, his voice tight, his breath shaky but controlled. “I don’t want to be your rebound, Y/N.”

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jay shook his head, stepping back just a little. “I’m not like that. You don’t need to use me to get back at Heeseung.”

His words felt like ice water, but you weren’t ready to let go yet. You grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward you, and for the first time, you felt yourself getting lost in the desperation. You didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

“I’m not trying to get back at him,” you whispered, voice pleading. “I swear, Jay. I don’t want him. I want you.” You paused, searching his face for any sign that he believed you. “Please… I need this. I need you right now.”

Jay looked down at you, his expression torn. “Y/N, think about it. You’re not in the right place right now. You’re hurting, and this is just… this is just—”

“I’m not,” you cut him off, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not trying to replace anything. I swear.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes softening just a little. “Then what do you want? What are we doing here, Y/N?”

You took a shaky breath, your voice softer now. “I want to be with you. Not because of Heeseung. Not because of anyone else. Just because I… I want this with you. Please.”

Jay didn’t answer right away, his eyes drifting down to your hands still on his chest. He looked conflicted, like he was weighing your words against something inside himself.

“You’re sure?” he asked quietly, as if he needed reassurance more than you did.

You nodded, eyes locked on his. “I’m sure.”

But even as the words left your lips, you could see the hesitation in his eyes, the doubt still lingering in the way he held you—like he wasn’t sure if he should trust you or himself. You could feel the weight of everything that had happened, everything you were running from. And for a second, you thought he might pull away again.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” he said, his voice a little softer now, but the distance in his gaze still clear.

You swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that rushed up. “I won’t.”

And for the first time in a long time, you were trying to believe that.

You could feel it, deep down. The gnawing ache in your chest. You told Jay you weren’t trying to use him, that you weren’t replacing anyone, that you wanted this—wanted him—but the truth was, you weren’t over Heeseung. Not by a long shot.

And you knew Jay could probably feel it too, even if you didn’t say it out loud. You could see it in his eyes as he pulled away slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you go.

“Y/N,” Jay whispered, voice steady but soft, like he was giving you space to breathe. “Are you sure about this? You say you’re not using me, but I don’t want to be a… a distraction while you’re still caught up with someone else.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. Caught up with someone else. You wanted to shake your head and tell him that he was wrong, that Heeseung was nothing but a memory now. But the truth was staring you right in the face, and you couldn’t lie to him—or to yourself.

You stepped back, taking in a shaky breath, trying to fight the rising tide of emotions in your chest. You had pushed yourself so hard to move on, to fight back against Heeseung’s hold on you, but deep down, it wasn’t working. You could tell yourself you were done with him. You could kiss Jay. You could hold his hand and pretend like you were over it. But you weren’t.

“I… I don’t know,” you finally admitted, voice small, almost fragile. “I’m not really over him, Jay.”

The words felt like poison on your tongue, but there was a strange relief in saying them aloud. You couldn’t keep pretending. Not to him. Not to yourself.

Jay’s face softened, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes—something that cut deeper than you expected. He took a step back, hands still resting at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“You need time, Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “And I’m not gonna be the guy who waits around while you’re still stuck on someone else. You deserve more than that.”

The finality in his voice made your stomach twist. You wanted to argue, to beg him to stay, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair. Jay deserved someone who could give him their whole heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling the tears you’d been holding back threaten to spill.

Jay nodded, giving you a sad, understanding smile. “You don’t have to apologize. But you need to figure things out—before you drag anyone else into your mess.”

And just like that, the moment was over. He stepped away from you, and you were left standing there, feeling more lost than ever. Because no matter how much you wanted to move on, the truth was clear.

You weren’t over Heeseung.

And you didn’t know if you ever would be.

You stormed back into your dorm, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls. Your mind was a whirlwind of frustration and guilt. Jay had been right. You weren’t over Heeseung. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, you just couldn’t shake the hold he still had on you.

You flopped onto your bed, grabbing your phone without thinking. Your fingers scrolled through your feed like it was a reflex, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, it happened.

You saw it.

Heeseung’s story.

The notification flashed, and your breath hitched. You had been trying to avoid him, trying to move on, but there he was, like a goddamn magnet pulling your attention. You tapped it without a second thought.

And then you saw it.

Heeseung. Smiling.

But it wasn’t just a simple smile. No, this time he was holding hands with Ina, and she was pressed so close to him you could see the way they were looking at each other—soft, intimate, like they belonged in each other’s space.

The red lipstick marks weren’t just on his cheek anymore. Now, it looked like she had kissed the side of his neck, and he was almost wearing it like a badge. Proud, like he was showing the world that he was finally moving on. Finally free.

You stared at the story, unable to tear your eyes away. You wanted to swipe up and type something—anything—that would prove you weren’t bothered, that you didn’t care. But deep down, it stung. It stung in a way you couldn’t describe.

Was this still a game to him? Or did Heeseung move on.

And you were left sitting in your dorm, with the weight of everything crashing down on you.

You forced yourself to swipe past his story, ignoring the way your chest tightened, but it didn’t help. It never did.

What was worse?

You realized you were still checking his story as if you were waiting for a sign that he cared.

For the next few hours, Heeseung’s stories kept coming.

One after the other.

It was almost like a countdown, each post more intimate than the last. Him and Ina laughing in a cafe. Him and Ina walking side by side in the park. Her hand resting on his chest, his arm draped around her waist. Each photo, each story, carefully curated—designed to show you what you could’ve had, what you didn’t have anymore.

But here’s the thing: Heeseung expected you to do the same.

He was waiting for you to upload something—anything—with Jay, to prove to him that you weren’t bothered. To make a statement, to show that you were moving on too.

He thought you’d retaliate, maybe post a cute picture of you and Jay in the same way. Maybe make it obvious—show him you didn’t care, that you were fine.

But there was silence.

Your phone was quiet. No stories. No tagged photos. Nothing.

He checked again. And again. Still nothing.

He frowned. He refreshed your profile, then your stories. It was the same as it had been hours ago. Nothing.

What the hell?

Heeseung was confused. He had expected you to fire back—he had expected this whole thing to be like the rest of your relationship: a series of petty back-and-forths that always led you both back into each other’s arms.

But this time, there was no response. No tag. No post. No picture of you with Jay.

Why wasn’t she reacting?

His mind was buzzing. Was it a game? Was she waiting for him to respond first? Was she trying to play it cool?

He couldn’t understand it.

The silence was louder than anything.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Heeseung wasn’t sure what you were thinking. And that scared him more than anything.

It was past 2 AM when Heeseung heard the knock.

At first, he thought he imagined it. The sound was soft, hesitant, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they even wanted to be there. He lay still for a second, blinking at the ceiling, unsure if he should even get up—until it came again, this time louder. More frantic.

He rolled out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and padded to the door with a tired sigh. The hallway was dark, quiet. Everyone else in the dorms was either asleep or gone for the weekend.

But when he opened the door—his heart sank.

You were standing there, mascara smudged under your eyes, hair messily pulled to the side, a half-empty bottle of soju dangling from your hand. Your lips were red, like you’d been biting them too hard. And your eyes… they were glassy. Teary.

You looked broken.

“Y/N—” he started, stepping forward instinctively.

But you shoved him—hard.

Or at least, you tried. You punched at his chest with your tiny, shaky fists, but it wasn’t forceful. It was clumsy, uneven, and as soon as your hands hit him, your strength gave out.

“You—You asshole,” you slurred, fists still pressing weakly against his chest. “You don’t get to be over me—like that. Like it was nothing.”

Heeseung didn’t move. He let you hit him. Let you press against him like you were trying to beat the heartbreak out of your own body.

“Why didn’t you come back?” you cried, voice cracking. “You always come back.”

His hands hovered for a second—unsure if he should hold you or not—but then you collapsed. Right into him. Your knees buckled, your bottle clattered to the ground, and your face crumpled against his chest as the sobs started coming, hard and fast.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie. “I hate you so much, Heeseung.”

He finally wrapped his arms around you, slowly, gently, like you were made of glass.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”

The moment the word slipped out—baby—you just shattered.

You pulled back, looking up at him, your face streaked with tears. “Don’t—Don’t call me that,” you whispered, though your hands were still clinging to him. “You don’t get to call me that if you don’t want me anymore.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes scanning your face, jaw tight. “You think I don’t want you?”

You nodded, quickly, like you were afraid he’d deny it. “You’re with her now. Ina. And you smiled in those pictures like—like I didn’t even matter.”

“You do matter,” he said instantly, voice firmer this time. “You always mattered. I just—” He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us.”

You stared at him for a long time, lip trembling. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

Heeseung’s chest twisted. He’d seen you angry, jealous, wild. But this—this version of you—crushed him. You were soft and raw and honest in a way that stripped all his defenses.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “I thought letting go would fix us. I thought giving us space would help us come back better.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose against your sleeve like a child. “Then why does it feel like I’m dying?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d tell you the truth—that every night he saw your stories, every time he thought about you and Jay, it felt like a blade twisting in his chest. That no matter how many kisses Ina planted on his neck, none of them felt like yours.

Heeseung looked down at you again. You were staring up at him with so much sadness in your eyes, and it physically hurt.

“Do you still love me?” you asked, voice just a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

You blinked, like you didn’t expect that answer.

“I love you,” he repeated, holding your face now. “I never stopped. But yn, we’re… we’re so fucked up. We keep tearing each other apart.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

You leaned in again, forehead pressed against his chest, breathing ragged and broken. He kissed the top of your head gently, just once.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“So am I.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there—his arms around you, your body limp against him, your tears soaking into his hoodie.

Maybe it didn’t fix anything.

Maybe it didn’t change what came next.

But for that moment, it was just the two of you. No stories. No games. No pretending.

Just two broken people—still in love, still hurting—clinging to whatever was left.

Heeseung didn’t let go. Not right away.

You stayed like that—collapsed against him, your sobs slowing to soft, hiccupy breaths, his arms wound tight around your waist like if he let go, you’d vanish entirely.

“Come inside,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, one hand sliding to the back of your head as he pulled you in a little closer. “You’re freezing.”

You nodded weakly against his chest, your legs still wobbly, and he hooked an arm under yours, guiding you carefully inside. The dorm was dim, a faint orange glow spilling from his desk lamp, soft music humming low from a speaker that had been playing long after he forgot to turn it off.

He shut the door behind you and helped you sit on the edge of his bed. You looked around like the room felt unfamiliar—like it wasn’t the same one you used to sneak into at 3AM or sleep in when your dorm felt too suffocating.

You watched him move—quietly, naturally. He brought you a water bottle, then a hoodie you used to steal all the time, dropping it gently onto your lap before crouching in front of you.

“Drink,” he said softly.

You obeyed without a word, sipping just enough to wash the taste of liquor off your lips. Your hands shook slightly, and he noticed, his eyes flickering to your fingers before slowly moving up to your face.

Heeseung exhaled like the weight of everything that had happened tonight was finally settling in. “You shouldn’t have come here like this.”

You looked at him, eyes still puffy and red. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on. “You always come here when you don’t.”

You laughed under your breath, but it was hollow. “And you always let me crawl back to you.”

Silence.

Heeseung rested his forearms on his knees, fingers laced, eyes locked with yours. “Why tonight, Y/N?”

You looked down at your lap, the hoodie untouched, your hands knotted in your skirt.

“I kept waiting,” you whispered. “For you to come back. For this to be just another fight we’d crawl back from. I thought if I held out long enough, you’d text, or call, or show up at my door again like you always do.”

You glanced up at him. “But you didn’t.”

Heeseung’s jaw flexed. He stayed quiet.

“And I know I messed everything up,” you went on, voice gaining a little more strength. “I dragged Jay into it, I made it worse, I was petty and bitter and angry. But I was hurt, Heeseung. I didn’t know how else to make you feel what I was feeling.”

“I was feeling it,” he said, voice low. “Every fucking second.”

Your throat tightened, and you blinked fast, but the tears still came. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Heeseung stood up slowly and sat beside you instead, his shoulder brushing yours. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

“Because I didn’t want to love you halfway again,” he said. “We kept breaking each other. I thought… if we took time apart, maybe we’d figure our shit out. Maybe we’d finally get it right.”

“And did you?” you asked, eyes burning into him.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he turned his head, looking at you—really looking.

Your eyeliner was smudged, your lipstick faded, your cheeks still flushed from the crying and alcohol. But to him, you were still you. The same girl who used to fall asleep mid-conversation in his bed. The same girl who used to wear his shirts like they were hers. The same girl who knew how to ruin him and love him in the same breath.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice softer than before. “All I know is that seeing you tonight, standing at my door like that—I’ve never felt more like I still belong to you.”

The silence wrapped around you again, this time a little warmer, a little heavier.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, the alcohol finally wearing off and leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a dull ache in your chest.

“I’m scared we’re never gonna get it right,” you murmured.

Heeseung turned his head, pressed his lips into your hair. “Me too, yn.”

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t have to.

Because even if everything between you was a mess—even if you were toxic and chaotic and completely wrong for each other—right now, you were here.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The morning came too quickly.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, only the way Heeseung’s heartbeat felt under your cheek as you curled up beside him on the bed. You must’ve passed out mid-sentence, tears drying on your skin, the room spinning just enough to blur the shame, the ache, the regret.

When you opened your eyes, you were still in his hoodie. His room was quiet except for the hum of the heater, and sunlight slipped through the blinds in pale, thin lines. You didn’t dare move—not yet.

Heeseung was already awake. You could tell from the way his breathing had changed, slower, more deliberate. He was lying beside you, one arm resting behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

You swallowed hard. “You didn’t kick me out.”

He turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Did you think I would?”

You hesitated. “Maybe.”

He didn’t respond to that—just watched you. His eyes flicked to your lips, your cheeks, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his hoodie. His gaze softened for a moment, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked in this exact second.

You sat up slowly, head pounding, throat dry.

“I should go,” you said, not meeting his eyes.

Heeseung sat up too, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t say stay. And that silence said more than if he had.

You moved to the door, grabbing your phone off his desk. Notifications flooded the screen—messages from Yeon, Jay, a missed call from Sunoo. The real world was already waiting for you, and you weren’t ready.

You turned the doorknob, then paused. “Heeseung.”

He looked up.

You bit your lip. “Last night… was that a mistake?”

He looked like he wanted to say yes. Like maybe the mature thing—the right thing—was to draw the line here and now. End it before the cycle started all over again.

But instead, he just said, “I don’t know.”

You gave him a small nod, like that answer was enough. Like it had to be.

Then you left.

And the thing that gutted you most wasn’t that he didn’t stop you.

It was that you didn’t expect him to.

You didn’t go back to your dorm right away.

Your head was still spinning—half from the hangover, half from everything that had happened the night before. The streets were cold, quiet, students still asleep or buried in weekend study sessions. You walked aimlessly through campus, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, trying to breathe through the fog sitting heavy in your chest.

You replayed the night like a scene on loop—your fists on Heeseung’s chest, the broken way you sobbed into him, the way he held you like you were fragile and still his. How he called you baby without even thinking about it.

And how in the morning, he let you leave.

By the time you got to Yeon’s dorm, your fingers were numb and your heart felt heavier than ever.

She opened the door in an oversized tee and one sock, blinking in confusion. “Y/N?”

You stepped inside without a word, letting the door swing closed behind you. Yeon just stared for a moment, then crossed her arms and said, “Okay. What happened?”

You collapsed onto her bed face-first, groaning into the blanket.

“Was it Jay again?” she asked carefully.

You shook your head.

“Then… Heeseung?”

You let out a broken sound that could’ve been a laugh or a cry. “I slept over.”

Yeon’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“I was drunk,” you mumbled into the blanket. “Showed up at his dorm. Cried like an idiot. Told him everything. Begged him to love me back, basically.”

“Oh my god.” She sat down beside you. “Okay, and?”

“He held me. Let me stay. Called me baby.”

Yeon raised a brow. “And then?”

You turned your head, eyes glassy again. “And then he let me go.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Just reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Y/N…”

“It hurts,” you whispered. “I thought—when I woke up, I thought maybe this time it meant something. That we could start over. But he just let me leave.”

Yeon looked at you like she didn’t know whether to hug you or shake you. “Because he’s trying, Y/N. He’s trying to be better. For you. For himself. And you’re out here getting drunk and showing up at his door like it’s still the same toxic game.”

You blinked at her, stunned.

