#and what that actually says about the team

[star-5truck]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Sypnosis: Blue Lock men getting jealous! Characters: S. Nagi, R. Itoshi, S. Itoshi, M. Kaiser

Jealous - Nick Jonas

Cause you're too fuckin' beautiful

And everybody wants a taste

That's why (That's why)

I still get jealous

Nagi Seishiro

-Reo and you are the only people he hangs out with. But you and reo are closer than he thought.

-he trusts reo, he trusts you, so why is there a pit in his stomach?

-The feeling doesn’t go away for DAYS and he can’t stand it

-Ends up going to isagi for advice

-Isagi just looks at him confused “You mean your jealous, right?”

-Jealous? But reos his friend??

-Gets the balls to talk to you about it.

“Reo?” You said, a look of confusion on your face as you looked over at your boyfriend. “I mean, he is a nice guy. But I’m dating you, Sei.” You give him a kiss on his cheek, making his ears tint the slightest bit of red.

“Jealousy is a hassle.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and holds you tight. He settles in the crook of your neck, sighing in content. “I trust you angel. ‘m sorry for feeling that way.”

He feels your body shake from your giggle, he’s about to ask why before your hands are raking through his hair. “It’s fine. Jealousy is normal.” That’s all the reassurance you both need.

Itoshi Rin

-Gets jealous when you ask one of his TEAM MATES to teach you soccer.

-He’s right here??

-Worst part, he found out about it through said team mate. You didn’t even bring it up with him.

-Keeps thinking about it every second now

-Did you not deem him a good enough teacher?

-He knew he was harsh with words but that was only SOMETIMES (It really isn’t)

“Rin?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts, making him look up at you.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring again. Something on your mind?” You’ve noticed he’s been quieter nowadays. Staring off into nothing like his thoughts were so important- which they could be. But you’d like to help him in his predicament.

“Do you not want to spend time with me?” He asks suddenly, making you blink in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I know you asked Shidou to teach you soccer.”

Your face is immediately red. He wasn’t wrong, anyway, it’s just that Rin took it the wrong way. You’d asked Shidou to teach you soccer because you wanted to spend more time with Rin. You just wanted to impress him. Rin tells you that’s a stupid idea. Immediately makes you stop your lessons with Shidou.

Itoshi Sae

-First of, Sae doesn’t get jealous. He’s perfectly comfy with how your relationship is and knows you wouldn’t cheat on him.

-Never fucking mind

-Who does this waiter think he is asking for your number?

-Sae is literally sitting infront of you on a DATE

-Gives the guy the worst stare you’d ever imagine

-Of course, you don’t give the guy your number but it still irks Sae.

“We should stop going to that restaurant.” Sae says after he starts the car and you’re on the road. You look at him surprised. Considering Sae’s the one who suggested you eat there in the first place.

“What? Why? Isn’t this one of the few restaurants that consider your diet?

“I don’t care. The staff there aren't that friendly.” He’d rather DIE than admit he’s jealous. He might even crash this car right now if you decide to push it. He’d ask you to step out before crashing the car, of course.

“Sae are you sure-?”

“That place doesn’t have [favorite drink] right? Thought so. We should go to places with more variety anyway.”

Michael Kaiser

-You’re at his game, like always, of course.

-And like at every game, there is a kiss cam.

-See, Kaiser makes sure to get you VIP tickets so you don’t end up there.

-That fails when another VIP sits next to you, and the kiss cam lands on you both.

-The guy is already leaning in and Kaiser is already fuming.

Every player on the field actually stops playing out of shock. Considering the fact Michael Kaiser is the biggest opponent for BOTH teams. They all watch as he runs over to the VIP seats, jumps over the railing, and curtly flips off the camera and the guy. He kisses you, it's quick, but the stadium still erupts in cheers. “There’s a kiss for you.” He says to the camera, making another round of yells come.

“Micha, WHAT do you think you're doing?” You tell him baffled by the events that had just passed.

“Showing them you’re taken, what else?”

You now wear one of Kaiser’s jerseys every game.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which the next chapter begins

new york city hums like it knows what’s about to happen. there’s a kind of electricity in the air, thick with promise and nerves, and as your driver weaves through the busy streets, you watch paige take it all in from the backseat—her face turned to the window, hood pulled over her head, hand clasped tightly in yours.

“this doesn’t feel real,” she murmurs, eyes wide as they track the towering buildings, the people, the energy. “like, i’m actually here.”

you squeeze her hand. “you’re not dreaming, bueckers.”

she smirks, still dazed. “you sure? 'cause being in new york with you, about to get drafted number one… i must’ve done something right.”

you look at her—at the soft awe in her voice, the nerves she’s trying to hide—and smile. “you earned all of this.”

she leans over and kisses the back of your hand. “wouldn’t be here without you.”

the hotel lobby smells like roses and money. a few of the other top picks are checking in, media reps scattered around, coaches from various teams exchanging polite nods. paige walks in with her backpack slung over one shoulder like she’s still in college, but she’s greeted like a queen.

people look at you too—curious, trying to place you. her plus one, but not a public one. not yet.

upstairs, the suite is stunning. floor-to-ceiling windows, champagne already chilling in a silver bucket on the table, and a view of manhattan that would knock the breath out of anyone.

paige walks straight to the window. “god,” she whispers. “how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”

you wrap your arms around her from behind. “you won’t. and that’s okay.”

the next few days are a whirlwind of cameras and flashing lights, pre-draft interviews, and moments stolen in between where paige clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping her grounded.

you walk with her to early press calls, watch her shake hands with executives and talk to reporters with the perfect balance of humility and fire. she rides up the empire state building in an elevator full of pr staff, but she only holds your hand. at the top, she stands by the glass and whispers, “feels like the whole world’s watching.”

“they are,” you say, brushing your fingers against hers. “and they’re about to see what happens when a star rises.”

the suite becomes a glam studio before the sun even rises. stylists, makeup artists, wardrobe specialists—all bustling around paige while she sits in the middle of it all, cross-legged in a robe, sipping coffee like she isn’t about to have her life change forever.

her stylist calls you over as you’re about to change into the outfit you packed.