“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” she added quickly. “He’s just as bad. You guys were fire and gasoline. But this? What you did last night? You weren’t trying to fix anything. You were trying to set it on fire again just to see if he’d still run through it for you.”

That one stung. Because she wasn’t wrong.

You curled deeper into the blanket, the ache in your chest flaring again. “So what now?”

Yeon sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Now? You stop playing games. You take a real break. Not the kind where you post bait on Instagram and wait for him to bite. A real one. Because if there’s even a chance you two have something worth saving, you need to come back to each other as different people.”

You stayed quiet.

Then, softly, you asked, “Do you think he still loves me?”

Yeon didn’t even hesitate. “God, yes. But I think he’s scared loving you will destroy him again.”

You shut your eyes. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel angry. Just… empty. Because if you were being honest with yourself?

You were scared of the same thing.

You weren’t good at listening. Especially when it came to Heeseung.

Yeon had begged you to take it seriously this time. To actually give yourself space, to heal, to breathe without him in your orbit. She told you to block his number for a while, to stop checking his Instagram stories, to quit looking for his face in every hallway like he was some phantom that couldn’t let you move on.

You nodded. You agreed. You told her you were going to try.

But you didn’t mean it.

Because it was impossible to “take a break” from someone who lived under your skin. Who you still dreamed about even when you hated him. Who you still saw in every goddamn song, every place on campus that still echoed with the ghosts of the two of you.

So three nights later, you were standing outside his apartment again.

This time, it wasn’t out of drunken impulse or heartbreak-fueled rage. It was worse.

It was loneliness.

It was craving.

It was addiction.

You hadn’t texted him. You didn’t warn him. You stood in front of the door, heart slamming against your ribs, hands shoved into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You stared at the door like it owed you something.

You almost walked away. Twice.

But then it opened.

Heeseung was standing there in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, barefoot, hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. The expression on his face flickered from confusion to disbelief to… that familiar ache you always saw in his eyes when he looked at you.

You swallowed hard.

“I—I know I’m not supposed to be here,” you said, voice small. “But I needed to see you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside, and that alone said everything.

You walked in slowly, like you were walking back into a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. The apartment was dim again, warm, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and the faint citrus cologne you knew he wore too much of.

He closed the door behind you, leaned against it, and crossed his arms. “Y/N…”

“I know,” you said, holding up a hand. “Don’t say it. Yeon already gave me the whole speech.”

“So why are you here?”

You turned to look at him, eyes heavy, lips parted. “Because I’m not over you.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. He didn’t move.

“And I don’t think you’re over me either,” you said. “You don’t get to look at me like that—like that—and pretend we’re done.”

He was silent for a long beat.

Then, “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care.”

You stepped closer, just one step, but it felt like ten.

“I know we’re a mess,” you continued. “I know we’re both too much and not enough and every time we try again it ends in fire—but Heeseung, I don’t know how to not come back to you. I don’t know how to let you go.”

His eyes searched yours. Slowly, carefully. And God, the way he looked at you—like you were the same secret he’d never stopped keeping—hurt more than anything.

“Y/N…” he said softly, but he didn’t finish.

You took another step, now close enough to feel the heat of him. “You said it yourself—we belong to each other. No matter how bad we break, no matter who we try to replace each other with. It always comes back to us.”

Heeseung reached up, ran a hand down his face. He looked exhausted. Like he was carrying the weight of every fight, every kiss, every night you spent in his bed just to disappear in the morning.

“I can’t do this again,” he murmured. “I can’t keep letting you back in just to lose you again.”

Your voice cracked. “Then don’t lose me.”

You closed the last bit of space between you and pressed your hands against his chest.

“Let me be selfish just this once,” you whispered. “Let me come back to you.”

He stared down at you, torn, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to touch you or throw up a wall.

“I don’t care how many times we fall apart,” you said, voice trembling. “I’ll always come crawling back to you.”

enhypen campus series | writing jays trope next. Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

[fayerie]

Gojo Satoru’s jealousy exists on a level entirely his own — dramatic, shameless, and spectacularly over the top.

It’s a display of devotion that refuses to be ignored. No matter how outrageous his antics become, you can’t deny how sweet it is — loud proof of how thoroughly, absurdly in love he is with you.

It always starts small. Maybe you laugh just a little too much at someone else’s joke — doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman.

The moment your laughter lingers, Gojo’s already pouting like a sulky child. Cue the signature eye roll, razor sharp and immediate, fired off in the direction of the poor comedian who unknowingly triggered his wrath.

But the real giveaway? The jokes. Oh god, the jokesssss.

Gojo suddenly becomes a one-man comedy show — unleashing pun after pun, each one more questionably funny than the last. It’s the kind of humor that makes you second guess your life choices — the sort of "dad joke" energy that physically hurts.

But because the two of you are hopelessly dumb in the same way, it only takes one poorly timed laugh from you — one soft giggle — and his entire face boom, lights up.

Those baby blue eyes shine with unearned triumph, the unmistakable look of a golden retriever who just brought back the ball and got praised for it.

If a guy dares to talk to you longer than a casual passing moment, brace yourself.

Gojo Satoru transforms into your very clingy shadow:

He immediately flanks you, looping his arm around your waist or gripping your hand in a possessive, koala like hold. He’ll start talking loudly about non-existent plans the two of you have together, throwing in plenty of smug smiles and not-so-subtle touches.

If it’s too formal for that — say, a work conversation — he stands directly behind you like an overprotective mother hen. You might not see it, but the poor guy you're talking to definitely notices the warning glares being fired over your shoulder like cursed bullets.

You only catch on when the man stammers through his goodbyes and makes a quick escape, forehead glistening with sweat.

You turn around slowly, already knowing what you’ll find, Gojo blinks at you with exaggerated innocence.

“I didn’t do a thing, babe. He’s just intimidated by how cool I am.”

And then came the compliments.

If someone so much as comments on your outfit, hair, or smile, it’s immediately declared a personal affront.

“She always looks good,” he’ll chime in, voice sweet and syrupy with mock innocence. “Beautiful. Lovely. Stunning. I tell her that every single day, actually.”

He finishes it off with a cartoonishly loud kiss to your cheek — dramatic, dragged out, and unapologetically showy.

“Mmmmmmwah!”

You try to push him away, face burning with secondhand embarrassment — but your laughter betrays you. He wins again. Of course he does.

And that’s when the spoiling begins.

Shoes you only mentioned once appear like magic on your doorstep. New clothes — in all your favorite colors and styles — find their way into your closet.

Your favorite lipstick? Not just one, but two tubes, “just in case,” he says with a wink. It’s never about the money with him.

It’s about the reminder. The persistent, unshakable message that you’re his, that he loves you more than words can ever say.

But when the audience is gone — when you’re home, just the two of you — that’s when he sulks. Hard.

You find him sprawled across the couch like a heartbroken Victorian heroine, half his face buried in a fluffy pillow, YouTube playing slowed + reverb versions of sad songs in the background on the TV for you to see.

The vibe is immaculate, in the most ridiculous way possible. You stare. Then sigh.

“Toru,” you say, arms crossed. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or keep playing corpse?”

His voice comes muffled through the pillow.

“Mshleepingheyretonayght.”

“…What?”

Slowly, he peels his face from the cushion, lifting his head to glare at you with the most dramatic pout imaginable.

“Since you've made it very clear today that you don’t love me anymore,” he begins, tone grave, “I’ve decided I shall be sleeping here tonight. Alone. Cold. Forsaken. Lonely. Because my girlfriend is cruel. And heartless. And emotionally abusive. And has no regard for the delicate feelings of her incredibly handsome boyfriend. Did I mention I’m sleeping alone?”

It sounded more like he’s punishing himself rather than you — and the realization hits him somewhere mid-monologue.

You’re about to lean toward him, half-smiling, when he suddenly raises his index finger in your direction like a director calling “cut,” phone already in his other hand.

“Ah-ah-ah. Sorry, can’t talk right now. Someone’s calling me, urgent. I don’t have time for this.”

He answers the phone in his loudest, most obnoxiously flirty voice:

“Oh hey, pretty. Yeah, I’m definitely free tonight. Anytime, any day — you call, i answer.”

“Mm? Oh, nothing, just sitting here... lonely, heartbroken. You’ll make me feel better, won’t you?”

“Mhm. Knew i could count on you in times like these to cheer me up. Unlike some people…” he adds, throwing you a pointed side-eye.

From the other end, you can clearly hear a very tired, very unamused voice:

“Satoruu. Stop dragging me into your relationship drama.”

— Suguru Geto, clearly done with his nonsense, sounding more sleep-deprived than ever.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as Gojo throws himself back onto the couch, mourning a breakup that hasn’t happened, wallowing in non-existent heartbreak.

If he doesn’t feel like sulking out loud — which is rare — the silence goes on for days. That’s when the sticky notes make an appearance (obvi), passive aggressive little reminders of his so called suffering, scattered like breadcrumbs around the house.

On the fridge:

“Don’t worry. I left you some of the takeout I got yesterday. Not that you’d ever notice. :)”

On the bathroom mirror, he draws a tiny cartoon version of himself with sparkles and abs (of course with shading), next to a dramatic caption:

“A face this handsome… wasted on someone emotionally unavailable... how unfortunate.”

On his pillow, the note is simple but packed with maximum melodrama:

“This is where I used to sleep. Before betrayal.”

When you finally go over to talk to him after days of silent treatment from him, he’s in full mad-jealous mode.

He’s wearing the biggest, blackest sunglasses he owns — indoors — and refuses to look directly at you. He’s lounging on the couch like a man betrayed by fate itself, sipping something from a wine glass with his pinky raised, even though you both know he doesn’t drink alcohol.

He doesn’t say a word. Just gives you a cold, exaggerated side profile — the picture of someone trying very hard to appear emotionally unavailable, and doing a terrible job of it.

That’s Satoru Gojo for you — infuriating, dramatic, absolutely ridiculous.

And somehow, despite it all — or maybe even because of it, you love him even more for it.

Because underneath the sunglasses, the sulking, and the over-the-top antics, he’s just a man in love. Loudly, shamelessly, completely yours.

mlist. -> here

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Overprotective/Angry Oscar x Reader! (OP81)

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary:

It wasn’t that he was jealous.

No, that wasn’t the right word for it.

You were his.

He knew that, you knew that- hell, the whole world seems to know that.

So why didn’t this fucking guys get the hint?

A/N: something about a man defending your honour, just makes me absolutely feral.- also think is kind short but I hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🤍

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Oscar has been throwing daggers all evening. Sharp stares and ever sharper comments at the prick investor sat across from the two of you.

He hated these events, even claiming he wasn’t going. But when you sauntered your way out of the bathroom, adorned in his favourite black dress- your hair and makeup making you appear as a goddess in front of him- he was done for.

Now stuffed into an uncomfortably tight suit, being held hostage at the dinner table. Forced to suck it up and smile, nod politely and laugh at the dumb idiots jokes- well, that was the usual script.

Oscars mood has been soured the second you two had sat down. The snobby rich investor refused his outstretched hand to grasp onto your wrist, which had been laying casually on the table- barley clutching onto a half empty glass of wine.

You had tried to pull back in a shocked response. But instead of letting go, the man held you tighter. Causing the golden bangles adoring your wrist to bite into your skin. Your body went stiff at the unwanted touch of the man.

Oscar was on his feet quick, his hand slammed hard onto the table. silverware clanging together, your wine toppling over- staining the white tablecloth. His narrowed gaze burned holes in the man, his face gone red as his chest heaved. Now leading forwarding on the table, arms straining as he towered over the man. He spoke; low and deadly.

“Don’t fucking touch what’s not yours.”

A snarl-like growl bubbled in the back of his throat as he watched the man’s hand retreat slowly. Almost jumping the table the way the man’s fingers lingered on your skin.

Only becoming seated once more after forcing the man to apologise, twice.

Ignoring the mumbles and whispers of his colleagues and mangers as he lowered himself back into his assigned seat, one last sharp glare sent across the table as his hand found yours. A tight reassuring squeeze as you tried to hide your smile, a heated blush burning your neck at your- usually reserved- boyfriends actions.

Oscar didn’t miss the way you had retread yourself. The way your shoulders slumped as your hands fiddled in your lap, gaze drawn down. A small pout on your lips, the sparkle of the evening no longer shining in your eyes.

Since then, he hasn’t payed attention to a single thing that came out of the man’s mouth. His attention fixated instead on you,

His fingers tracing yours as he holds your hand in his lap, an occasional brush of your hair over your shoulder. Light kisses placed in your knuckles.

You didn’t mind, reveling in the grounding touch of your love.

“Don’t you agree, Mr Piastri?”

The question caught Oscar off guard, his head snapping back to meet the man’s eyes. His eyes narrowing slightly, jaw clenched as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

The man chuckled, his gaze flicking to you. Oscars hand squeezed yours tighter as you fidget under the hungry stare of a stranger.

“I said; you are a very lucky man Mr Piastri. With such a beautiful woman by your side.”

The man stopped, and for just a second, you thought that was it. But no- of course he had to keep going;

“The things I would do to her, given the chance.” His comment topped up with the wiggling of his eyes browns and a wink sent your way.

The whole table fell silent as their attention fell on Oscar, watching him close as he processed the sickening comment. The man’s laugh dimming to a worried chuckled as he looked to the table for backup, his hands raising in mock defence as he met Oscar's eyes.

“Hey man, it was just a joke. No need to bite my head off.”

Oscar laughed.

A manic cackle that shook the room. You turned to him with a horrified expression, watching as he practically doubled over on himself. The laugh grew lounger as Oscar’s anger reach its boiling point.

The action was so out of character for the man, it had almost everyone staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Zac’s face twisted in shock and horror as he switched between Oscar and the investor, mouth opening and closing- never finding the right words to say.

You stood, a hand placed on Oscar's shoulder as you turned from the table. A silent plea to just leave. Oscars hand coming to rest atop of yours, his eyes softening slightly as they met yours.

But he shook his head, palmed you the keys for his car as his head snapped back to the man. Like a lion hunting its prey.

Your wide eyes meet Landos in a desperate attempt to communicate with the amused Brit- who was leaning back on his chair, arms crossed. A wide smile on his face as he watched the show.

‘Fuck. Oscar might actually kill him.’

You could see the veins in Oscar's neck, his suit bulging under the strain of his tightened muscles. -God if he flexed anymore the fabric might just disintegrate-

His fist clenched as he rose to his feet, slow and deliberate. Never breaking eye contact with the man.

He moved with purpose, sauntering his way over to the man. Each footstep a rattling echo in the silent room. Stopping mere inches from the man, his throat bobbing nervously as his eyes met yours in a desperate plea.

-please miss, call off your hound-

Oscars demeanor was one you had never seen, his eyes blackened, his face now calm, deadly so. Eyes brewing with a storming rage, His voice like ice;

“If you so much as think about her again-“

A large hand land heavy in the man’s shoulder, causing the man to jump. Oscar smirked, satisfied with the man’s reaction

“I’ll kick your fucking teeth in.”

The line delivered with a smile as the man choked back a shocked breath. Coughing to cover his discomfort under the weighted hand of your steaming boyfriend.

“Is that clear?”

The man nods quick, a sigh of relief leaving him as Oscar’s hand retreats from his shoulder.

Oscar has taken two steps away from the man, stopping dead as the idiot wouldn’t shut his mouth

“Whatever man, what do you expect when she’s dressed like that.”

The sickening crack of the man’s nose ran true, as Oscar’s hand collided with the now fractured appendage. The man’s chair tipping back from the action, sending him flailing to the floor, suit slowly turning into a bloodied mess.

The man shouted as Oscar turned on his heel, making a b-line for you. His arm slinging around your shoulder in a protective stance, coming to rest heavily across your body.The man’s shouts falling on deaf ears as Oscar steers you towards the exit.

His final act; the simple extension of his middle finger to the man as the heavy doors closed behind you.

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Tagged:

@fangirlmusicbiashoe

(If y’all want to be apart of a permanent tag list, let me know on my masterlist post and I’ll start adding everyone!)

.

[inseobts]

Without the Hat

law x gn!reader

in a world of teasing, blushes, and stolen glances, law stops wearing his hat because of your compliment, but then the crew's teasing only makes everything more complicated—and maybe a little more perfect.

a/n: cutest thing I could ever think of, ngl

words count: 2.5k

tags: fluff, gender neutral reader, humor, slow burn, silly love

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

It starts like this.

You’re both sitting on the deck of the Polar. It’s quiet. The sea is calm. Law is reading a book, his hat on the bench beside him for once. His messy black hair moves gently in the wind.

You look at him, just for a second too long.

He glances at you “What?”

You blink “Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow “You’re staring.”

You shrug “You look nice without the hat. That’s all.”

He stares back “...What?”

“I said I like how you look when you’re not wearing that dumb hat.”

“‘Dumb’ hat?”

You nod “Yeah. I mean, it’s kind of ridiculous.”

He keeps staring. He’s not mad, but something in his face changes.

“…Huh” he says, then looks back at his book like you didn’t just shake his entire existence.

The next day, he walks into the kitchen. No hat.

You almost drop your cup.

“Wait,” you say, pointing “Where’s your hat?”

“I forgot it” he says fast. Too fast.

“Forgot it?” you repeat, grinning.

“I was busy.”

“Busy forgetting your hat?”

He ignores you.

The next day, no hat again.

You’re suspicious.

You lean close while he’s talking to Shachi “Hey, did you stop wearing it because I said you looked good without it?”

Law doesn’t even flinch “It’s being cleaned.”

“Liar.”

“It smelled like fish.”

“Liar.”

He keeps talking to Shachi like you don’t exist.

Another day.

He walks into the infirmary. You’re sitting on the bed swinging your legs. He’s got his usual coat, but again... no hat.

“Okay,” you say loudly “What’s the excuse today?”

He looks at you. Calm. Too calm “Bepo’s repairing it.”

You squint “Why would Bepo fix your hat?”

“He’s learning to sew.”

“…Liar.”

“I support his hobbies.”

You throw a pillow at him.

And still, every day after that, the hat stays off. Even when you ask. Even when you tease.

Every day, a new excuse: “It’s drying.” “I’m testing wind resistance.” “It’s in quarantine.”

But you catch him once, in the hallway, fingers on the brim of it in his room. He sees you and pushes it away like it’s poison.

You grin.

He sighs.

“…Shut up.”

He wears it again.

Just like that.

No warning. No reason.

You walk into the kitchen and he’s standing there with his hat on, like nothing changed. Like the past week of messy black hair and fake excuses never happened.

You blink once. Pause. Open the fridge.

“...Morning” he says.

“Morning” you answer.

That’s it.

No comment. No teasing. No jokes.

Nothing.

Law stares at your back while you dig around for juice. His hands twitch like he’s waiting for something.

When you sit down with a glass, he tries again “It was windy today.”

You nod “Yep. Super windy.”

He stares harder “…So I wore the hat.”

You sip “Makes sense.”

Silence.

He stares more.

You look up “What?”

“…Nothing” he mutters, walking out with his tea like you just slapped him with confusion.

Later, in the hall you pass him. He’s still wearing it.

You smile at him. Normal. Friendly.

Nothing about the hat.

Law watches you disappear around the corner with the face of a man who just lost a game he didn’t realize he was playing.

At dinner you’re sitting across from him. Hat. On.

You talk to Shachi. You laugh with Penguin. You hand Law the salt.

You say nothing about the big round fluffball sitting on his head.

“Did you notice anything?” he finally asks mid-bite, staring dead at you.

You blink “About what?”

He frowns “Never mind.”

You lean your cheek on your hand, watching him “You okay?”

He looks away “Fine.”

Night time.

You knock on the door to his room. He opens it in a t-shirt. Hat still on.

You don’t say a thing.

“You needed something?” he asks.

You hand him a book he left in the kitchen.

“Oh,” he says “Thanks.”

You smile “Goodnight.”

He closes the door slower than usual.

Then opens it again a second later.

“…You didn’t say anything about the hat.”

You blink “Should I have?”

He stares “You always say something.”

You shrug “Maybe I got used to it.”

“…You liked it better off.”

“Yeah,” you say, calm and honest “I did.”

You turn to go “Still do.”

He closes the door again. This time, faster.

You smile all the way back to your room.

One day you walk into the control room.

Law’s sitting in the captain’s chair. Arms crossed. Eyes on some map. Hair messy as ever.

Hat: gone.

Your heart does a small, ridiculous flip.

But your face... totally calm.

“Morning” you say, walking past like your brain isn’t screaming.

“Morning” he says, not looking up.

You sit at the console. Turn it on. Pretend to focus.

Inside, you’re a disaster.

At lunch, he walks in late. Still hatless.

You look up, then immediately down at your plate. You don’t say a thing.

You think maybe your ears are turning red.

“Yo, Law,” Penguin says “New style again?”

Law shrugs “Didn’t feel like wearing it.”

Everyone nods.

You stab your rice. Stay cool. Stay normal. Do not look for too long.

You look anyway. Just a little.

Your breath catches. You take a sip of water so no one sees you smiling.

He notices.

In the hallway later, you walk past him again.

Still no hat. Still no comment.

But your eyes flick to his hair. Just a second. Barely.

He sees it.

You feel it.

You keep walking.

He stares after you with a face like he just lost and won something at the same time.

That night, on the deck you’re sitting on a bench. The sea’s quiet.

Law walks out. Stretches. No hat.

He sits beside you.

You don’t look at him. Not directly. But you feel warm.

“You’re quiet” he says.

You nod “I’m relaxed.”

“…You didn’t say anything again.”

You blink up at him “About what?”

He gives you a look. You give him an innocent one back.

Then he leans just a little closer.

“…You’re blushing” he says.

Your hand flies to your cheek “What—no, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“You’re seeing things.”

He smirks “So it’s back to this.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands “I hate you.”

He chuckles. It’s soft. Real.

“…You don’t” he says quietly.

You peek through your fingers “Yeah. I don’t.”

It’s just the two of you on the deck again.

Stars above. Waves below. Silence between.

Law leans on the railing beside you. No hat. Hair soft in the wind. He doesn’t say anything at first.

Then, he sighs “I stopped wearing it because of you.”

You blink “Huh?”

“The hat,” he says, looking straight ahead “You said I looked better without it. So I stopped.”

You freeze.

“You never noticed,” he adds, “or at least, you pretended not to.”

You cover your mouth with your hand “Oh my god.”

He looks over, eyebrow raised “So?”

You laugh nervously “So what?”

“Why do you like me better without it?”

You panic.

“Put it back on.”

“What?”

“I’m begging you. Just… wear it. Please.” You wave your hand in the air, still looking anywhere but his face “Where is it? I’ll go get it for you.”

Law stares “You didn’t answer my question.”

You cover your face “I hate you.”

“That’s not new,” he says calmly “Why?”

You groan “Because—ugh. Because you look cute, okay? And kinda sexy.”

He blinks.

Still not looking at him, you mumble, “Your hair’s a little messy and I like it. It makes you look more… real. And softer. And… you have those few white hairs near your temple and I really, really love them.”

Silence.

You squeeze your eyes shut “There. Happy now?”

You still don’t look up.

He doesn’t speak.

You frown “What, now you’re gonna bully me forever?”

“…No” he says quietly.

You peek at him and see he’s staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“You… like the white hair?”

You groan again, turning away “Law, please, don’t make me say it twice. Once was already enough embarassing.”

He’s quiet. Then—

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well. Now you do.”

A pause.

“I like when you blush” he says suddenly.

Your head snaps around “What?!”

He smirks “Just saying.”

You throw your jacket at him and stomp off, face burning, heart racing.

Behind you, he catches the jacket… and smiles.

You avoid him for a full day after the "cute and sexy" comment.

You help Bepo with supplies. You eat fast and leave faster. You talk to everyone but Law.

You pretend you’re totally fine.

You are not fine.

You’re hiding in the engine room, checking things that don’t need checking, when he finds you.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed. Hatless. Hair all soft and wild, like he knows exactly what he's doing.

“Hey” he says.

You glance over “Hey.”

He walks in. Slow. Casual.

You take a step back and bump into a crate.

He doesn’t stop “You running from me?”

“No...” you lie badly.

He’s in front of you now “You said I looked sexy.”

Your face catches fire instantly “I did not say it like that.”

“I remember it clearly.” He tilts his head “Kinda sexy. That’s what you said.”

You look away fast “Do you need something or are you just here to bully me?”

He hums “You said my hair was cute too.”

“I say lots of dumb things.”

“I don’t think it was dumb.”

You look at the wall. The ceiling. Anywhere but him.

Then his hand lifts and you freeze.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Gentle. Slow. Like he has all the time in the world.

You forget how breathing works.

Then his fingers trace just under your jaw, brushing your skin lightly before dropping.

You don’t move.

“Your face gets warm so fast” he murmurs, voice low, amused “It’s kinda cute.”

You finally snap your head toward him, flustered “You’re evil.”

He shrugs “Just saying.”

You push past him, heart pounding, cheeks on fire.

And Law watches you go, smiling like he’s finally having fun.

Law’s wearing the hat again... Big, fluffy, dramatic.

You see it as soon as he walks into the main room where everyone’s gathered. You blink like it’s a ghost.

He sits down with a book like nothing happened.

But you know something’s off.

You lean toward Shachi “Since when is he wearing it again?”

Shachi grins “Since everyone started teasing him about looking too soft without it.”

Penguin laugh “Bepo told him he looked like someone's husband.”

You blink.

“…He does” you mutter before your brain can stop your mouth.

Then you look away fast. Arms crossed. Pouting a little without meaning to.

Law doesn’t react. He’s pretending to read, but you know he’s listening.

You mutter under your breath, “Why wouldn’t y’all mind your business…”

You think it’s quiet.

It is not quiet.

The room goes dead silent.

“HUHHH?” Penguin points “What did you say?!”

Shachi is cackling “Wait wait wait—did you just say—??”

Even Bepo’s blinking slowly like he just unlocked the final puzzle piece.

Law doesn’t look up, but one ear definitely twitches.

You slap a hand over Shachi's mouth “No I didn’t. Shut up.”

“Ohhhh my god,” Shachi gasps freeing himself “That’s why he stopped wearing it.”

Penguin: “That’s why he looked like a kicked puppy when he put it back on!”

You groan into your hands.

Bepo: “Captain… this is kinda romantic.”

Law finally speaks, dry as sand “I can and will throw all of you into the sea.”

They ignore him.

Shachi elbows you “So you’re the reason he had his hair out for, like, a week straight?”

You glare at the floor “Stop talking to me.”

Penguin grins “You’re blushing again!”

“Stop looking at me!”

Law stands up “Enough.”

Everyone freezes.

He walks to you. Calm. Slow. Hat still on.

He leans just a little closer, voice low.

“…You want me to take it off again?”

You pause. Swallow.

“Maybe...”

The crew explodes.

After the teasing dies down (a full hour later), you escape. You need to breathe. Your face has been hot for too long and your heart is doing laps.

You find a quiet spot near the back deck, away from the noise.

And of course he finds you again. Hat off now.

Just him, wind, and that look he gives only you.

He walks over slowly, hands in his coat pockets “They were loud.”

You sigh “They were monsters.”

He smirks “You’re the one who said it out loud.”

“It was a whisper.”

“Not really.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. A real one.

He steps a little closer “You still mad I wore the hat again?”

You glance up at him “Maybe.”

He’s watching you.

You’re watching his hair again.

You reach up without thinking, fingers sliding gently into it.

Soft. Messy. Warm.

You ruffle it, grin wide “There you are.”

Law freezes.

He’s been touched before. Fought. Treated. Pat by Bepo. Whatever.

But this...

Your smile. The laugh in your eyes. Your fingers brushing through his hair like it’s the easiest thing in the world...

His heart does a full backflip.

Something cracks open.

He looks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time.

“You’re perfect” he says before his brain can stop him.

You blink “What?”

He steps closer. You drop your hand.

He takes your wrist, gently. Just holds it.

“I said,” he murmurs, “you’re perfect.”

You stare.

“You’re serious?” you whisper.

He nods.

So you lean in, slowly. Nervous. Testing.

He meets you halfway.

It’s soft. Warm. A little awkward, like two people who definitely thought about this for too long.

But it’s real.

When you pull back, his eyes are still half-closed.

You grin “So... you gonna keep the hat off for me or what?”

He leans his forehead to yours “I might burn it.”

You both stand there for a second.

Your heart’s still racing. His fingers are still lightly holding your wrist.

Then you laugh. A small one at first, then bigger. Bright.

He raises an eyebrow “What’s funny?”

You grin, cheeks warm “I mean, I actually like the hat too.”

He tilts his head “You do?”

“Yeah,” you nod “It helps me not have a nosebleed every time I look at you.”

He blinks “What?”

You shrug, playful “Not for real, but… close.”

He snorts “You’re ridiculous.”

You wink “I try.”

Then he smiles soft, real.

“I know,” he says, “I’m joking about it though. This hat’s actually important to me.”

You nod “I figured.”

“But,” he adds, stepping a little closer again, “I do enjoy the fact that without it, you get always so… flustered.”

You pout immediately.

Cross your arms. Look away.

“Have you finished bullying me?”

He chuckles, slow and warm.

Then you feel something soft land on your head.

You blink.

He’s placed the hat on you.

Big. Fuzzy. Covers almost your whole head.

His hand gently pats the top of it.

“You look cute with it” he says quietly.

You turn to him, only your eyes visible under the fluff.

“Didn't think you’re such a menace...” you mumble, heat creeping up your face again.

He smiles again.

“You’re cute either way.”

You cover your face with both hands under the hat “I’m gonna scream.”

He hums “That would be fair.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[ponderingmoonlight]

jjk men seeing you in a gorgeous dress for the first time

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader; Sukuna x fem!reader; Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,8k

Warnings: pretty much all fluff except for Sukuna + Geto, Geto and reader are baddies in his part so be aware hehe

Gojo Satoru

“I hope I made myself clear.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, desperately fighting with that resistant zipper that refuses its service. This would be way easier with someone assisting you. After all, you’re not peeling yourself into a skin-tight dress every casual evening. Well, it’s not like you alone in this room. But asking him for help?

Absolutely, utterly and completely impossible.

“Hmm, I might need to hear that again.”

You sign to yourself while finally getting your dress all the way up without pinching your skin. Honestly, you were never the girl to wear dresses, let alone fancy gowns. Since you’re out fighting a majority of the time, pants simply suit your lifestyle way better – it’s not like all those monsters care about your clothes anyway. Well, there is one monster that definitely cares, though.

“First, don’t look at me a second too long or I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to see something with those pretty blue eyes again. Second, if you want one comment about that dress the second I step out, I’ll kill you-“

“C’mon, that’s not fair, I’m way too excited-“

“Silence.”

You can sense his pout from behind the curtain.

“I’m being serious, Gojo. One look, one comment and you’re gone in the wind.”

You force yourself to take a deep breath, taking a last look at yourself in the mirror. Why are you suddenly this nervous? You’re never nervous, especially not around that douchebag. There’s no reason to feel that prickling sensation crawling down your bare neck, right? It’s not like you see this guy every day, it’s not like you are secretly in love with him.

No.

You hate that guy.

You hate Gojo Satoru with all your heart. All of that teasing, all of his sly remarks, that dumb grin plastered onto his face when he knows he hit the right sport to annoy the hell out of you.

You couldn’t care less about his opinion, if he thinks that dress suits you, if he finds your curves appealing, if he likes what you did to your hair. None of that matters.

Right?

You step out from behind the curtain with the weight of your threat still lingering in the air before you can act like a pathetic teenage girl a second longer. Each click of your heel against the polished floor echoes like a countdown, and you don’t look at him, don’t dare to. You won’t. Not yet.

The room goes quiet - or at least it feels like it does get even more silent than it was before. You know he’s looking at you. You can feel it before you even lift your eyes, that gaze of his is like sunlight, so warm, bright, annoyingly impossible to ignore.

You brace yourself, fully expecting some smug, drawn-out whistle or a dumb nickname like “angel cake” or whatever unhinged thing he’s cooking up today.

But it doesn’t come.

No joke. No teasing.

Just silence.

Your eyes snap to him before you can stop yourself. And there he is, standing stock-still, for once not lounging or leaning or talking. Just… looking.

His lips are slightly parted like he might say something, but nothing comes out. The usual so cocky glow of his eyes is softer now - not dimmer, just quieter. Focused.

On you.

You almost miss the way his fingers flex at his sides, like he has to physically restrain himself from reaching out.

You hate him. You hate how that makes your chest tighten. You hate how just one glance into his oh so honestly amazed gaze makes your knees go weak.