“actually,” she says, holding up a garment bag. “this is for you.”

you blink. “that’s not mine.”

“it is now. paige picked it out. said it had to be perfect.”

your chest tightens as you unzip the bag, revealing a dress so perfectly you, it feels unreal. the fabric is soft, expensive, and the color—something muted and romantic—brings out your features in a way you didn’t even know was possible.

“she did this?” you whisper.

“she wanted you to feel special today too.”

you change in the bathroom, hands shaking slightly. when you finally step out, paige is standing near the window, fully dressed in a glittery-dark colored custom suit that has her shimmering with every step, her curls falling effortlessly over her shoulders.

she turns—and everything slows.

her mouth parts. “holy... you look…”

you laugh, flushed. “you too. you clean up alright, bueckers.”

she walks up to you, cups your jaw gently. “you’re unreal. thank you for being here today.”

“there’s nowhere else i’d be.”

the red carpet outside the venue is chaos—reporters, photographers, wnba legends, fans with signs, people shouting paige’s name like it’s already etched into history.

you try to stay a step behind her, to let her soak in her spotlight, but she won’t have it. her hand wraps around your waist and stays there. through the cameras, the chaos, the interviews—she keeps you close.

you’re standing just off to the side when the espn interviewer waves paige over for a quick one-on-one. the camera is rolling, and you make a move to step back, but paige pulls you forward by the hand.

the interviewer smiles knowingly. “paige bueckers! big night. how are we feeling?”

paige smiles back, calm and radiant. “excited. grateful. nervous. all of it.”

“you’re projected to go number one overall—does that add pressure?”

“a little,” she admits. “but i try to block it out. i’m here to soak it in and be present.”

the interviewer nods, glancing at you briefly. “and you’ve got some company tonight. can we ask who your date is?”

paige glances your way, and you feel her fingers squeeze yours.

“she’s someone very special to me,” paige says, voice even but warm. “we’re here to celebrate the moment. that’s what tonight’s about.”

“so… are you confirming you’re in a relationship?”

she chuckles, not flustered at all. “i’m confirming that i’m not doing tonight alone. that’s all you get.”

“alright, alright,” the interviewer laughs. “we’ll take it.”

twitter explodes five seconds later.

inside the venue, the lights dim and the countdown begins. you sit beside paige, her hand still wrapped in yours like a lifeline. her leg bounces. her breath hitches every time someone coughs into a mic.

“paige,” you whisper, turning to her. “hey. breathe.”

she nods, but doesn’t look at you. her eyes are on the stage.

“whether you go first or fifth,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to hers, “you’re still the most incredible person in this room. and i’ll be just as proud no matter what.”

her eyes flutter closed. she exhales.

“promise?” she whispers.

“promise.”

then the lights shift. the wnba commissioner walks to the podium. the music swells.

“with the first pick in the 2024 wnba draft, the dallas wings select… paige bueckers, university of connecticut.”

the room erupts.

paige turns to you—eyes wide, heart on her sleeve—and she kisses you.

right there. full, gentle, and certain.

the room falls silent for a heartbeat, and then explodes again.

@/espnw: she’s the number one pick. she also just kissed her girl on live tv. paige bueckers is here.

@/wnba: #1 pick. #1 moment. paige bueckers delivers the most unforgettable draft night kiss of all time.

@/bleacherreport: paige bueckers. first pick. first public kiss. iconic.

@/gaysportsnerd: so like… when do we get the engagement photos?

@/dallaswings: welcome to dallas, @/paigebueckers!

@/overtime: not just #1 on the court. paige bueckers just dropped the most iconic draft night moment of all time.

@/chennedyfan99: paige bueckers said “i’m number one and i’m in love, what about it?”

later, after the cheers settles and the cameras stop flashing, paige wraps her arms around you on the balcony of the hotel suite. new york glows behind you, and she leans her head on your shoulder.

“i didn’t plan the kiss,” she says softly.

“i know.”

“but i meant it.”

“i know.”

she turns her face to yours, brushing your cheek with her nose. “i want to be number one in everything. including with you.”

“you already are,” you whisper. “you always have been.”

she smiles, soft and golden. “forever, huh?”

“hell yeah.”

[p0orbaby]

Can you please do a blurb with alexia putellas and her brown hair. so basically reader isn’t a fan of the brunette hair - prefers her blonde or pink, and the team + ale find out and tease her.

-

Alexia dyes her hair back to brunette, and you say nothing.

Which is suspicious in itself.

Because normally, when she so much as trims her ends, you’re the first to hype her up like she’s walking a Paris runway. Last time she went blonder, you full-on followed her around the flat taking paparazzi-style photos. Made a whole Instagram story highlight called “blonde Ale supremacy.”

This time?

Nothing.

Not a word.

You don’t even touch it when she sits next to you on the sofa, flipping her hair dramatically in your direction like she’s waiting for applause.

“New hair,” she says, casually.

You glance up. “Mmm.”

Her smile falters.

That’s it. That’s the moment.

The beginning of the end.

-

You don’t mean for the entire team to find out. You’re not stupid.

You’re just honest. Which is… sometimes the same thing.

It starts with you muttering something under your breath at training. You’re standing next to Patri, who immediately whips around with a grin.

“You said what?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“She said she misses the blonde!” Patri shouts.

Suddenly, the entire pitch is looking at you. Aitana raises an eyebrow. Mapi’s mouth is already forming a grin. Alexia—water bottle paused halfway to her lips—just stares.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“You liked the blonde better?” Ona asks, fake-shocked.

You groan. “I didn’t say that. I said I missed it. Not the same.”

“But you do prefer it,” Mapi goads.

You fumble. “I mean—blonde was hot. The pink was elite. This is just—normal. It’s giving… civil servant.”

Alexia blinks. “Civil servant?”

“Like, respectfully. You look like someone who owns a printer.”

Patri wheezes.