“Well?” you snap, arms crossed, trying to summon your usual venom.

“Cat got your tongue?”

His expression twitches into the beginnings of a smile. Not a cocky one, at least not yet. It’s the kind of smile that only reaches the corners of his mouth, something more dangerous, realer than everything you’ve seen from him before.

“I was trying to respect your very generous warning. But it’s getting real hard.”

You narrow your eyes.

“One word, Gojo. One, and I swear I’ll walk into that event alone.”

“Then I’ll shut up,” he replies quickly, hands raised in surrender, but his eyes betray him.

It’s always in his eyes that are already speaking volumes. Hungry. Worshipful. Slightly amazed. Because of…you, because of you in that dress?

You step closer, fully intending to brush past him and leave, but he moves first. Not blocking you, but somehow forcing you to stop mid-track. Close enough that the air shifts, warm and electric. Fuck, what on earth is going on?

“You look…” he starts, then stops himself.

You catch the way his jaw tenses, how he swallows.

“Stupid? Like a pathetic clown?”

“You look like trouble. The kind I’d lose everything for.”

Your heart stutters. God, you hate him. You hate how this man makes you feel, how you can literally feel your own heart slipping away from you by those oh so sweet words.

“You’re an idiot,” you mutter, brushing past him, and you don’t miss the way his hand almost rises to touch your back.

Almost, but not quite.

As you walk away, you hear him exhale a breath like he’s been holding it since you walked out.

“Totally worth dying for,” he whispers, just quiet enough you’re almost not supposed to hear it.

Almost.

Nanami Kento

You’re still not sure how you ended up here. Since the day you’ve joined Jujutsu High, there was never something like this. Never a fancy occasion to dress up for, never more than a little chit chat with the higher ups. No, the life here was pretty chill.

Was.

“To be honest, I really don’t know how to feel about this.”

“You? I’m spending all day in a blood-soaked coat while slicing through stuff. I’m really not that into playing real-life dress up Barbie for some old farts,” Shoko replies dryly while tying her hair into a simple knot.

“Touché. But hey, do you…do you think he’ll be there as well?”

He, Kento Nanami, to be exact. It’s not a secret to anyone that he caught your eye. To be honest, it’s hard to miss him. Him with those gorgeous blonde hair, him with cheekbones sharp as knives, him with that oh so dark and tempting voice. The prospect of seeing him somewhere apart from the battlefield? More than tempting. If you’d only manage to look decent.

“You mean Nanami? If he gets paid for it, sure. Hey, what’s that look on your face, (y/n)? Don’t tell me you’re thinking you’re not good enough again.”

You can’t help but bite your cheek. Damn Shoko and her sixth sense.

“I gave up hope that he’ll love me back someday a long time ago,” you lie shamelessly.

“But still…I don’t know if this fits me right.”

Your eyes dart over your body, the sleek fabric of the dress Shoko chose for you. This isn’t something you’d normally wear. To be exact, you only wear your uniform skirt and a summer dress from time to time. Something this extravagant? Not in your wardrobe, not in your budget, not in this lifetime.

“You’re kidding, right? You look like a literal angel, (y/n). I’m sure half of that idiots won’t even recognize you.”

Heat rushes up your cheeks immediately while you start fumbling with your fingers. You hate being the centre of attention, hate the feeling of eyes scanning you up and down.

Before you can react any further, Shoko starts rubbing your shoulder gently.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, okay? We need to get going or else we’ll be there after Gojo and I can’t accept that shame.”

You chuckle to yourself and allow your friend to lead you through the empty pathways of Jujutsu High. Oh, she’s definitely right.

The venue is lit like something out of an old, expensive movie: warm chandeliers, polished floors, and way too many people trying to look important while sipping champagne like it’s not just fermented grape juice. Is this really the Jujutsu High you’ve spent most of your life in? Impossible, unbelievable.

You shift uncomfortably in your heels as you step into the main hall, your arm looped through Shoko’s for stability, both emotional and literal.

“See?” she mutters under her breath.

“We beat Gojo. Small miracles do happen.”

You barely hear her. Your eyes are too busy scanning the crowd.

Looking for him. Looking for none other than Nanami Kento.

There is no way he came too late. No, a man like him never forgets the time, would never dare to be 15 minutes too late.

And then, there he is.

Nanami Kento. Standing near a window, dressed in a classic black suit with a gold tie that somehow makes his entire presence look even more expensive. He holds a glass in his hand, untouched, fingers wrapped around it in a way that makes something inside you stir. His hair is slicked back neatly, and his posture is, of course, immaculate, his shoulders straight, head slightly turned as if he’s only half-paying attention to whoever is speaking to him.

God, he looks unfair. And out of reach for a basic woman like you.

You feel yourself shrinking automatically. Maybe this dress is too much. Maybe you look like you’re trying too hard. You should’ve just stayed quiet and wore the boring skirt, you shouldn’t have allowed Shoko to make your hair like that. What if he-

“Go.” Shoko nudges your side.

You blink. Twice, maybe way too many times.

“What?”

“He saw you. Don’t pretend he didn’t.”

Her voice lowers, amused.

“He looked like someone just sucker-punched him with a love spell.”

Your stomach flips. You glance back toward him - and you catch it.

The second your gaze meets his, he’s already staring. None other’s than Nanami’s eyes are fixed on you. Not wandering, not casually observing. Focused. Stunned, even.

Your breath hitches.

You half expect him to look away and resume his conversation, but he doesn’t. In fact, he murmurs something to the person next to him and steps away, glass abandoned on a table. And then he walks toward you. Is he…really moving your way? Not to talk to Shoko, not to scold Gojo who just arrived? No, his eyes still rest unmistakably on you.

You freeze.

This is a mistake. You should’ve worn something less tight. Should’ve pulled your hair back. Should’ve-

“Good evening,” he greets, stopping in front of you.

His voice is quieter than usual, almost... cautious. You nod, fighting the urge to look at the floor.

“Evening.”

There’s a pause. A long one, to be exact. You can practically feel Shoko smirking beside you before she melts into the crowd with a muttered, “Don’t blow it.”

Nanami’s eyes trail down your figure. Not in a way that makes you feel picked apart, but in a way that feels... sincere. Measured. Gentle.

“You look,” he comments, and there’s the smallest catch in his throat.

“...Stunning.”

You blink. He sounds almost unsure that he’s allowed to say it.

“I hope that’s not inappropriate.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. Did he really just say that. Did he really just call you stunning? Him, that force of a man who turns women’s heads on a daily basis, the sorcerer who stole your heart?

“No, it’s not” you manage, barely above a whisper.

Another pause. Did you act too awkward? Why are you not able to just talk to that man? You’re always acting like a stupid little girl around him, no logical sentence leaving your mouth when his eyes rest on yours. Maybe he thinks you’re dumb, maybe he just came here out of sorrow-

“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” he utters quietly, “but now I think I might.”

You look up at him then. Really look. And maybe it’s just the lighting, maybe it’s your imagination, but there’s something in his gaze that feels soft. Curious. Maybe even nervous. No, this man doesn’t think you’re stupid at all.

“Would you walk with me?”

You nod before your fear can stop you.

“I’ve never seen that color on you before. It suits you. Brings out… more than I should say in public.”

You blink, unable to truly process what the just said.

“More?”

There’s a slight shift in his expression, a subtle softening at the eyes, a twitch of something resembling a smile at the corner of his lips.

“It brings out your strength. Your grace. Things you probably don’t see when you’re covered in dust and blood.”

He pauses, and then adds, with something dangerously close to warmth in his voice:

“You look like something people should kneel for.”

Sukuna

“Get it going or else I’ll change my mind and kill you right on the spot.”

You roll your eyes out of instinct. What’s even worse than being held hostage by the king of curses? Right, getting forced to accompany him to some strange event. All those curses roaming around you while you’re nothing but a simple grade 1 sorcerer. Are you even able to survive this?

Certainly not in that dress. Of course, he had to choose something for you, something you can barely breathe in, covered in glitter with a neckline so low that everything might fall out if you bend one inch.

You’d never wear something like this out in public, not to any event, to be exact. Good for you than no one knows you anyway.

Apart from the curses you tried to kill, maybe.

“That’s enough.”

The sipper isn’t even halfway up when he barges into the room like he owns this place.

“Who the hell allowed you to get in here?”, you shriek, desperately hiding your exposed chest behind your palms.

“Invited? I own this place, stupid human. I don’t need your permission to enter.”

His eyes scan you up and down, seem to devour you whole with each passing second.

You grit your teeth, the zipper still caught halfway up your back. Your palms stay pressed to your chest, heat crawling up your neck as you glare at him. What the hell does he keep staring at you like this?

“Turn around, you creep.”

Sukuna doesn’t move. No, not even a single inch.

Instead, he takes another step in, that wolfish grin playing at the corners of his mouth, all fangs and sin.

“I should be insulted,” he muses, voice a lazy purr.

“You think I haven’t seen a body before? You think yours is special enough to fluster me?”

You throw him a venomous glare, but your traitorous heart stumbles in your chest at the way his eyes narrow on you, low and dangerous. Your heart shouldn’t skip a beat when he looks at you like that, your very own eyes shouldn’t wander around his body, take in the sight of that black suits pressed against his tight muscles.

“…That said,” he adds, “you should see your reflection right now.”

You scoff.

“Why? So I can die of shame?”

He huffs a dark chuckle, stepping closer – way too close for comfort - until the heat of him fills the room like smoke.

“No,” he remarks, gaze dropping to the exposed sliver of your chest you’re trying and failing to hide, “so you understand what it does to me.”

You freeze. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You need to do something, need to shout at him, need to push him away and finally flee this place. But you do nothing. You just stand there and look up at him through thick lashes.

He reaches forward, slow and deliberate - and for a second, you think he’s going to touch you. Instead, his clawed fingers catch the zipper and pull it upward with one swift tug. You shudder at the brief contact of knuckles brushing your spine, of his body heat radiating through your dress so effortlessly.

“Better,” he mutters, though it sounds like he’s talking more to himself than you.

“I won’t have you walking beside me looking like prey.”

He circles you once, hands clasped behind his back now, expression unreadable.

“Though, you clean up better than I expected. Glitter suits you. Shame you’re not mine to keep.”

You spike, oh so eager to keep at least a spark of dignity.

“I was never yours.”

“Oh, I know. But you’re here, in my palace, in my dress, with my mark of protection. Tell me, little sorcerer-”

He leans down, lips inches from your ear, voice low enough to scrape against your bones. You feel like dying and flying at the same time, breath getting knocked out of your lungs as you stare straight into the devil’s eyes.

“-how long do you plan to keep pretending that doesn’t mean something?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Not when he’s this close. Not when your blood is roaring in your ears. Not when you can feel his breath against your skin and all you want to do is both shove him away and lean in. Not when thoughts darker than anything you’ve ever read about start to occupy your mind like parasites.

Sukuna straightens again, clearly satisfied by the way you’re stuck in place.

“Now, keep up. I want the room to see you bleed confidence.”

He pauses in the doorway, casting you one last look over his shoulder.

“And if anyone touches you?”

His voice drops, spiteful and dark.

“I’ll rip their arms off. Slowly.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you with the echo of your heartbeat pounding like war drums and the scent of danger lingering in the air.

Geto Suguru

You still don’t know how you ended up here. Was it the attitude from yesterday or that sundress you wore last week that gave the elders ideas?

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Because you’re already on your way to that gala, already have a clear mission in your mind:

Find Geto Suguru.

Seduce Geto Suguru.

Kill Geto Suguru.

There first two tasks? Quite easy for someone in a tight red dress and an eyeliner as sharp as a blade. But actually killing him?

That’s a whole other thing. You never met Suguru since he went berserk before you joined jujutsu high yourself. What you do know though is the chaos he leaves behind whenever he decides it’s time to kill some non-sorcerers again. What will Gojo say when he finds out?

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you instruct the unknown driver briefly.

You can’t afford to care about that now. Without wasting another precious minute, you enter the grand hall.

The gala is a haze of velvet, perfume, and polished threats. You glide through it all like smoke - calm, unreadable, untouchable. Just here to get your job done and go.

You catch your reflection in the glass behind the bar as you lean in. The red dress clings to every inch it should, your gaze cool beneath the razor-cut eyeliner. You raise a finger delicately to the bartender.

“Pornstar martini,” you order smoothly.

He nods and turns to prepare it. And then, without even needing to look, you feel him.

It’s like a drop in air pressure. Like the moment before lightning cracks a tree in half. The calm before the storm.

“You don’t seem like someone who needs the liquid courage,” a low voice murmurs beside you.

You turn, slow and cautious. It has to be him. There is literally no doubt in the fact that it is him, the man you’re searching for.

Geto Suguru stands next to you, dark eyes full of quiet mischief and something heavier beneath. His long black hair is half-tied, draping over his shoulder in a way that's annoyingly perfect. He’s dressed sharply, but there's something loose in his posture, like he doesn’t believe anything here could possibly matter. Including you.

Wrong.

You smile - the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s not for courage. It’s for taste.”

Geto leans against the bar, elbow brushing yours.

“Ah. So you have standards.”

You sip, then glance at him over the rim.

“One or two.”

“And I wonder,” he mutters, voice dropping as his gaze trails down your frame, slow enough to be insulting if it weren’t so calculated, “do those standards apply to men with a high kill count and a price on their head?”

You click your tongue thoughtfully, swirling the passionfruit garnish between your fingers.

“Only if they buy the next drink.”

He chuckles, deep and rich, and it thrums through your chest despite yourself.

“So,” he continues, stepping closer, enough that his breath touches the shell of your ear.

“What’s a woman like you doing at a party full of ghosts in suits?”

You tilt your head, letting your perfume brush against him.

“Looking for someone interesting.”

“Have you found him?”

You meet his eyes head-on, unflinching.

“Maybe.”

There’s a beat. The music fades into the background. Everything narrows down to the space between his mouth and yours, to the tension crackling in the air like an old wire about to spark. Oh, he’s definitely handsome with that smile just as charming as it is threatful.

He leans in again, this time lower, voice a whisper meant only for you.

“Tell me, darling… are you here to kill me?”

You don’t flinch. Don’t blink. Just take another slow sip. Of course he knows. A man like him doesn’t attend a grand gala assuming nobody is here to kill him.

“Would it make a difference if I said yes?”

He grins - a wolfish, indulgent thing.

“Only in whether I let you finish your drink.”

You smile, matching his energy, then set the glass down with a soft clink. Maybe you can afford your evening getting just a little more interesting.

“And if I’m not here to kill you?”

Geto’s eyes burn like lit oil. He lifts a hand, fingers grazing just above your waist, not touching, not quite. Hovering, patiently waiting for the right moment.

“Then I’ll take that dress off of you tonight.”

Another pause, your heart skips a beat.

“I hope you’re as skilled with your hands as you are with your words,” you murmur.

He laughs again, softer this time.

“Stay close and find out.”

And just like that, he offers his arm, as if this was a royal ball and not a game of knives beneath silk.

You loop yours through his without hesitation. Because you’ve already made your choice.

Find Geto Suguru. Seduce Geto Suguru. Kill Geto Suguru.

And maybe… let him try to do the same first.

Tags:

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Pics from the header:

Gojo: https://de.pinterest.com/pin/159596380538985199/

Geto: https://de.pinterest.com/pin/670895675777719763/

Sukuna: https://de.pinterest.com/pin/670895675777719719/

Nanami: https://de.pinterest.com/pin/670895675777719716/

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch 2

“For good services and cute waitresses”

pairing: pre militaryljk x fuckbuddy!oc

contents: mild language, no smut (yet), fluff, humour, celeb au, a bit of angst, flirting, TENSION. lowkey mean manager. kind of dramatic oc.

wc: 4k

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: if anyone wants to join pls comment!!

masterlist , <prev | next>

It’s 1am, and you and Nari have decided to have a girls night at her apartment. Nari’s apartment is cosy, you and her are sat in front of her TV on her comfy floor-sofa (Which you convinced her to buy rather than a traditional sofa.) She’s glad to have listened however, night’s like these sitting on her floor, blasting music and simply enjoying each other’s company with side of wine make you grateful for having this kind of friendship.

You’d both came straight after work. It’s been a couple of days, two exactly, since Jungkook and his friends had showed up to your work, and you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince when you tell yourself you don’t care and all the exchanges between you were simply out of respect and making small talk. But honestly, who cares? Jungkook is undeniably attractive, you’re probably just another waiter he’s hitting on for fun, you’ll likely never see him again and you don’t wan-

“Do you think we’ll see them again?” Nari’s voice cuts through your thoughts, realising you’ve not been paying attention to the TV playing in the background. “Who?”

She scoffs, tucking her feet under her knees, nudging yours. “Don’t play dumb,” She’s smirking at you, and you’re biting your lip before you answer.

“I doubt it, why? And does it even matter?” You’re taking a sip of your wine, playing it cool, but Nari’s already deadpanning you as you avoid eye contact with her.

“Y/n, you don’t have to lie to me!” Shes whining, giving you puppy dog eyes and you roll your eyes and chuckle.

“Okay- Fine, maybe i do want them to come back, but i honestly don’t care if they don’t, i mean they’re just normal people right? Also, I heard some of their fans are crazy and i seriously don’t want to get caught in the middle of- What the fuck!”

Your breath catches in your throat while you stare at your phone screen, wine glass frozen mid air. Nari, instantly alert, scoots closer, “What?! What happened?”

You don’t answer, too busy reading the words in front of you. It’s a Twitter post- in fact, multiple posts—flooding your screen mid-rant, you’d decided to search Jungkook’s name up and it turns out, he wasn’t the only talk of the town today.

“JEON JUNGKOOK SPOTTED TALKING TO A MYSTERY GIRL AT RESTAURANT IN SEOUL WHO IS SHE?”

Beneath it is a blurry photo of you standing beside their table- table 3. You can tell it was taken secretly—the angle is weird, the lighting is off, but it’s unmistakably you. And even more unmistakably him. In the picture, it’s only Jungkook talking to you, the others are engrossed into the food, and Jungkook’s smirking up at you. And the comments?

“Omg she’s so lucky wtf.”

“They look kinda cute together not gonna lie.”

“Who is she??? Someone find her @.”

“She better stay away.”

“She’s literally doing her job, y’all are so weird.”

“THIS BETTER BE FAKE.”

“Oh shit.” Nari’s snatching your phone out of your hand, scrolling through the posts with wide eyes, and your stomach is churning, the longer you sit there, the more you feel like vomit’s crawling up your throat.

“Theyre talking about me..” You whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it worser than it already is. Nari hums in agreement, still scrolling. “Yep. And they’re crazy. Look at this one—‘someone find her @’? What the fuck?”

Your heart pounds as you snatch the phone back, scrolling faster. The tweet has thousands of likes already, and it’s spreading. You can see people speculating in real-time, some trying to figure out your name, others joking about Jungkook flirting with every waitress he meets.

You try to ignore that. Seeing the far bigger issue at hand.

You hate the spotlight. And this was seriously your worst nightmare, and definitely not how you’d want to end up in it if you ever did.

“Fuck- what if Jungkook sees this? What if he thinks i’ve taken the picture- Oh my god what if he thinks im a creep! I can’t, Nari-“

“Okay, first of all, he probably will see it eventually-“ That somehow makes your stomach drop further, he’ll see it. What a stupid question, of course he will. He’ll see the picture, the comments and all the speculation. “And y/n, that doesn’t even make sense, why and how would you take a picture of yourself, from that angle too?”

“I don’t know!” you groan, throwing yourself back onto the floor sofa, staring up at the ceiling. This is too much. You were fine just a few minutes ago, sipping wine and enjoying your night. Now your face is floating around Twitter alongside his, and you don’t know what to do about it.

Nari nudges your leg, giving you a look of sympathy . “Look, it’s like 2am, let’s sleep it off for now, it’ll probably die down soon, forget about this.”

You wish you could believe that. But as your phone continues to buzz, you have a sinking feeling this is just the beginning.

——

You’re shuffling through the backdoor of the restaurant, head down low and mentally cursing yourself for actually coming to work today. First of all, you’re hungover and you’d tossed and turned next to Nari all night, trying to avoid your phone and updating yourself on the… scandal.

It took some convincing on Nari’s side for you to actually come to work today. After she’d woken you up at the crack of fucking dawn all you wanted to do was go home and rot in bed, and maybe shoot your phone too. Avoid the drama.

Eventually, you gave in. Realising that suddenly not showing up makes you look suspicious- guilty. And that’s why you’re walking in, the smell of grease filling your nose.

Nari’s already behind the bar, handling customers. She notices you, waving while the regulars also wave, you smile back, however it doesn’t really reach your eyes and you know she notices.

—

You’ve changed into your work slacks and shirt, walking up to Nari when the buzz of the early morning starts to die down a bit.

“You seriously look like you wanna die.” Nari snorts when you rub your eyes, sliding a bottle of water in front of you, and you grab it and chug it fast. “Damn, thirsty much?”

You groan, crossing your arms after putting the bottle into the trash, “That obvious?”

“Just a little.” She winks, leaning against the bar, propping her chin on her palm. “But, at least you showed up. I was worried you’d actually quit and run off to live in the mountains or something. And- leave me here, to serve overpriced coffee and processed food to rich people, alone!”

You’re grinning when you look back at her and retort, “Honestly tempting, thanks for the idea.”

“Mm, I don’t think you’d last. No phone, no music, nothing.”

“You’re right, who am i kidding? I’d die within a day.” You’re rubbing your eyes again, sighing. “I still don’t know why I even bothered coming here today, everything’s moving pretty slow,”

Nari’s deadpanning you, “Its 10am. And this restaurant is never quiet. And you’re also a responsible adult with bills to pay.”

“Or because someone called Nari guilt-tripped me into it.”

“That too,” she grins.

For a split second, things feel normal—just the usual banter between you and Nari. No online chaos, no invasive speculation. Just work. Just routine.

Then, of course, the moment doesn’t last.

Two customers approach the bar, and before you can ask what they’d like to order, one of them leans in a little too eagerly.

“Oh my god,” the girl whispers, eyes wide with excitement. “You’re that girl, aren’t you?”

You blink, already knowing where this is going. “…What?”

“You know,” she grins, as if she’s in on some big secret. “The one from Twitter! The one Jungkook was talking to! We came to the right place, Unni! Oh my god- you have to tell me where he sat, where did he sit?!”

They’re both squealing, looking around the restaurant. Your stomach sinks. And just like that, the peace is gone.

Nari’s rolling her eyes, and you simply reply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“She’s totally lying! You’re pretty- i guess, seems like the type of girl he’d go for surely, you can tell us, we wont say anything.” They’re winking, as if you’d tell a stranger that you’re dating a major celebrity. Crazy fans! You cant help but clench your jaw, you take a glance down and you notice they’re sporting Jung-kook’s merch, photo cards, keychains, you name it. You make a mental note to not slip anything about him at all, as if theres any thing to slip anyway… right?

“Im not lying, he only came here to eat, thats it, im just doing my job.” You clearly sound annoyed, and it’s getting worse when you see they clearly cant take a fucking hint.

The second girl gasps, grabbing her friend’s arm. “She’s totally lying!”

The first one giggles. “Come on! Tell us! You’re telling me you actually got to interact with the Jeon Jungkook and you arent telling anyone? Did he say anything? Does he flirt in real life the way he does on camera? Oh my god- are you.. secretly dating?!”

Your jaw tightens, irritation bubbling up. It’s always the same thing—his looks, his charm, the way he flirts on camera. No one ever seems to care about anything beyond that. It’s like he isn’t a real person to them, just some fantasy they like to add shit onto.

And now, because you happened to cross paths with him, they’re dragging you into it too. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be some character in the story of Jeon Jungkook’s life.

Your fingers tighten around the rag in your hand. You inhale sharply, trying to keep your patience, but the way they’re both gawking at you like you’re some kind of rare exhibit is making your skin crawl.

“I was just doing my job. That’s it.”

“But-“

Nari’s had enough. She’s barging beside you, slightly nudging you to the side. “Seriously?! She she’s already said nothing happened, do you not have anything better to do?” One of the girl’s flinch at her raised voice slightly, “So if you’re not here to actually buy food and just here to harrass my friend, i suggest you leave before i call security.”

The first girl’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, while her friend looks absolutely scandalized.

“Harassing?! We weren’t harassing her!”

“Yeah, you kind of were,” Nari deadpans.

“Now, what’s it gonna be? Drinks, or are you leaving?”

A pause. Then, with a few grumbles under their breaths, the girls exchange one last look before turning on their heels and storming off.

Nari watches them go, rolling her eyes. “Fucking weirdos.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping against the counter. “I seriously hate this.”

She clicks her tongue, patting your shoulder. “Yeah, well. Better get used to it.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“Tell that to Jungkook if he shows up again.”

Your heart stops, he wouldn’t… right? Not again. Unless he hasn’t seen the shambles on social media, which you highly doubt. Him coming here again is a recipe for destruction.

—

You spoke too soon once again.

You’re already having a bad day, but this? This honestly just makes everything worse.

Are you fucking serious?

You’re lowering your head slightly, glancing toward the entrance as Jungkook walks in—alone. Of course, he is. Because why wouldn’t he want make this even harder for you? It’s not enough that people have been whispering, not enough that eyes linger on you when they think you won’t notice. Now he’s here, and there’s nothing to remove the attention. No group of friends, no distraction, just him walking in alone so casually, like he owns the place, completely unaware of the storm you’re stuck in because of him.

You exhale sharply, gripping the menu a little too tight as he scans the restaurant. It’s almost a relief when he picks a booth in the back—almost. At least from there, you’ll have a good view of anyone sneaky enough to try taking pictures. But it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s here, and now you have to deal with it.

“Do you want me to go instead?” Nari asks under her breath, her voice low so only you can hear.

“No, I have to go talk to him.“ Shes giving you a smile and nod of encouragement, and you pick up a menu, smiling back and walking over to the booth.

By the time you reach him, your frustration is simmering just under your skin, and you don’t even bother hiding it. Instead of setting the menu down gently, you drop it onto the table with a sharp thwap. Jungkook flinches, looking up at you with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard. Your heart clenches at his big, huge doe eyes. Why does he have to be so… cute! Ugh!

You cross your arms, glaring at him.”Seriously?”

He blinks. “Uh… what?”

You scoff. “Why am I in the middle of this?” You gesture vaguely, but he knows exactly what you mean. The posts, the speculation, the hushed conversations happening the moment you turn your back. “I really don’t want to be a part of this.”

For a moment, Jungkook just watches you. Then he leans back slightly, draping an arm lazily over the back of the booth, like this is just another casual conversation. Like this is nothing to him. “It happens all the time,” he says, completely unfazed, and you couldn’t be more pissed off. “I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes. “Yeah, of course you’re just sorry, well guess what Jungkook, im not you, okay? I’m not used to this- I dont want to be in this”

You don’t mean to snap, but the words come out sharper than you intended. Something flickers in Jungkook’s expression. His confidence doesn’t disappear entirely, but he’s hesitating and biting his lip ring—just for a second. His gaze flickers across your face like he’s actually seeing you now, realizing this isn’t just some minor inconvenience for you. You don’t know what to make of that. It throws you off, just a little. But you hold your ground.

“Im sorry, I didn’t want this to happen- I know how it feels, and ill do what i can to get it under control.” He’s speaking softer, looking up at you before he gets distracted by something in the back.

Before either of you can say anything else, Nari arrives with utensils and plates , setting them down a little harder than necessary. You startle.

“Here you go.”

Jungkook barely acknowledges her, murmuring a quick, “Thank you,” before reaching for his utensils. The interaction is completely normal—just a regular customer getting his order—but you watch anyway, searching for something you can’t quite name.

You trail off after Nari, giving him a tight lipped smile, picking up the plates around the tables near him. Something distracts you- someone. He’s old, in a casual, but smart outfit. Walking up to Jungkook. The man himself seems quite annoyed, like he dosen’t want to be there. You figure he’s his manager.

You’re still watching when Jungkook’s manager walks in and slides into the seat across from him.

Immediately, the atmosphere changes.

“You seriously need to lay low,” his manager says in a hushed but firm voice.

Your grip tightens around the tray in your hands. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but you don’t have to. The tension is clear as day, thick enough to press against your chest. You don’t know why, but something about the conversation makes you uneasy.

Jungkook doesn’t say much—just nods along, eyes downcast as he eats. Whatever they’re talking about, it’s serious.

You decide it’s time for a toilet break.

—

As you step into the bathroom, the cool air and muffled hum of the restaurant give you a moment to breathe. Exhaling slowly, shaking your head to yourself. This entire night has been one giant headache, and you’re barely keeping up.

The door swings open behind you, and in the mirror’s reflection, you see Nari stepping in. Her eyes meet yours briefly before she heads to the sink, washing her hands with the same frustration you’re feeling.

“You okay?” she asks, glancing at you through the mirror.

You let out a dry laugh. “I was gonna ask you that first.”

Nari snorts, shaking her hands off before grabbing a tissue. “Yeah, well. I figured you might need to hear it first.” She tosses the towel in the bin and leans against the counter, taking out her lipgloss and applying some. “What the hell is going on out there?”

“Trust me, i wish i knew.” You groan, rubbing your temples.

Nari raises an eyebrow. “So, what? You two got some unfinished business or something? Cause it kinda looks like it.”

You shoot her a look. “No. Definitely not.”

She hums, unconvinced. “I dunno… that was a lot of tension back there. Thought you were about to start throwing hands or—”

“Nari.”

“Okay, okay.” Shes grinning, nudging your arm. “But really, are you okay? You looked ready to bite his head off.”

You sigh, leaning back against the counter next to her. “I just… I don’t like this attention. The stares. The way people assume things just because he walks in here.”

Nari nods, her expression softening. “Yeah. I feel you, especially those girls earlier, that already annoyed me, i couldn’t imagine being you right now.”

“Exactly.” You run a hand through your hair.

“And now, one of his managers is all over him about laying low, and I’m caught in the middle of it.”

Nari makes a disgusted noise. “Ugh. I hate that. Like, what are you supposed to do? Ban him from the restaurant?”

“Right?”

There’s a brief silence before Nari shifts, giving you a sly side-eye. “But… if we ignore the part where this is a disaster… he is kinda hot, right?”

You groan, shoving her shoulder. “Nari.”

She laughs, raising her hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying! If this was some corny romance film, you guys would so be two scenes away from a heated argument turning into—”

“Nope. Not happening.” You shake your head firmly, pushing off the counter.

“Mm-hmm.” Nari sing songs, but doesn’t push further. “Well, whatever’s going on, you’ll figure it out.” She gives your arm a light squeeze before heading for the door. “I’ll cover if you need a few more minutes.”

You smile, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Nari.”

She winks. “Anytime, Mrs Celebrity.”

You groan again as the door swings shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

When that the calmness of the bathroom suddenly isnt so relaxing anymore, you make your way out, deciding that if you stay any longer, it may look like your actually hiding from him.

Stepping back out onto the floor, the buzz of the restaurant greets you again. You scan the room, gaze flickering toward Jungkook’s table. He’s still there, picking at his food and watching something on his phone but his manager is gone. For a second, you think he left completely—until you spot him at the bar, sitting stiffly, drumming his fingers against the counter like he’s waiting for something.

Or someone.

You sigh, steeling yourself, before walking over. “Can I get you anything?” you ask, keeping your tone neutral.

The manager barely glances at you before exhaling sharply through his nose, looking back to the side and it irks you. Pisses you off. “What you can do is tell me whats going on here. I’ve seen the posts, do you know who he is? Im sure you do, and you know the consequences of these things,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Frankly, I dont care what you kids are doing, but you and him should not be doing this so confidently out in the open.” He scoffs under his breath, fixing his watch around on his wrist absentmindedly on the counter. “But whatever. You don’t seem like the type to listen.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

His gaze flicks to you properly now, sharp and assessing. “I’m saying,” he continues, lowering his voice, “I understand that you have your own life to live, but Jungkook isn’t just anyone. He’s got an entire career, a reputation, and people looking for any excuse to pick him apart. So, unless you want to become the next big scandal, I’d suggest you be a little more careful.”

You cross your arms. “First of all, I’m just doing my job and theres nothing going on between us,” Irritation is building up, you couldn’t be famous. If this is the tiny amount of control you’d have over yourself? You seriously wonder how celebrities can deal with it. “Secondly, Jungkook’s also a grown man, and you cant sit here and babysit him.”

He huffs a dry laugh. “Trust me, I know.” His fingers tap against the glass again, thoughtful. “That’s the problem.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head, letting out another sigh before pushing back from the bar. “It means that he always gets what he wants,” he says, standing up. “That’s all.”