Mapi is on the floor.

“I’ve been brunette for one day,” Alexia says, deadpan.

“Exactly. You’ve still got time to fix it.”

You regret it the second it leaves your mouth.

She just raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t say a word. Very quiet. Very calculating. That’s worse than shouting.

-

That night, you come home to find Alexia already in bed. No words. Just her back turned, scrolling through her phone, brunette hair falling around her shoulders like she’s doing it on purpose.

You sit beside her. Try to nudge her with your knee.

Nothing.

“…Still thinking about the printer comment?”

She scrolls.

You sigh. “I like the brown. Really. It’s just—blonde you had this vibe. Like… cool girl at a rooftop bar. Brown is like… HR. Very ‘don’t forget to cc me.’”

Alexia slowly turns her head. “You’re digging the hole deeper.”

You nod. “I know.”

She narrows her eyes. “Do you love me less with brown hair?”

“Absolutely not,” you say quickly. “Just… like… 4% less horny.”

She bursts out laughing. “Four percent?!”

“I rounded down.”

Alexia tackles you into the pillows.

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll go blonde again.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. But you have to let me bleach your eyebrows.”

You blink. “What.”

“You heard me.”

“…printer’s looking great, actually.”

She kisses you anyway.

[mangled-by-disuse]

I do think this misses the biggest reason Hunger Games works and the knockoffs don't, which is just: Suzanne Collins knew what she wanted to say.

A lot of subsequent YA dystopias are barely dystopias - they aren't motivated by message, they're motivated by aesthetic. What does Divergent's world tell us about our own? What does Maze Runner reflect in our society? At worst, they're completely nonsensical "would it be fucked up or what?" settings, but even a lot of the better ones are muddled and trying to address too many things at once.

Panem is a pretty simple world, as far as message goes. It's literally in the name: "what if panem et circenses was the only real policy?" What if everything was appearance and show, and this was intentional? What would that hide, and how would that affect the hidden? Capitol or District? Arena or daily life? Real or not real?

And that carries over into every aspect of the story. It's a complex story, in a lot of ways, but it can be complex because it knows exactly where its focus is. It looks you in the eye and says: do YOU know what's real?

Is the revolution real, or is it just a changing of the guard? Is Katniss a hero or does she just look like one? Is the Capitol populace an evil mass to be wiped out, or do they just look like one? Over and over: what's real, what's true, what matters?

And because that is also the starting point for the setting itself (the Capitol uses show and pageantry above everything else, and everyone is made to be a tool in that performance), it not only feels cohesive, it justifies the dystopia. Like, Panem isn't realistic and doesn't make real-world sense, but it doesn't have to, because it's like that for a reason.

Many stories with the aesthetic of dystopia, especially the ones in this subgenre, have a random dystopia - it's not motivated by the themes of the story. To take Divergent as an example (because it's bad and because I happen to have read it): what does the setting, the division by personality, the weird class divide... what does that actually mean? Besides "Tris is special", what do the factions contribute thematically? If people were divided up by, idk, hair colour instead of personality traits, would that say something profoundly different? I don't think so, because the dystopia is set dressing. It isn't actually about "when we divide people into teams we suppress individual thought" (which is what it looks like on paper) or "it's bad to decide people's whole life when they're teenagers" or anything concrete like that, it's about "hey cool action sequence".

and there are better and worse iterations of that kind of issue, but I think Hunger Games is one of the best modern dystopias (not just YA ones) for staying focused and clear in what it's about. And it leads into all the points OP made, which definitely help the books a lot, but also it's just inherently easier to read and easier to get into a deeper discussion with.

The setting isn't like that because dystopian sci-fi is fun and exciting and fashionable. It's like that because the setting is the story.

Reasons The Hunger Games Works and None of the Knock-Offs Do:

I just reread The Hunger Games Trilogy, and I have some thoughts about why they work so well and so many others just don’t.

Katniss Is Lucky: At every turn Katniss gets lucky. This isn’t a “anyone could have done this but no one’s tried before” or “main characters is special in some way” story. If Katniss’s name had been called instead of Prim’s, she probably wouldn’t have won. If anyone other then Peeta had been called she wouldn’t have won. If Cinna had picked any other year to become a stylist she wouldn’t have won. If her father hadn’t been a hunter she wouldn’t have won. If Madge didn’t give her the pin (how Rue decided to trust her) she wouldn’t have won. I can’t really explain why this is so important to me, but it is. Katniss isn’t special or super powered. She’s lucky.

Katniss Is A Symbol and 13 Has an Army: Katniss is not a rebel leader. There isn’t a group of ragtag teenagers who follow her and take on a corrupt government all on their own. She’s a symbol to inspire the people in the districts to fight, but no one ever puts her in charge of an army. Why should they? She’s a 17 year old, traumatized, child. The only time we do see Katniss lead is at the end of Mockingjay, and then it’s a group of about ten people, most of who end up dead and the mission doesn’t succeed. More importantly, 13 beats the capital because they have a fully functioning, highly trained, military ready to go.

These Are CHILDREN: Yes, every young adult story focuses on a teenager, but so many of these stories seem to forge they’re talking about teenagers. They act as if they are twenty somethings, or in the society set up you are considered an adult at 16. The Hunger Games hammers you over the head with the fact that these are kids. Katniss goes to school. I do not know a single hunger games rip off where the main character goes to completely normal every day school.

The Death’s Aren’t Shock Value: Yes, Prim’s death is shocking. It’s heartbreaking. I knew it was coming and still cried. That’s not why it’s there though. The point is how far Coin is willing to go to make sure Katniss is on her side. Everyone else’s deaths also have a point. Finnick and the others on Katniss’s team show the sacrifice people are willing to make for the cause and for Katniss. Cinna to show Katniss what happens when she resists. Rue is the cruelty of the game. Madge, the cruelness of the capital.