You stand there for a moment, still processing, before glancing over at Jungkook.

His manager is leaving when you turn back, why the fuck is everyone leaving you riddles to solve?!

—

Its a few minutes later when Jungkook’s at the bar, interrupting your zone out sesh, annoyingly enough, he has that same smirk on his face, and what looks to be the bill in his hand.

“Hey,” he interrupts smoothly, stepping between you and your thoughts, “I have to leave a little earlier tonight.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes and making sure what you next say comes off as a joke, “And why would I care?”

Jungkook hesitates just a little, then tilts his head slightly, flashing a quick, teasing smile. “Hm, not sure, you do seem kind of invested.”

You roll your eyes, biting down the urge to smile just to be difficult. “Yeah, in my paycheck. Which I better still have after all this.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh. “Good to know where we stand.”

“You’re a customer, and I work here. That’s where we stand.” You remind him. And you don’t know who you’re trying to convince when you tell him.

“Mm.” He hums, expression faltering the slightest, but you dont miss it. He’s resting his elbows on the bar. “But I don’t see you talking to your other customers like this.”

You scoff, reaching for a glass just to have something to do. “That’s because they’re not you.”

His grin deepens. “Exactly.”

His manager’s coming back through the door, looking out of breath, seemingly in a rush and exhales sharply, clearly fed up. “Jungkook, we need to go. Look’s like someones seen you,”

You look outside, its not a crowd yet, but theres the same two girls standing outside, you make sure to put your head down, not making it too suspicious that you’re hiding but you seem to cover your face successfully behind the bar glasses and you are praying to the Gods that your face isn’t going to be plastered all over your timeline tonight.

Jungkook doesn’t move. He just stays there, watching you, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You meet his gaze, feeling that tension again—annoying, frustrating, but undeniably there.

After a long beat, you raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be laying low?”

Jungkook smirks. “I’m working on it.”

The manager mutters something under his breath and finally leaves the restaurant. Jungkook takes his time following, sliding a tip across the bar before turning toward the door.

And like last time, you wait until he’s gone before checking.

Scribbled next to his unnecessarily large tip, in his barely legible handwriting, is a number, and the same emoji he has tatted into his middle finger drawn terribly next to it.

You freeze.

Jungkook left you his number.

[rhyrhy]

Hear me out… Hockey show off/star Abby and Nerd reader?

Hockey! Abby Drabble

Current day,

“Are you following me?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to see her still, there.

“No” she said quickly. “But let’s say .. I was”

“How would you uh—feel about that?” She added.

“You’re joking right?”

This has been going on for weeks now. Is the same routine, you get done with class and there she is. In all her mighty, jersey number #14, Anderson. Abby, Anderson. Whether it’s her on her phone, talking with a friend, or just leaning on the wall staring into space. She’s waiting. For who actually? She won’t out right say it but you.

At first you thought it was a joke. What on earth did she suddenly want with you. You’ve gone to same school since what, 10th grade. And she never looked your direction then. But for exactly 3 weeks and today being the fourth day like clockwork after your afternoon class, the daunting sight of a tall, blondish- brunette seem to have been filling your vision like clockwork.

“I don’t have time for whatever this is” you brush her off.

“Oh come on. You always do this” she sighs. Following behind you.

Four weeks ago,

She’d never tell you but it did indeed start that way. After a game, the locker room was rowdy per usual. Slaps on the back and bumping shoulders excitedly, after another win.

Abby pulls t-shirt over her shoulder, covering her torso. Hair still damp from the showers.

And Nora continued to list off names. Someone was blasting music from a speaker shoved into a duffel bag. But teammate nora Trying to figure out the current roster that seems to always be rotating. She stretched out her legs and continued.

“Jessica”

“Pass”

“Amanda?”

“Yikes. Hard pass”

Then your name comes up and her head cocks.

“..Are you just making up names now?” she asked, half-distracted.

“No, dumbass know the one with like” she proceeds to vaguely describe you. Emphasize the curve of your ass, typical her. It was less about your personality and more about the way you carried yourself, the way you dressed, the way your legs looked when you walked across campus.

“No idea.” Abby shrugged, turning back to her locker.

“Bullshit,” Nora said, sitting up. “You’ve had classes together since high school.”

“And?”

“And,” Leah cut in, “it’s funny how you don’t notice them, but they definitely don’t notice you either.”

That made Abby pause. Just for a second.

It was a dumb comment, offhand, not meant to stick. But something about it did.

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? People noticed her. People knew her name before she ever said it. On the ice, around campus—she was used to the attention, even if she didn’t always care for it.

But you? You really didn’t seem to care. And for whatever reason, that got under her skin.

“Maybe she’s just not into the whole hockey thing,” Abby said, shaking it off.

“Or maybe she’s just not into you,” Nora teased, grinning.

That shouldn’t have mattered.

But the next day, when she happened to pass by your class right as it let out, she lingered. Just a second too long. Just long enough to see the way you walked right past her without a second glance.

And then she did it again. And again.

Now?

Now she wasn’t sure if she was waiting for you to notice her— Or if she was afraid you never would. Creepy or not, you were kind of easy to stalk considering you were a creature of habit.

It started with just her putting a face to the name.

Nora was right about..certain attributes. Besides that part, after scolding herself for being a dog. You did keep to yourself, more soft spoken than she was. Aesthetic wise, you two clashed completely.

And you totally caught her staring. A gaze you felt from yards away, blue shards digging into your skin.

Of course you’d picked up on this little dance. she stuck out like a sore thumb on the opposite side of campus. eyes always on yours or places they shouldn’t.

You ignored it, hard.

And the first time she asked you out, you almost laughed in her face. Because she had to be joking.

Until she asked a second , then a third with flowers. And today was probably going to be the fourth. There was simply no escaping those blonde locs and board shoulders.

Current day

“Can we do this tomorrow? I’m exhausted.” You don’t even look at her.

Abby huffs a laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “That’s what you said yesterday.”

You sigh. “And?”

“And—” she steps in front of you, cutting you off. Close enough that you have to stop walking. Close enough that the air between you gets heavier. “You keep pretending like you don’t care, but if you really didn’t, you’d tell me to fuck off for good.”

She waits. Watches your expression. Because she’s right, isn’t she? You haven’t shut her down completely. Just enough to make her work for it. And she was a dog after her bone.

But you don’t let that show. You tip your head, unimpressed. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you try.” Suppressing your amusement.

Abby exhales sharply, shaking her head like she’s trying not to smile. Like she hates that she likes this.

“Tomorrow then,” she mutters, finally stepping aside

And just like that, it’s another round. One she intends on winning.

Not proofread just pulled it out my butt ngl , lowkey might come back to this though

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Everybody Here Wants You.

What defines popularity?

—————————————————————————

Money?, Status?, Connections? Sure, you can call them a trait of a popular person but- Karina? yes she’s popular but she has the popularity that can’t be defined. Money? she has a lot, Status? Campus President, Cheerleading Leader, President of the Math Club, Connection? her father is the CEO of “Yuu Enterprise” the highest grossing appliance company nationwide.

But she has a trait that no other popular person has- She has the ability to draw people towards her…some people call it black magic or even a spell? but for her its just as natural as breathing.

Enter you, a dumb athlete who purposely misses class for some random wager basketball scrimmage for you a bottle of a fresh pop soda is better than sitting in class for an hour or 2 learning about what you call “Useless things you won’t need in life” you are one of those people who preach to remove calculus and teach taxes instead.

You’re not famous, unlike Karina you are at the bottom of the hierarchy, the opposite side of the spectrum even! but that doesn’t bother you, all you care about is when will you be able to dribble a basketball again or when will you shoot a perfect 3 pointer again, its a constant thought in your little brain, Sports, Sleep, Repeat” and that alone keeps you weirdly going.

While you think about your next wager match, Karina on the other hand worries what Birkin she’ll buy next or what expensive perfume she’ll put on next, A constant cycle of “What next? to possibly impress them?” popularity means you have to up not only yourself but the expectations of other people.

Its becoming a problem for Karina, she worries that maybe one day she’ll fail meeting other people’s expectations and eventually loses her popularity.

but thats about to change—

You were headed to class when you heard the clanging of the school’s bell, it’s rare for you to go to class this early, but you thought to yourself “hey its not that bad going to class this early for the first time” as you walk the hallways filled with posters, you eventually entered the classroom, As the door creaks open and the attention of everyone in the room shifts from their normal shenanigans to yours they were surprised “wow you actually came to class this early?” said one of your classmates. “I guess even the dumbest of dumbasses has pity for himself” another one shouted “welcome to the world of early classes” one joked. You ignored their comments and marking them off as some horrible joke attempts (I purposely made them horrible please don’t come at me TT), As you made your way to a vacant spot at the very back of the classroom you noticed Karina, sitting pretty beside the window along side her friends, they scream popularity, it seems illegal to look at them without paying or something, as the professor entered the room and marked everyone’s attendance.

While listening (dozing off) you can’t help but snatch a glimpse of Karina’s lavish hair, for some reason even her back view is weirdly comforting, she radiates that kind of energy you feel when you’re having a picnic at top of a beautiful field filled with flowers. You didn’t think much of the couple of glances you’d do since she’s famous everybody does that right?, Karina being her noticed these couple of glances you’d often do, but she noticed that you’re different, every person that’s drawn to her seems to have a different aura than yours, it feels genuine? it feels pure even. she shrugged the thought of it but can’t help recalling the moments earlier, everyone in the classroom teasing you but you don’t seem to care, Her whole persona of being popular, fancy, conscious and always in need of surpassing once self is fairly drawn to your easygoing and carefree attitude.

Some time has passed, you disappeared from the earlier classes yet again, “He’s like a natural phenomenon only making appearances almost every month!” one of Karina’s friend said, another one continued “I know right?, his easygoing attitude is lowkey kinda scary but attractive….” Karina was zoning out, still recalling those moments, a person who doesn’t care about popularity? She blushed at the mention of your name. “Oy Karina, are my eyes deceiving me or are you blushing?!” Karina looked at her friend shocked and trying to deny the whole ordeal.

The lights climax peaks in, the last class for the day, Karina entered the classroom with her usual demeanor not showing any flaws even after the ending of a long day. “Damn man she’s beautiful, I can only ever dream” one boy told his friend “you can’t even dream of her it’s that bad!” his friend rebutted. She sat at the front row by the window along with her friends, the professor’s late for the day— 5:15PM still no signs of the professor. 5:20PM the door opened, instead of the old man who’s fighting hair-loss they were greeted by you. “Y/N?!, you attended class?” everyone surprised yet again” “whats the big deal?” you shouted. Everyone seemed to just shrugged it off easily, as you made your way to the class, you sat beside Karina since there are no vacant seat left except for that one.

“Y/N huh?, it’s surprising seeing you sitting at class” Karina whispered with a faint voice “it’s more surprising knowing my name Karina” she chuckled “Really? for someone who rarely shows up to class everyone knows your name, now thats a different kind of popularity.” she said. “no need for introduction I guess.” She nods. As the clocks ticks at the quarter it was a clear sign that your professor isn’t present for the noon.

You stood up and tried to left when suddenly

“Y/N!” Karina said, You looked at her. “What?”

“Can we talk after class?” she said with a tint of pink creeping up her cheeks. “we have no class though…” saying with a sarcastic tone. “thats besides the point! plus you know what I’m saying!” her friends looking shocked but also knowing where this’ll go. “The famous Karina falling for the no name Y/N?” one blurted out. “so cliché” one exhaled. ��you’re just bitter! lets be honest” while laughing.

As the clock ticks at the 5th hour of the afternoon, all the students left the classroom and all that is left is you two.. “what do you need exactly?” you said. “I just want to know how you can be so easygoing and carefree, the way you don’t overthink stuff!” you were surprised “the way I don’t overthink stuff?, its sort off second nature to me though….” she was surprised “second nature? to as like breathing?” you nod answering her question. “if you look at things a different way those things that bothers you may become the second nature to avoid you know?”

she was left speechless, lingering the sentence a different way to look at things? a different perspective? she never tried to look at things differently— she was always programmed to impress everyone as if its obligated to her. Her whole persona is the famous girl who’d everyone was impress with..but deep down she don’t want that, deep down— she just want to be a normal girl with normal hobbies…

A couple months have passed, the two of you grew more fondly of each other after that interaction, from looking at each-other to being seat-mates every class, yes every class. You grew the motivation to attend every class “Am I dreaming or Y/N’s been attending every class? even the early ones?!” “well you can’t blame me, if i’m close with Karina I’d attend ever class too.” some students mentioned.

Karina and her friends were eating at the lunch table when the topic that was originally about bags and makeup’s suddenly turned into Y/N.

“Hey Karina! you’ve been hanging out with Y/N more than us? care to explain?” one joked. “are you perhaps…interested in him?!” one blurted out, Karina was surprised but never denied it, she looks down flustered and covered in a red tint blush as her body heats up like she’s under the summer sun. Her friends looked at each-other and instantly knew, a one on one set up for a confession is needed.

later that night, Karina’s friends got together in a little sleepover without her to plan a little confession one on one, they argued. “No! it should be in the library! because the atmosphere is perfect! dim lights and light murmurs its like out of a Korean Drama!” “so cliché!, what about after school!” they debated. “I’ll take over since you two are clearly eaten up by tons of Korean dramas.” she slips in. “lets set them up in the school’s garden at noon, and let them figure things out.” after a whole night of arguing they seem to agree on this one.

They messaged Karina about the plan and after a ton of convincing and self questioning she finally agreed. 5:30PM at the school’s garden.

The day finally comes, the usual classes, walking at the hallway, eating lunch and going to classes again, Karina was left at the classroom while her friends bugged Y/N that Karina invited Y/N at the garden at 5:30PM “sure i’ll be there at 5:30.”

5:30PM—

the sun was setting a clear view that the day is ending, there you are sitting at the fountain wondering what’s this whole deal is about.. humming a tune and looking around the beautiful flowers that was being lit up by the suns last basking glow, there she was.

“Hey!” you stood up and approached her. “Hey Y/N did I make you wait for too long?” she said with a hint of concern in her voice. “No worries I arrived not too long ago” the atmosphere was filled with awkward silence all you can hear was the water sprinkling watering the grass.. but then she finally got the courage “Y/N! I-i-i…want to say that….I adore you and your easygoing and carefree attitude!” her shout echoed through the hallways of the campus but with no one around she seems confident. “just say you like me, Karina.” you said smiling. She was surprised but a hint of happiness was covering her face along with the rose tinted cheeks as she nods. Seeing her in this state you can’t help but blush as well, your heart filled with excitement and your brain all fuzzy..is this what love feels like? you thought to yourself.

“are you sure, Karina?” “yes.” as you smiled at her while the sun’s last glow fades away in the distance. “this’ll be tuff” with a smile “huh? why?” she said confused.

“Well—

“Everybody Here Wants You.”

[universalrainbow]

The mask = muted player idea is so funny to me for some reason.

Like

Poppy: "did you really think I was just ignoring you the entire time?"

Player, casually: "idk, I just kinda thought you hated me."

Poppy: [suddenly looks very sad]

Player: "oh. Oh no, please don't be sad, I didn't mean it like that-"

Also, with how chatty player is now, imagine the others wondering just how much they missed out on. Player always seems to have something to say, be it a quickwitted joke, an inquisitive remark, or an exclamation of delight.

Given the grab pack, I assume there wasn't much hand gesturing to convey conversation (and the mask probably obscured eye movements), but there still would have been some moments. Player looking and tilting their head, jerking their chin at something as if making a comment, rapid nodding or shaking.

Thinking back, the others now recognize one sided conversations.

Player is still (playfully) sad their witty commentary went unheard, but it might be for the best. Now any impulsive dumb comments are unknown, and any angry or startled swearing has gone undetected.

(I feel like Player would have been spitting the foulest swears and threats for the doctor after the first freeze incident with Doey. Seeing the poor guy in obvious pain awakens vengeful, protective rage in them. That kind of cruelty Will Not Stand)

Poppy: "did you really think I was just ignoring you the entire time?"

Player, casually: "idk, I just kinda thought you hated me."

Poppy: [suddenly looks very sad]

Player: "oh. Oh no, please don't be sad, I didn't mean it like that-"

doey: "wait so did you think all of us hated you?"

player flinches a bit knowing where this was going: " well..... kinda? its nothing against you guys I swear! its just from my point of view.....no matter what i said, did, or tried to explain. Nothing was really acknowledged. I mean despite only working on the first level as a gift shop employee-"

doey : "wait hold on gift shop?? You weren't a scientist or idk a caretaker??"

player confused: " no? I was a broke newly orphaned 18 year old with no college degree. I was paid dirt wages, while getting yelled at by parents. I wasn't really qualified for either. let alone morally corrupt enough to go along with it."

Toys: newly orphaned....

player casually: oh yea my mom died a few months before my dad, heart disease. Then dad didn't take care of himself and just went in his sleep. Thankfully I was legally an adult at the time.hehe

Toys squeaking to each other: ....Are they more traumatized than us at this point???

player oblivious: Anyway wanna hear about the time my coworker tried to push me into a toy machine because i accidentally ate their sandwitch?

toys squeaking to each other: yep they definitely are.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the factory, players responses.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

mommy long legs explaining the wack a huggy game.

player: Dear god, they just had kids wopping these things without a second thought? What the F**k?! why were the supposed brightest people alive testing fate! This is how you get killed in horror movies. This is what horror shows and games warn about! the warning is dont be a massive D**K for no reason to things clearly more powerful than you!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

player on the first train, scared S**tless: "WERE GOING ON A TRIP IN OUR FAVORITE PEICE OF S**T GOING 95! IM GONNA F**KING DIE!!!!!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Player falls into pianasorous pit

pianasorous notices them

player full of dread :"clever girl"

Doey appears and eats pianasoros.

player : "OH WHAT THE F-"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

player going to fight the prototype

player: Im sleep deprived, hungry, and all out of F**ks! You think YOUR SCARY! I EAT PIZZA WITH PINEAPPLE ON IT!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

player after winning against the prototype: huff........huff i have made the metal one pay for his crimes.

[oogaboogasphincter]

Dumb & Prophetic

inspired by Dumb & Poetic by Sabrina Carpenter

summary: Your relationship with Joel has changed since your arrival to Jackson. His avoidance spells an unmendable ending for the two of you.

warnings: angst, reader has the ability to have kids, established relationship, domestic arguing, yelling, break-up | 1400+ words

a/n: submitted without comment 😁

After trudging through the emaciated shell of post-apocalyptic America, toting a vulnerable you and an ambivalent Ellie by his side, Joel was finally trying to help himself in Jackson. But he was trying to patch up his gaping wounds with sparkly band-aids and no antibiotics, letting the virus fester in his soul without leaking it to the outside world. He had found a place in the woodwork of Jackson and made a caricature of it. 

You’re so dumb and poetic // It’s just what I fall for, I like the aesthetic

Joel was concernedly nonchalant about the enemies he had made along the way to this safe haven, whose advertisement he suckled from without reading the fine print. You knew there was bound to be someone out there of the many, many, many he had put in an early grave — he had to — who possessed a vengeance like him. 

But he was decidedly ignorant, would always tell you that you were paranoid, that you had yet to shake off the ingrained fight or flight response that came with surviving a world like this one for so long. The walls of Jackson were the perimeter of his responsibility, often reduced to just the warped inner workings of his mind. It’s like his instincts that had once been sharp enough to protect you to the ends of the Earth with ruthless lethality have died. Instead, he pours all his energy into “healing” himself. 

Gold star for highbrow manipulation // And “love everyone” is your favorite quotation

You were forced to witness the facade of his friendliness to his brother, like some kind of collateral. Then, Joel would come home to you and haunt your evenings with complaints about Tommy. The masks of those sweet smiles and lighthearted jokes of earlier would melt off and you were left to face the carnage of the embroiled rage and jealousy that Joel felt for his brother. “How could he ever bring a kid into a world like this?” “How can he say Jackson is so wonderful when there are fist fights and threats of raiders or Infected every day?” In some instances, you agreed with Joel’s ravings. And yet, he was never man enough to hint any of this to his brother’s face. You were expected to keep your mouth shut and pretend like everything was warm and cordial in the family.

Try to come off like you’re soft and well-spoken // Jack off to lyrics by Leonard Cohen 

In your own relationship, you had asked Joel to be more open — and opted to nudge him with subtlety when the words shone like headlights on his heart of a deer. All he gave you was regurgitated lines from his newfound coping mechanism: therapy. You had no idea why he went; that just wasn’t him, not the him that you knew and loved fiercely. Joel always took it upon himself to fix everything, took on every burden under the sun just so it wouldn’t pester the ones he loved. He was always self-sacrificial but he had reached a new level and, in doing so, he had become annoying. 

Don’t think you understand // Just ‘cause you talk like one doesn’t make you a man

After saying it nicely a million times over, you were tired of his negativity that trampled both your efforts to hoist his spirit. Finally, one day your resolve snapped, “I don’t want to hear it anymore, Joel! If you learned how to analyze your relationship with Tommy so well, why don’t you actually try and make it better? Better yet, try dumping all the shit you tell me about Tommy onto him! See if you can respect each other’s boundaries then.” 

Joel just stood there, hands in his pockets and staring through the floor. You took a step closer to him, softening your voice and the blow for his stupid, sad eyes. Well, just a little bit — “Why do you even take advice from some woman who can’t even fix her own problems? That you have to bribe to talk to?”

Joel inhales sharply, surfacing from his hellish reverie and looking you square in the eye. His gleam with guilt and ire, “Everyone has a price.” 

Your brows furrow so hard at his condescension that they hurt. “Yeah, exactly. And mine is—“

You cut yourself off, getting tearful as your emotions choke you up. You cross your arms and turn away, walking away, before you whirl back on your heel to make a leveling plea, “Do you really feel that alone? That you can’t talk to your family or Ellie? That you can’t talk to me?” 

Joel visibly gets angry at your indication that Ellie wasn’t family, even though she wasn’t acting like a very grateful member recently. Joel never could stomach your critique that Ellie wasn’t deserving of Joel’s tireless efforts to reconnect with her, not even after her futile display of repayment for what he did. She always groveled that he took her life’s purpose away from her; but without Joel, Ellie wouldn’t have had a shot either way. 

Joel takes a step toward you, shoulders square and gaze dark, and you don’t flinch. You’d seen him pull the same act on raiders he was trying to intimidate on the road in preparation to ignore whatever script they had rehearsed, to instead use that time to plot how he was going to use their stolen souls toward your salvation. You were utterly shattered that you were now on the receiving end of that treatment instead of being tucked protectively behind his hulking frame. Though tears spill over your eyes and run down your cheeks, a smile of cruel disbelief twitches on your mouth as a severe whisper ghosts past your lips, “I’m not scared of you.”

With his ego blown, he sits back on his haunches a bit. He gruffs, “I’m sorry if you only loved me when I was tortured. If you can’t love me as a healed man, then you don’t love me.”

You scoff, “Are you fucking crazy?” His creased brow of idiotic confusion makes you yell, “You’re not healed! If anything, you were more level-headed when we were out in the thick of all that man-eat-man shit!” 

He shakes his head, looking to the side and huffing an irritated chuckle out of the corner of his mouth. He shifts his weight to his hip and shoves his hands in his pockets again, not giving you the respect of eye contact. Instead, you’re forced to look at the profile you have countlessly tried to imagine how it would morph with your own if, in a perfect world or perhaps a past life, you and Joel had kids.

You’re runnin’ so fast from the hearts that you’re breakin’ // Save all your breath for your floor mediation 

You inhale deeply with rage and plea, “I love you, Joel. There’s nothing I want more than to see you relaxed and happy.” He starts to interject, putting his hand up in the air as if to stop you. You cut him off before he can, “But this isn’t it. This isn’t you. You know it. I know it. You can’t fucking tell me you’re happy here, happy with your life.”

You’re so empathetic, you’d make a great wife // And I promise the mushrooms aren’t changing your life 

Joel sighs, tired and hollow, “It’s the best I can do with what’s left of it.” 

You cross your arms as you get tearful and hesitate your speech to find your voice in the rubble of the demeaning comment, “If I’m something you’re settling for, then I don’t want to be with you.”

Joel looks up at you, his expression snapping into fright.

You say, “You’re right. I don’t love you.”

He runs after you as you flee to the door, tugging on your sleeve in speechless begging to get you to stay. You face him and caution, “I’m scared for you. You’ve turned into something pathetic that I don’t even recognize. I’m worried how you’re gonna treat Ellie and Tommy and everyone else that loves you.” You wrench the door open around his frame and push your way out, groveling, “And this good guy persona? No one fucking buys it. And I fucking hate it.”

Well, you crashed the car and abandoned the wreckage // Fuck with my head like it’s some kind of fetish

You walk out, pausing and turning to say a final, devastated few words to Joel as he hunches in the doorway like he’s been shot. “You were a good man before. I’m sorry that I clearly didn’t make you feel that way.” You swallow thickly as a foreboding tendril shivers up the back of your neck, “I hope you stop being nice to the wrong people.”

Joel swallows too.

Don’t think you understand // Just 'cause you leave like one doesn’t make you a man

main masterlist 🖤 join my taglist!

taglist: @pascalpanic @maievdenoir @pedrostories @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed @scentedcandletidalwave @joelsflannel @readiskeepingmegoing

[hyewka]

Ranaaa sub!jjunie content is so dry plis make a drabble with it tooo :(

warning: free use, degradation, misogyny, brat taming, sub!yeonjun, asshole!yeonjun, oppa use but its once 😭younger reader

perfect timing because all i can have brainrot over is taming bratty yeonjun like i love obedient subs but jesus christ imagine having an egotistical pompous asshole grovel at your feet.

an au where hes your older brothers best friend whos always been in your life, constantly berating and making unfunny jabs at you in front of your brothers friend group since highschool; you thought oh well, you wouldn’t have to put up with it any longer once they graduate. to your demise, your brother and yeonjun get closer. they even choose to go to the same exact college. then, your brother lets you move in with him with no worry of paying overpriced rent. it feels like a gift from heaven until you come to dooming realization everythings going too well, too good to be true. the nagging instinct proves to be true as not only does yeonjun visit the apartment every day, he even sleeps over at times. its hell.

because now instead of making dumb teenage jokes about girls like he used to, hes turned into some weirdly overprotective guardian. making snarky comments on what you’re wearing whenever you go out, or giving you a scolding about how men “really” are for the tenth time and how oh youre so naive, you’re perfect prey for the kinds of guys in the “real world”. he talks your ear off, and when he gives that up he moves to belittle you and berate. its all hes good at. leech.

its no surprise seeing yeonjun on the couch again, you cant even kick him out because your brother pays like 80% of the rent—thats the con of paying less. you can’t fully treat this apartment like your place.

you also aren’t surprised when he catches you, eyes narrowing as they look you up and down. he sighs. you ignore it, putting on your heels.

“are you really going out like that?”

just ignore.

“i keep telling you its not safe to wear stuff like this but you don’t listen.”

ignore him.

“you know there are men out there who—hey, are you even listening?”

ignore.

“hey!” he yells, straightening up. you give him a glare this time, fool. you see the beer cans laying around everywhere. he’s a fool. good for nothing, a pretty face wasted on a fucked personality. he slumps back against the couch, tsking. “forget it. i’m just looking out for you while your brother can’t but okay, whatever, dress like a whore all you want. just don’t expect to be treated with-”

the rooms silent. all you feel is the burning numb feeling on your palm and rage snuffed the moment your hand landed across his face. you slapped him so hard, when he looks at you with wide wet eyes and a split lip, you let out a dry laugh. you feel everything rush back to you. all those humiliating memories. “seriously, who do you think you are? you’ve berated me those two years, embarrassed me, treated me like shit in front of people, and now you want to act like some fuckass parent?”

he flounders, you see the fear and confusion in his eyes, the way his lips part to say something only to come out with nothing. you grab his face, gripping it hard. “slut shaming me for what i wear? in this year? god, you must really not have a conscience.”

“i’m not slut shaming you! i’m just protecting-”

“protecting me? is that what you wanted to say? really?” you sneer, putting your knee between his legs, “what are you protecting me from? guys like you? perverted, sleazy, good for nothings?”

his cheeks are deep shade of red, it could be from how rough you’re gripping his face, or how hard you slapped him earlier or it’s him blushing. all those possibilities are amusing to you—you like it in fact. he’s stammering, shaking his head, trying to pull your hand off him. but he fails, which visibly gets him even more haughty and embarrassed. poor guy, he looks like he’s about to sob.

“what the fuck has gotten into you!? you’re speaking to me informally like i’m not your-"

“senior? oppa?” you push your thumb past his lips, and he panics again but you make sure to press on his tongue particularly hard. “you’re not any of those things, stupid mutt.”

you’ve always fantasized about being on top, someone taking charge of one whos always under your control, reacting to every touch or twist, you just didn’t expect to be in a predicament where yeonjun’s the one you’re feeling the burning desire to ruin. all of him, you want to ruin him.

seeing as how his eyes have welled up enough tears that they could spill any moment, it didn’t look too hard. “gosh, with the way you parade around, i’d think you wouldn’t be so easy to break.” you laugh coldly.

“y-you didn’t break me, fucking bitch. i’ll tell your brother-" he sounds like an actual fool talking, you could barely make out what hes saying, but lucky for him you caught on to the gist.

“no, you’re seriously a sleazebag. you go on and on about how men really are, warning me about this and that, but right now you could easily manhandle and overpower me, but you just sit here. and fuck, you pop a boner at me being slightly mean to you? tell me, was it the dress that you’re telling me not to wear out? calling you a stupid mutt? my leg? or god forbid, the slap?” you smirk at seeing his eyes widen looking down, they might really pop. did he really not know he got hard?

“pervert. you really were just warning me about guys like you... perverts.”

you shove two fingers in his mouth, simultaneously choking him and shutting him up, serves him right. “i bet you’ve jerked off this pathetic dick of yours to the thought of me. is that why you feel the need to berate me? to cover for your guilty conscience? stupid mutt.” you’ve having too much fun with this, seeing him not fight back, just sitting there taking it, letting his tears drip down. choi yeonjun…a crybaby. who would’ve thought.

you don’t mean for it to go any further, its just a little scare to get him off your back, a little grinding against his clothed hard on, just a little to have him elicit a whiny moan, just a little to have his senses overwhelmed—a little to have him humiliated with spilling his slimy seed in his pants so quick, sticky cum staining his boxers. leaving him there on the couch, overstimulated and pathetic, breathless, with an arm draped over his face, while you go out to the party you’re a bit too late for.

no jackets to appease him, no change of clothes, it felt freeing. you should do this more often.

then imagine smothering your cunt on his face, pinning the stupid asshole down just frustrated out of your mind and using him to have him shut the fuck up for once. his incessant whining and squirming under you dies down..eventually. then he stops pretending to not like it anymore, and you hear the squelching. he’s jacking off. he’s been so annoying and you’ve been sexually frustrated for the past week— getting a scolding from your professor today was the final straw. luckily for you, yeonjun said something to piss you off again.

he hasn’t stopped since that day, actually you figure him being an asshole only got worse after that incident. he’s more mean, despite humiliating him over and over again. you even positioned him to bend over your lap when your brother was out, spanking him until he shook, cheeks beet red. no matter how much you humiliate and berate him, it doesnt deter him, he only becomes worse outside of sex. “god, you’re super fucking annoying, you know that?” you groan, sliding your cunt back and forth his face, gripping his hair.

you can’t be mad for long when he’s making an effort to actually make you feel good, eagerly opening his mouth, lewd eyes looking up at you through his wet lashes as he eats you out—you find it cute almost. you dispel the thought, and decide to look elsewhere other than his face to keep your mind off. this is for your pleasure, not his, focus on that high building up.

its a weird relationship, you and yeonjun. he lets you use him however you like despite his complaining, he says he doesn’t want it, then he purposefully riles you up—you know that because every time he does it and you take his bait successfully, you find he isn’t in any underwear. bastard.

“stop jerking off freak.” you grit, shutting your eyes as you get sloppier and quicker, so …close. you can hear he followed your demand, the only sound being your desperate grinding. then you feel his whine, it sends some vibration, like he’s really a mutt begging for you to look at him. you ignore it, you’re good at that. but then he turns his head to your thigh, biting the flesh and you jolt. this indecent brat! you take two fistfuls of his stupid dyed hair, and move just a little more. a little more, and you cum all over his face.

minutes go by after you orgasmed and you’re on your back, on your bed, kicking him out with the lower half of his face glistening, wet with your cum. “leave.” you regard him coldly and he rolls his eyes, frowning, wordlessly shutting your door aggressively. a smile slowly spreads across your face as the realization sets in; he’s probably mad you blue balled him. serves choi yeoniun right.

this is definitely some much needed therapeutic healing.