The Goal Is Clear: Mazerunner comes to mind with this one. What was the actual goal after the first book? Hell if I know. In The Hunger Games series there’s no fancy plan or convoluted thing they need to do. The plan is simple. Hunger Games and Catching Fire: “Don’t die”. Mockingjay there’s a lot of background stuff happening, but for Katniss the goal is always one thing: kill Snow. Everything she does is a straightforward line to that goal for almost the entire book.

Gale and Peeta: Both Gale and Peeta are totally realistic and reasonable love interests for Katniss. Neither of them are always nice or always perfect, but it easy to see why Katniss struggles to balance the two of them. There is no clear choice between the two. More importantly, the choice is representative of a larger concept. Katniss herself makes the comparison, saying Gale is rage and Peeta is calm. It’s not just between two guys, it’s between two ways of life and what Katniss needs in her life.

She Picks Peeta: I can not stress enough how important this is. In any of the knock offs I guarantee you that she would have picked Gale. Or, more accurately what would have happened is they would have switched Gale and Peeta’s personalities. Peeta would have been the angry, tortured, mysterious guy, and Gale would have been the kind, artistic, best friend. In this case, she would have still picked Peeta, but the whole point would have been lost. For all intents and purposes it would have been picking Gale. But no. Katniss picks Peeta. She picks calm and peace rather then giving in to Gale’s anger.

[hhaechansmoless]

OFF THE GRID PT.2

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 - 14k Part 2 - 13k Part 3 - 19.5k (out on 20th april)

glossary taglist a/n: please don't hesitate to comment / reblog / leave an ask w your thoughts !! hope y'all like this too <3

HOME

You walk down to your driveway, car keys jangling around your finger. Across the street, you see Seungkwan nearly colliding with his own front door as he stumbles outside, yelling a rushed goodbye over his shoulder. His bag is half open, a half-eaten apple in one hand, keys barely hanging onto his fingers. It’s a mess, but a familiar one.

You scoff, shaking your head before calling out to him. “Hey! Why are you still here? Didn’t you say you had an early meeting today?”

He grumbles before biting into his apple. He takes a minute to swallow it while he throws his bag in the back seat of his car before he turns to you. 

“Do you really have to shove it in my face? I’m already late, stop bothering me!”

“You look like you’ll crash into the next tree you see,” You roll your eyes, “Do you need me to drop you off?”

Seungkwan shakes his head and is about to say something when a car pulls into the driveway next to yours. You turn towards it, getting ready to wish Seungcheol’s dad a good morning. Seungkwan probably waits for him to get out of the car too, seeing that he hasn’t driven off yet and stands next to his opened door.

“Good morning, uncle!” Both of you greet him at the same time, making him chuckle. He waves at the two of you before looking back into his car’s window.

“How come you were out driving so early?” You ask him as you wipe some of the snow left on your windscreen wiper. He lets out a sigh, tapping the roof of the car before turning to you.

“Had to pick a certain someone up from the airport.”

The car door opens, and Seungcheol steps out, stretching his arms over his head with a quiet sigh. His hair is a little messy, like he’s just woken up or spent too long resting against the window. He adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, blinking against the cold morning air. For a second, he pauses, glancing around the neighborhood like he’s reacquainting himself with it.

“What the actual fuck.” Seungkwan huffs out in disbelief, making Seungcheol snap out of his daze. He turns towards the voice to see the younger boy standing, one leg inside his car and one out, jaw hanging down. His gaze shifts towards you who’s equally surprised yet a little better at hiding it.

“I really need to get to work because I am criminally late for that meeting but I will talk to you later, Cheol.” He blinks before shutting the door.

Seungcheol’s dad pushes him towards you as Seungkwan turns his car on and drives off, not before yelling a warning for Seungcheol to fucking stay or I’ll find you. Seungcheol stumbles a little before coming to a stop in front of you.

You don’t know what to say to him, honestly. It hasn’t been long since the news of him leaving was announced, and right now as you look at him, it’s the only thing on your head. But you doubt he’d want you to ask about that, so you settle for something else.

“How come you’re here?”

He narrows his eyes at you, “Well, it’s my house. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

You roll your eyes, “Gee, thanks. Thought it was mine.”

“It should be,” His dad huffs as he pulls out a suitcase from the boot, “You’re here more than him. It’s like you’re our child.”

Seungcheol scoffs, scooting over to his dad to take the bags from his hand, “I’ll keep them myself.”

His dad gives him a look but lets go of the suitcase, clapping a hand over Seungcheol’s shoulder before heading inside. The front door swings shut behind him, leaving just the two of you standing there in the cold.

Seungcheol shifts one of his bag higher up his shoulder, eyes flicking toward you before he exhales, watching the cloud of his breath disappear into the air. “You’re up early.”

“No I’m not,” You raise your eyebrows, “I usually have work around this time.”

“I know that,” He rolls his eyes, “I was just trying to make conversation, but whatever, I guess.”

“Why are you back so soon?” You ask, kicking snow at his suitcase. It makes him hiss in annoyance. You try to hide the way your lips curve up.

“I don’t have much to do, so I thought I’d grace this town with my presence.”

“Sure.” You hum, “Well, I’m off.” 

Seungcheol almost stops you. Do you want me to drive you there? The words sit on his tongue, ready to jump out any moment. But he holds it in.

Instead, he watches as you step toward your car, keys twirling around your finger. You don’t hesitate, don’t turn back, just reach for the door handle like this is nothing, like he hasn’t been gone, like this isn’t the first time you’ve stood in front of each other in months.

You pull the door open and pause, just for a moment. “I’ll see you later, Cheol.”

And then you’re gone, leaving him standing there, hands tightening around the handle of his suitcase. He stands there for a second too long, the cold air creeping into his jacket, before finally turning toward the house.

The front door creaks when he pushes it open. It always has. The house smells the same too,faint traces of his mother’s morning tea, the sharp bite of the winter air sneaking in through the open window. Nothing’s changed.

His dad is already in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge like he has something more important to do than acknowledge his son who just came home. His mom isn’t here, probably out running errands. Seungcheol’s brother, nowhere in sight.

Fine. He drags his suitcase over the tiles, the wheels thudding over the uneven floorboards. He should take it upstairs, put everything away, but instead, he stops at the couch.

The blanket draped over the armrest isn’t any of theirs. The corner of the right armrest, dented from years of picking at it, welcomes him, and before he can think too much about the person who owns this spot, he sighs, dropping his bag beside the couch before collapsing onto it, leaning his head back against the cushions. For a second, he closes his eyes. He knows he won’t sleep, but God, that flight was exhausting.

His dad clears his throat, finally speaking, “You hungry?”

It’s a simple question, but Seungcheol can sense the hesitation in it. The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet, and honestly, he doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. So he ignores it.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“You ate on the flight?”

“Yeah,” He breathes out, kicking his legs up onto the sofa, “Was shit, but I’m full anyways.”

His dad hums in response, “Mum’s next door. Went to give something, but she’ll be back in a few minutes. You can go freshen up.”

Seungcheol nods and then realizes that his dad’s probably not looking his way right now, “Fine. I’ll go in a second.”

He leans back against the couch. The blanket still smells faintly of you.

—

Seungcheol spends most of the day drifting between the couch and his room, ignoring the unopened suitcase by the door, ignoring his phone, ignoring the weight of being home again.

It’s only when the sun has set, the house quieter than before, that there’s a knock at his door, soft, but firm, before it creaks open.

His mom steps inside, hands on her hips. "Are you planning to hide in here all night?"

He mumbles, rolling onto his side. "Not hiding."

"Mhm." She doesn’t sound convinced.

She takes a few steps in, eyeing the room. It looks almost exactly the same as when he left it. Same shelves, same framed photos, same forgotten belongings that no one had the heart to pack away. But there are little changes, things he wouldn’t have noticed before. A new lamp on the nightstand. An extra blanket folded at the foot of his bed.

"You should’ve told me you were coming.”

He lets out a quiet breath, turning his head toward her. "Didn’t think I needed to send out a press release."

She scoffs. "Maybe not, but at least let your mother know before you already arrive at the airport.” She studies him for a second, tilting her head. "Have you been eating properly?"

"Here we go," he groans, running a hand down his face.

"I’m serious, Cheol!" She moves to sit at the edge of his bed, reaching out to brush his hair back like she used to when he was younger. "You’ve lost weight."

"I haven’t," he grumbles, but she’s already pinching his cheek like he’s sixteen again.

"See? You’re all skin and bones. Do they not feed you? Must I argue with Seokmin to give you a diet that doesn’t consist of eating nothing"

"Not this again," he mumbles, trying to pull away, “Ma, I eat what I’m supposed to eat. I’m an athlete, come on. I’m fit.”

She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. "You get a little older and suddenly think you don’t need your mom fussing over you anymore. Unbelievable."

"Yes, well, I’m thirty and-"

"You need to eat properly, sleep more, and stop frowning so much. Look at those dark circles-"

Seungcheol groans, flopping back onto his bed. "Okay, okay, I get it! I’ll eat. I’ll sleep. Happy?"

His mom chuckles, patting his leg. "I’ll be happy when you actually do it."

He grumbles before turning away from her, making her pinch his side. Seungcheol protests with a loud yelp, but if feels nice to be here, to have someone fawning over him. He’s missed this comfort.

She sighs, softer this time. "It’s good to have you home."

He hesitates for a second before nodding. "Yeah," he says, even though he’s not sure if he means it.

Before she can pick something else to tease him about, a faint flicker of light flashes against the wall.

Then another.

His mom glances toward the window, then back at him, lips twitching. "Looks like someone’s waiting for you."

Seungcheol groans, rubbing a hand over his face before turning toward the window. He already knows what he’s going to see.

"Of course they are," he mutters.

She chuckles, standing up. "Some things never change."

"They should," he mumbles, but he still gets up anyway, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket as he heads for the door.

His mom follows him out into the hallway, watching as he makes his way downstairs. "Be nice to them, Cheol."

He pauses on the last step, glancing back at her. "I am nice."

She raises an eyebrow.

He scoffs. "I can be nice."

She snorts, waving him off. "Hurry up before they blind the whole street. And ask them if they want to come over for dinner!"

Seungcheol shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he opens the front door, stepping out onto his porch.

“Look. It’s the king. The lion. He’s decided to grace us with his presence.” Seungkwan announces. Seungcheol sees you trying to suppress the laugh bubbling through your throat and rolls his eyes as he crosses the road, hands in his pocket, stepping onto Seungkwan’s lawn.

Seungkwan gasps dramatically, “Wow. My timing was so perfect. I literally mowed the lawn yesterday, so now Your Highness, thou can place thy sacred feet on it.”

“How about my sacred feet kick you in the face.” Seungcheol hisses, kicking his foot up. Seungkwan dodges, but it makes him laugh anyways.

You shake your head, lips twitching as you glance away, while Seungcheol just exhales, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "You done?"

"Not even close," Seungkwan says, tossing his flashlight into the air before catching it again. "I mean, I get it. Who wouldn’t want to trade this boring town for the glitz and glamour of Monaco, Milan, Maranello-" His tone turns pointed on the last word, eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

Seungcheol shifts, rocking back on his heels. "It’s not like I haven’t been back."

Seungkwan scoffs. "Oh, yeah, the wedding. A whole weekend of your presence. How generous."

“Oh yes, I should’ve skipped the race that I was supposed to drive in and spend time with you, since you missed me so much.”

The latter rolls his eyes, “Okay. What about the last winter break?”

Seungcheol stills at that. His glance flickers over to you, but you’ve already been looking away, hands stuffed in your jacket’s pockets as you stare at the floor, silently kicking Seungkwan’s shoes.

“Come on. Can you stop battering me already? My mum’s invited the two of you for dinner. Where’s Jihoon?” He clears his throat, frowning at Seungkwan.

You pipe up at his mention, “He’s on a business trip, probably coming back in a day or two.”