[sturnzsblog]

empty dreams and false promises 11

summary: y/n life changes and not for the best she is forced to move in with three people that she barely knows. She ends up falling for one of these strangers, but who will it be?

Warnings: mentions of death, stalking, drugs ( not actual use) and smut! this is for all parts of the story! please let me know if i missed any!

It had been weeks since that night.

The night Matt almost kissed me.

The night Chris gave me candy and I cried so hard I thought I’d break in half.

Since then, everything had felt… weird. Not bad. Just weird.

Chris hadn’t yelled at me once.

That alone was enough to throw off my entire internal rhythm.

He hadn’t been nice exactly — I didn’t think he even knew what that meant — but he was… different. The sharp edges were still there, but duller. The harshest parts of him pulled back just enough for me to breathe around him.

Which only made things more confusing.

⸻

The first time I noticed something shift, it was a Tuesday.

I had come into the kitchen to get water before bed, hoodie pulled over my head, socked feet dragging across the tile. Chris was already there, leaning against the counter, eating trail mix straight from the bag.

Usually, we ignored each other in moments like that. Or he’d make some passive-aggressive comment about how I “walk like a raccoon.”

But this time, he just looked at me and said, “You always drink outta that cup?”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

He nodded at the blue mason jar I’d grabbed from the cabinet. “You used that one last night too. That’s, like, your water cup now?”

I stared at him, heart hammering in the stupidest way. “I guess.”

He shrugged. “Kinda lame. But fitting.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lame.”

He smirked. And that was it.

But it was the first time in weeks that his words didn’t make me want to cry.

⸻

After that, things just started happening.

Little things.

Small moments I didn’t even know I could hold onto until they passed.

Like the time I sneezed during dinner and Chris — mid-chew — muttered a barely audible “bless you”.

Or the time I tripped coming up the stairs and he reached out, caught my arm without thinking, then let go like it burned him.

Or the morning I sat alone at the counter scrolling through my phone, and he dropped a granola bar in front of me without saying a word.

Every time it happened, I’d look up at him.

And every time, he’d already be walking away.

⸻

But he also still got to me.

He could still be cold. Still shut down when I got too close.

Still toss a perfectly crafted insult that hit too close to something soft in me.

Which made the moments when he wasn’t like that feel like whiplash.

Like that night in the garage.

⸻

Matt had roped me into helping him sort through a bunch of boxes that had been gathering dust for months. We were blasting music from his speaker, both covered in cobwebs and laughter. It was the lightest I’d felt in days. Weeks, maybe.

I had just tried balancing an old football helmet on Matt’s head when Chris walked in.

His face dropped.

I knew that look.

Matt didn’t notice right away, too busy laughing with me about something dumb. But I did.

Chris’s jaw ticked. His eyes swept the room like he was searching for something that had been stolen from him.

“This is kind of our thing,” he said, flatly.

The words hit me harder than they should have.

My smile faltered. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

Matt stepped in, trying to defuse it, but I’d already taken a step back.

Chris didn’t say another word. Just turned and walked out, leaving silence behind him like a storm cloud.

And I hated that it hurt so much.

⸻

Still, I didn’t stop trying.

I’d say “hi” when we passed in the hallway. I’d make a joke during dinner, testing the waters.

Sometimes he’d laugh. Sometimes he wouldn’t.

Sometimes he’d leave the room entirely.

But every so often — just enough to make it worse — he’d look at me like he wanted to say something.

Like he was stuck between hating that I was here and needing me to stay.

⸻

Then there was the day I made him laugh. Really laugh.

I was watching TV in the living room, curled up under a blanket with popcorn in my lap. He came in, plopped beside me with zero warning, and started watching too.

Fifteen minutes in, a commercial came on — some cheesy ad for perfume with dramatic music and people running through fog.

I scoffed and said, “I bet it smells like expired watermelon.”

Chris snorted, full-on snorted.

Then he covered his face, groaning. “Jesus, shut up.”

But he was smiling. For real.

I stared at him, stunned. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

I grinned. “I didn’t know you could smile.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t.”

But I did.

And that scared me.

⸻

Because there was one night — when the house was quiet, and I was in the kitchen again — and Chris came in without saying a word.

I expected him to ignore me like always.

But instead, he leaned on the counter across from me and asked, “Why did you even move in here?”

I looked up. “I didn’t exactly choose it.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But still. It’s gotta be weird, right? Living with us.”

I shrugged. “Weird isn’t the worst thing I’ve been through.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then said, “You don’t seem scared of me anymore.”

I swallowed. “Should I be?”

He stared at me — a long, unreadable glance — and then tilted his head.

“Maybe,” he said, voice quieter now. “I can be kind of an asshole.”

“Kind of?” I laughed, surprised.

He smiled — a tiny one — and looked down like he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

“Fine. I’m a professional asshole. You caught me.”

“You wear it like a badge.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m just honest. Most people can’t handle that.”

I leaned back against the counter, folding my arms. “No, you’re mean. You just call it honesty so it sounds cool.”

“Ohh,” he said, smirking. “She’s got bite now.”

“Bite I’ve always had,” I replied. “I just don’t waste it on people who aren’t worth it.”

He blinked, then his smirk grew. “So I’m worth it now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

I narrowed my eyes, lips twitching into an involuntary smile. “Don’t twist my words.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, but there was that glint again. That quiet, clever grin like he was always three steps ahead.

We stood there for a second longer — the room silent but full of something unspoken.

Something buzzing.

Something dangerous.

⸻

It wasn’t long, but it lingered.

The kind of moment that gets replayed in your head against your will when you try to fall asleep.

The kind of tension you want to ignore but can feel curling around your ribs.

Something about the way Chris looked at me that night — just for a second — felt new.

Felt loaded.

Not soft exactly. But not hard, either.

Not safe. But not cruel.

Just… dangerous.

And kind of addicting.

⸻

The next morning, when I passed him in the hallway, he didn’t say anything.

But he did nudge my shoulder with his as we walked by each other.

Like it was a game now.

And suddenly, I couldn’t tell which was worse — when he hated me, or when he didn’t.

Now, every time he enters a room, my heart stutters.

Every time he walks past me without saying something cruel, it feels like a victory.

Every time he stays and lets the silence stretch — a safe kind of silence — I want to memorize it.

But I don’t trust it.

Not yet.

Chris is a storm.

And storms don’t stay calm forever.

yippie!

2 more tomorrow?

janae 💋

taglist💋

@n00dl3zzz

[baeddel]

I think the purely in-game reading of gwyndolin betrays the out-of-game reading which is an obvious 'trap' situation, that is to say, a trans woman written by someone who either doesn't know what a trans woman is or has reasons to avoid the concept. Out of all the unreliable narrators of dark souls, miyazaki is but one of them.

see my previous post for why i don't agree with your interpretation of the "purely in-game reading"

i also really find this perspective quite shocking; what about Gwyndolin strikes you as insensitive or ignorant? just because she has an identity that isn't exactly yours? i feel like this is binarist at least... it's similar to how people say that GGACR's Brigitte and Testament were transmisogynist stereotypes and were corrected in Strive; that is the transmisogynist position...

also just look at how Dark Souls is written. virtually nothing in it is assumed from our world; everything that enters its cell of meaning is subjected to complex critical assessement. it is demanded of everything that it be fully explicable in terms of the world of Lordran and not in terms of earth. even the existence of a glaive, which we have in our world as a common weapon and would not startle any player more than a sword or shield, is rigorously explained as arising from Gwyn's knights' conflict with the Izalith demons, demanding special weapons that can stand up to large enemies. of course in this setting you won't just get a normal transgender woman with the same relationship to gender as us. the demand it makes of us is to interpret gender in light of Lordran's own system of meaning, and locate Gwyndolin within it.

the games have gender and hormones sliders ffs XD

because calling it a gender slider ASSUMED TOO MUCH! so in the next game they called it a HORMONE SLIDER!

no one was ever that careful with their game!!

by the way, on Miyazaki, let me defend him a little bit: i won't be able to find it too easily (translations kept getting made and hosted on some google doc that later disappeared) but there was an interview with him on some kind of gaming show that had twitch-like viewer comments that they'd respond to. the topic came up that everyone was saying who their waifu would be (and they all hade cute bynames for their favourites). Miyazaki acts embarassed: 'i didn't know i made this type of game...' then he's looking at the chat and he reads it out: 'otokonoko... otokonoko... who do they mean?' the interviewer explains that they mean Gwyndolin. he says: 'i don't understand, Gwyndolin is clearly male... he has a male voice actor...'

this line has fascinated me so much, for over ten years... look at it... he can't be an otokonoko, says Miyazaki. because he has a male voice. what did he MEAN!!!!!!!!!!

i've started to think that he was actually joking, like playing dumb. as if he didn't even know what an otokonoko was and thought they were pretty young girls :) i'm not sure... i would have to hear the tone of his delivery, etc... in effect learn Japanese (because i'll never trust someone else to tell me!)... maybe one day i'll understand. in any case, Miyazaki's views are probably strange and complicated. we do not know how we got Gwyndolin out of them; but we did, and that makes all the difference.

[spongeofaces]

Matchup exchange for @thecurrator 1/3

---

First of the three matchups! I'm sorry for taking so long with these 🙇‍♀️

Really loved the one you made by the way, super cute.

Hope it lives up to your expectations!

Do tell me if I made any errors, I'll fix it up right away.

---

Romantic

I match thecurrator with...

🐉 Malleus Draconia 🐉

-:-:-:-

Malleus may be an absolute sweetheart of a partner, but he is also new to this kind of relationship. He does try his best, however he may not always know what is expected of him; what's too much or too little. Just be patient with him, okay? He'd wait an eternity for you, after all.

Typically, Malleus talks to others in a respectful yet somewhat cold tone, but fortunately he's comfortable enough around you to drop the polite walls he's built up. At times, he may find himself making small jokes or teasing comments that he usually wouldn't make with anyone else. Slowly yet surely, he'll become more and more willing to act childish if he wishes to, not feeling the same shame he used to when he acted in such a way. You've helped him become a lot more open with his words and actions, and he appreciates that.

As someone who has had personal experience with feeling isolated for a long time, Malleus has made it his personal mission to make sure that as long as the two of you are together, you'll never feel lonely. He needs you to know that no matter the situation, no matter the time, he is willing to be by your side. There's no need to hesitant or worry if you want to ask Malleus to spend time with you, I assure you; he'd drop anything if it meant he could be with you instead.

Malleus can take on any role in a conversation, switching between speaking and listening depending on the current mood. Whenever you speak, he is sure to pay his utmost attention, treasuring the words that leave your lips, storing away any and all information you give him in his head. You may make a one-off comment about a show you sort of like, and a day or two later he'll be bringing it up, having watched some of it to learn more about your tastes. Whether you feel like fast-paced banter, meaningful conversation, sudden rants or complete silence, Malleus is always happy to oblige.

This guy does not hold back on the compliments, always finding some sort of excuse to praise you. No matter how mudane a task you complete is he'll have something positive to say about you. Just by the look of utter adoration in his eyes, you can tell that it isn't empty flattery; he means every word of it. At this point, you find that he's truly enamoured with even your smallest actions and behaviours.

Definitely a gift giver. He'll experiment with different types of gifts, trying to get a read on which kind of trinket you treasure most. At the start, he'll stick to the default gifts, flowers, jewellery, clothes, plushies. The only thing that isn't stereotypical about the gifts he gives, is the amount. You'll be recieving something every other day, some things small, some things large. His gifts will become more personalized as he learns more about you.

He adores spending time participating in your interests with you. He'll organize movie nights or days to binge entire shows, just so he can listen as you discuss the themes and delve into the characters.

He is not going to help with your habit of getting lost in new places, if I'm honest. Pretty sure he'll just play dumb and let you lead you both off-track, feigning ignorance when you ask if he has any clue which way to go. Oh, but he doesn't have any malicious intent, he just finds the act of going on a simple, spontaneous walk with you pleasant.

He'd go absolutely anywhere if only you'd invite him. If he's the one choosing a date location, it would probably be somewhere out in nature, with a pretty view or scenery. He may start getting sappy and compare you to a flower or something, how you react to that is up to you.

Make him a music playlist, and it will be the only thing he listens to for practically the entire month. He might seek you out to talk to you about how he interprets certain lyrics and songs. He's grateful you took time out of your day to make something so thoughtful for him.

You two share the 'unapproachable' vibe. You because of the rbf, him because of his intimidating presence. But hey, at least you two know that the other isn't as scary as they look.

If you ever space out, he'll just sit in silence and watch you affectionately, wondering what could possibly be going through your mind at that moment. When class is about to start, he may poke your cheek to snap you out of the small daze.

Other options: Silver and Jade.

[thelovelymissck]

Helllooo again. 'Pilates' nonny here which is kind of aw at the name I've been given lol. I know i said I was going to try to stay off these blogs but I also don't want to ghost because ive seen other people spill things and leave and never return. It's pretty much end of day for me and I'm winding down and reading all of this and I'm going to try to answer/remember all the questions.

1) why was i talking to him knowing he dated doja.

Sigh this is on me. Its not going to be a good answer. I stopped being a fan but when I saw he was back on raya, idk, I just kind of wanted to see what would happen? Like a morbid curiosity? Would the celeb i used to like even be interested? And when he was interested it kind of gave me a little thrill honestly. Like I said I never had success on raya. Now the guy i used to like is talking to me. Yeah maybe im stupid for it but it did kind of make me feel good about myself (until now lol) nd then the more we talked the more i..liked him?? Ergh.

2) did we talk about past relationships/relationships/doja/what we want

Sorta kinda not really. We were talking about a band once and I in passing brought up my ex and said he saw them live like fifteen times and he more or less coyly asked if this ex was still in the picture. It was a jokey thing. I said no but he was my last serious relationship and I hadn't been serious with anyone for a while and asked what about you? He said the same, that his life had been pretty hectic at the moment and he hasn't had a serious relationship in a while (I know. My brain was also short circuiting because wtf either doja was fake or he never took it serious). I never flat out asked what he was looking for but we've talked about how one of my hobbies is baking and I bake a lot snd one morning when I was making muffins he commented on 'how lovely it would be to wake up to a beautiful woman baking for him'. And hed do little comments like that. Things like how are you still single or once after being busy and not getting back to him right away he joked asking if i was busy talking to another man. Again, looking back this means nothing but it did lead me to like, feel special and think I was someone he'd actually be into bigger picture. It felt like he wanted me more than just sex? Uaguguhebend this all sounds so stupid repeating it back. Look I know I was falling for bullshit but when its in the moment it just kind of feels sweet and dumb idk how to express it.

3) how was he pushy?

He doesn't like being ignored or told no. He was out having a drink one night and kept trying to get me to come out. Honestly I just felt too anxious about it and couldn't go so I kept telling him I was already in bed. This man was very pushy with it but like also with flirting? Toward the beginning he'd make little comments that id sweep under the rug and say something else and he'd just steer back to it. Idk. I will say that's the only time he actively asked me to go out but he would talk about like "oh when I see you im going to show you xyz" or "when we get together you have to try yadayada"

4) how is he funny?

Hes chummy. He talks like he knows you and is buddies with you and isnt scared to overstep or crack a joke. I'd send him a picture of something id think was amusing and he'd be like "you would think that's funny" or just kind of poke fun.

5) how late how early

Not too late. I'm not a night owl. He'd usually get chatty around 9 but we have stayed up talking til 3. Early usually about 530-6

I haven't spoken to him or replied to him since yesterday. I figured he wouldn't care or even acknowledge. But like I said we would speak just about daily. I rarely got goodnight texts as id fall asleep before him it seems but I would often get good morning. He's messaged me twice today, once telling me about a movie he just watched that he thinks I would like and then tonight he's sent me, I shit you not, "yoooohooo 👋". Which honestly pissed me off more. Yoohoo? Yoohoo????? Like the other nonny said about him saying vibes are off i think he can maybe sense im ignoring him. I don't want to be petty and tell him im done but honestly at least now im less sad and now more pissed.

Thanks for coming back and answering some questions. My advice: be a petty bitch 😂