Seungkwan nods before punching Seungcheol’s shoulder playfully, “You said your mum’s invited us to dinner? I’m free.” He looks at you.

You stare back at him, glaring daggers before looking at Seungcheol, a little unsure. You’ve never hesitated to hang around at his parents’ house despite the history between you two, because you’ve known them your whole lives and because they’d convinced you that breaking up with their son did not make you any less of the daughter they never had. But with Seungcheol there, it’s different. He might not want you to be around. You’d understand.

Instead, he simply shrugs, “Are you just going to stand here? Don’t think you’re very busy either.”

You nod, making Seungkwan loop his arm into yours before he drags you across the road. You hear the little laugh Seungcheol lets out as he jogs up behind you two.

“Just so you know, I was here last night too.” Seungkwan sticks his tongue out, “Pretending to ask you was just an act. At this point, the rest of us are more familiar faces here than you are.”

“I don’t return for one year and suddenly all traces of me have apparently been erased.”

“Hell yeah, you’re quite replaceable, you know?”

Seungkwan says it playfully. He doesn’t mean it, Seungcheol knows he doesn’t. But it still hits a sore spot. His grip on the house keys slackens, just for a second, unnoticeable to anyone but him.

“Have you come home just to sit in your room all day and laze around?” Seungho asks as he leans against Seungcheol's opened door. 

“Leave me alone.” Seungcheol sighs, facing away from him, eyes glued to his phone.

“Man, you're going to fucking rot in here. Get out.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t even look up from his phone. “I am out.”

Seungho scoffs from the doorway. “Right. Sitting in a dark room all day like some washed-up, retired athlete totally counts.”

Seungcheol finally turns his head, glaring. “You’re so encouraging.”

His brother doesn’t even blink. “Not my job to encourage you. Just here to remind you that you look like shit.”

Seungcheol sighs, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him. “And you’re doing a great job. Can I rot in peace now?”

Seungho doesn’t respond right away. He just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes studying him.

"You know," he says after a moment, voice quieter now, "Mom and Dad are actually worried."

Seungcheol exhales, rubbing his face. “They don’t need to be.”

“Well, they are.” Seungho tilts his head. “And so am I. I literally came here as soon as I got off work.”

Seungcheol looks up at him then, eyebrows furrowed. Seungho isn’t usually like this. He’s blunt, sure. Always has been. But he doesn’t usually say things like that.

Seungho sighs, running a hand over his face. “Look, I get it. This is a lot. But you’re acting like your entire life just…ended. Like there’s nothing left.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw, looking away.

Seungho doesn’t stop. “You’ve barely left your room. You won’t even talk to anyone. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want to disappear.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. "Well, good news, I already did.”

Seungho scoffs. “You think locking yourself in here is going to help?”

Seungcheol presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, shoulders tense. “I don’t know. I just—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Seungho clicks his tongue, staring at him for a second. Then, finally, he mutters something and pushes off the doorframe. Seungcheol hears his footsteps down the stairs and closes his eyes again, sinking deeper into his pillow.

The palm of your hands burn from the heat as you place the paper bag down on the kitchen counter. Seungcheol’s mom peeps into it, shaking her head with a smile.

“Mum said she made too much. She saw Seungho’s car in the driveway and thought she’ll send some over since both the boys are here,” You giggle as she ruffles your hair.

“Well, she always makes too much, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but I’m pretty sure your kids were just an excuse,” You lean in closer, “She definitely made more because she knows it’s your favourite.”

It makes her laugh out loud, clapping your shoulder affectionately before she takes the boxes out, blowing at the tips of her fingers after setting it down. As she moves around the kitchen, you notice the small sigh she lets out, a quiet, tired thing, like something’s been sitting on her chest all day.

You tilt your head. “You okay, Auntie?”

She pauses, before plastering a smile back on her face. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

You don’t buy it.

“Come on,” you say, leaning against the counter. “What’s wrong?”

She huffs out a laugh, but then, instead of brushing it off, she glances toward the staircase, voice softening.

“It’s Seungcheol.”

Your breath stills for a moment.

“He’s barely left his room since he got back,” she continues, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Won’t go out, won’t talk to anyone, just sits up there all day doing God knows what.”

You swallow. “…He’s been like that the whole time?”

She nods, lips pressing together. “His dad and Seungho have tried, but you know how he is.” A pause. Then, gently, “Maybe he just needs the right person to talk to him.”

You stare at her, a pleading look on your face. You knew this was going to happen. You knew the moment you stepped into this house that his mom would ask you this. And still, hearing it makes you want to run right back out.

You bite your lip, shaking your head as she walks around to stand next to you, both hands on your shoulders, “Auntie, please, no-”

“Honey, he’ll listen to you. You don’t have to talk to him too much. Just try to bring him out. Please?” She pouts, tilting her head at you.

You look away from her, knowing that if you don’t, you’ll end up agreeing. It’s futile anyway because it’s like you’ve already agreed by just coming here.

“He might not even want to talk to me,” You argue weakly.

“Oh!” She waves, dismissing the thought, “You’re still his best friend. He’ll still care about what you say.”

There’s every reason to say no. It’s going to be awkward, difficult, and messy. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to him. It was easiest at the wedding because you didn’t think you’d have to be around him for more than a few hours. It was easier that night because Seungkwan was there to fill in the gaps between you two. What will you do now?

But there’s another part of you, the part that has known Seungcheol your whole life, that has spent years learning every stubborn, impossible part of him, that knows he won’t come out of this on his own.

And so, after a long pause, you nod.

"Alright," you murmur. "I’ll try."

She squeezes your hand in thanks, offering a small, grateful smile before turning back to the food.

You push off the counter, inhaling deeply as you make your way toward the stairs.

This is going to be a mistake.

But you climb the steps anyway.

The hallway is quiet. His door is shut. You lift your hand to knock, and pause. What if he really doesn’t want to see you? What if he tells you to leave?

You shake the thought away and finally knock.

"Cheol?"

Silence.

You wait for a few more seconds before gently pushing the door open.

He’s lying on his bed, blanket pulled over his head, face turned away.

"Your mom told me to come up," you say, stepping inside. "She wanted me to check if you’re still alive."

Seungcheol voice comes out muffled. "Unfortunately."

You don’t laugh. You don’t even roll your eyes. Instead, you cross your arms.

"Come on. Get up."

He groans. "Not now."

"Yes, now."

"Why?"

You reach for the switchboard to turn on the lights. "Because if you don’t, your mom is going to start guilt tripping me instead."

Seungcheol peeks at you from under his arm. “Sucks for you, then.”

You don’t move. "Seungcheol."

He knows that tone.

And yet, he still tries. “Just let me-”

"No." Your voice is firmer now, something final in it. "You’ve been sitting in here for days. If you don’t want to talk, fine. But you need to move. I don’t care if we just sit outside. We’re leaving."

He exhales, staring at the ceiling for a moment before finally sitting up, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Where are we even supposed to go?"

You tilt your head. "Just put on your clothes and come out.”

Somehow, that works.

He groans as he stands, reaching for the jacket in reach. He doesn’t feel like going out. But he also doesn’t feel like fighting you.

You turn away from him, pulling out your phone to send a message to Seungkwan and Jihoon. 

“I’m going back home to find my scarf,” You tell him, still typing away on your screen, “It’ll take just a minute so wait outside.”

Seungcheol sighs, “Just take one of mine.” 

You whip your head towards him, eyes narrowing, to which he replies. “I don’t want to be out any longer than needed.”

You hesitate for a second, still holding your phone, before slipping it into your pocket.

“Fine,” you mutter, stepping past him.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, just sighs as you brush past his shoulder and into his room.

The room feels lived in but distant, like someone occupying a space they don’t expect to stay in for long. A jacket is draped carelessly over the chair in the corner, his suitcase still half-zipped by the door. On the desk, a set of keys, a crumpled receipt, and an old water bottle sit untouched, like he came back, but never really settled in. 

You shake your head, hoping he notices and cleans up. You haven’t been in this room since… Since after you two broke up. 

Your eyes drift toward the chair in the corner, the one you used to curl up in whenever you came over and he was too busy doing something else.

It’s stupid, how comfortable this still feels. Like no time has passed. Like everything is still the same.

You push the thought away and head for his closet, fingers brushing over the hanging jackets before grabbing the first scarf you see. It’s only when you pull it around your neck that you realize that it was yours. Memories flicker, piecing themselves together. A winter evening, a half-hearted argument, him tugging the scarf from around your neck with some teasing remark before stuffing it into his jacket.

"You’re always forgetting your stuff anyway," he’d said, grinning as he walked ahead.

But you never got it back. You don’t even remember when you stopped looking for it.

Yet, somehow, he had it all along.

Seungcheol is already leaning against the banister, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. When he glances up, his gaze stays on your for a few seconds, like he knows exactly what you just realized.

The cold nips at your skin the second you step outside.

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets as he follows you down the steps. 

For a while, neither of you say anything. Your footsteps crunch softly against the thin layer of snow coating the pavement, the air crisp and quiet.

Eventually, Seungcheol sighs. "So where are we actually going?"

"Nowhere far," you say simply.

He doesn’t push, just breathes out, tilting his head back slightly as he walks beside you. The silence between you is less heavy than before, but not quite comfortable either.

When the playground finally comes into view, you hear the soft creak of the swings in the distance, the last few kids of the evening still chasing each other across the grass. The sky is turning shades of deep blue, the early winter sunset settling over the town.

Seungcheol slows his steps, eyes narrowing.

"Seriously?"

You step onto the curb, turning to face him. "You got a better idea?"

He looks at the park, then at you, then back at the park again before scoffing.

“…God, we really are just lingering at this point, huh?”

You snort, brushing snow off a wooden bench before plopping down. "Just sit down."

Seungcheol exhales, shaking his head. "This is pathetic. We’re like jobless thirty year olds who look like we’re avoiding our real world responsibilities.."

“Speak for yourself, I have a job,” You frown as he sits down next to you.

Seungcheol huffs after a few seconds of silence, “Why are you here? I mean, this must be uncomfortable. I’ll let my mom know that-”

“That what?” You interrupt him, but he flinches in a way that makes you think you came out snappier than you meant to.

“I don’t know,” He shrugs defensively, “We broke up, but we’re here now pretending like nothing happened.”

“Well, you quit your job and the one thing you’ve spent your entire life doing and we’re here pretending like that didn’t happen either,” You snap now, “What do you want me to do Cheol? Ignore you and pretend like you haven’t been my best friend for my entire life?”

“Can we not do this now?” He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I just thought—”

You tilt your head, voice quieter now. “Oh, so you’re okay with talking about our breakup, but not something that’s literally changed the course of your life?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “That’s not-” He stops himself, jaw tightening.

You don’t push.

Because you could. You could press him, ask him why he won’t talk about it, why he can sit here and acknowledge that you left him but won’t say a word about how he left racing. But you don’t.

Instead, you sigh, rolling your shoulders back. “Alright, fine. No more talking about feelings. You want to discuss the economy instead?”

He scoffs, his expression caught between amusement and frustration. “Shut up.”

You shrug. “You don’t want to talk about anything real, so I figured we’d pivot to stocks or whatever.”

Seungcheol huffs, shaking his head as he leans back against the bench. “I hate you.”

You hum, “You can avoid stuff, but lying is a new low.”

And before Seungcheol can respond, a voice cuts in.

“Are you guys seriously arguing at a children’s playground?”

The two of you turn to see Seungkwan and Jihoon standing behind you, the younger with his hands on his hips, thoroughly unimpressed.

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Seungkwan.”

Jihoon sighs, already tired. “Can we go now?”

Seungcheol blinks, shifting where he sits. “Go where?”

Seungkwan raises a dramatic eyebrow. “To the supermarket.”

Seungcheol stares at him. Then at Jihoon. Then back at Seungkwan.

“…Why?”

Jihoon exhales sharply. “Because I just got back home and my fridge is literally empty.”

Seungcheol’s expression barely changes. “And that’s my problem because…?”

Seungkwan smacks the back of his head.

"Ow—"

"Because we’re functioning adults who need food to survive, and you need some fresh air and some normalcy in your life, dumbass.”

Seungcheol glares, rubbing the spot where he got hit. "You say that like you function."

Seungkwan gasps dramatically. "How dare you."

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my God, just get up before I starve to death.”

—

It starts the second you step inside.

Seungkwan grabs your arm, Jihoon immediately makes a beeline for the produce section, and Seungcheol ends up pushing the shopping cart.

He stares down at it, hands gripping the handle. “Why am I the one doing this?”

Seungkwan breezes past him, dropping in a family-sized bag of chips. “Because you’re the tallest. Cart-pushing is a tall person’s job.”

Seungcheol squints. “That’s literally not how that works.”

Jihoon, standing by the vegetables, doesn’t even look up. “It does now.”

You snicker as you step past Seungcheol, tossing a pack of instant noodles into the cart.

His eyes flick to you, unimpressed. “And you’re contributing to my suffering.”

“I don’t make the rules,” you hum.

Seungkwan immediately points. “Yes, you do.”

You wave him off, reaching for something on the shelf. Seungcheol watches as—without thinking— you pick up a box of his favorite cereal and toss it into the cart.

Then, like your brain just registered what you did, your hand twitches slightly.

You don’t take it out.

Seungcheol exhales, looking away before he can think too much about it. “Jihoon, hurry up, you’re taking this way too seriously.”

Jihoon doesn’t appreciate that comment as he inspects the head of lettuce that he’s holding

“It’s called being an adult, Seungcheol.” He puts the lettuce back, reaching for another one. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Seungcheol scowls. “You say that like I don’t literally pay taxes—”

Jihoon holds up a finger, “You’ve been living in Monaco recently, man. Don’t know about that.”

Seungkwan grabs the cart and dramatically swerves it away. “Okay! We’re splitting up. Jihoon, you get your boring groceries. Cheol, you stay here and mope. We-” He gestures between you and himself. “-are getting snacks.”

Seungcheol watches as Seungkwan drags you away, leaving him with Jihoon, who is now very aggressively examining a bell pepper.

“I hate my life,” Seungcheol mutters, rolling the cart forward.

Jihoon hums. “Yeah? You think this bell pepper cares?”

Seungcheol sighs, rolling the cart forward as Jihoon picks up another vegetable.

“You’re seriously overthinking this,” Seungcheol mutters, watching as Jihoon turns a tomato over in his hand, eyes narrowed in intense concentration.

Jihoon doesn’t respond immediately. He places the tomato back, fingers tapping against the cart’s handle as he walks a little further down the aisle. “And you’re seriously underthinking everything.”

Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows. “Is this about the groceries, or is this about something else?”

Jihoon hums, inspecting a bag of onions before dropping them into the cart. “You tell me.”

Seungcheol grips the handle of the cart a little tighter, jaw tightening. “If this is your way of saying I should start talking about things, you should know by now that it’s not gonna happen in the middle of a supermarket in the fucking vegetable aisle.”

Jihoon finally turns to look at him. “When is it gonna happen, then?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer.

Jihoon sighs, pushing his sleeves up. “Look, I’m not gonna sit here and lecture you like some after school special. But I know you, Cheol. And you know me. So let’s skip the part where you act like you’re fine, and I pretend to believe you.”

Seungcheol rolls the cart forward, not meeting Jihoon’s eyes. “It’s not that deep.”

Jihoon laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “Right. Not that deep.” He gestures vaguely. “You’re just home, doing nothing, avoiding everyone, and pretending like leaving Ferrari and your career was just some casual decision you made overnight.”

Seungcheol’s grip on the cart tightens. “You know it wasn’t.”

Jihoon watches him for a second, then sighs. “I’m not trying to piss you off.”

“You’re not,” Seungcheol mutters, but he doesn’t sound convincing.

Jihoon doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he picks up a bunch of bananas, inspecting them for a second before tossing them into the cart.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jihoon says, voice a little quieter now. “But don’t expect people to pretend it’s not happening, either.”

Seungcheol exhales, tilting his head back.

For a second, he just stares at the ceiling. At the blinding, stark white, boring supermarket lights, at nothing in particular.

Then, finally, he mutters, “I don’t expect anything.”

Jihoon watches him for a moment longer, then shrugs. “Good.”

And just like that, he grabs the cart and starts pushing it forward like the conversation never happened.

Seungcheol lingers for a second before following him without another word.

When he gets the message from Seokmin, Seungcheol tries hard. He tries really, really hard to not care. To just swipe away the notification, to switch his phone off and go outside. But Seungcheol’s own mind is his jail, his actions his chains, and he unlocks his phone to open Twitter. He still follows the Ferrari account, thinks it might be too harsh to unfollow them already, so the tweet is the first thing on his time line.

“Welcoming in a new era of Scuderia Ferrari, we are glad to announce that Kim Jungwoo will be driving with us in 2025!”

Attached to it is a visualiser of Jungwoo—who was previously a reserve driver for Mercedes— donning the Ferrari suit.

Seungcheol doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at his screen when a follow up message from Seokmin pops up. He clicks on it by mistake and is instantly hit with a bunch of messages asking how he is. How does he reply to this news? If he said he didn’t care, Seokmin would see right through him. If he admitted to being surprised, it would be too honest. So instead, Seungcheol leaves him on read.

He gets up, shoving his phone into his hoodie’s pocket. He should probably go out for some air. It’s a Sunday morning, and even though it’s still December, the sun shines a little brighter today, and the cold bites a little less. It’s pleasant. Maybe he’ll just catch some sunlight outside in his backyard. 

Seungcheol walks out of the back door, still lost in his thoughts.

The red suit, the new ‘era’. Even though he chose this, it stings. It feels like they’re erasing his presence. The rational part of his mind reminds him that this announcement has actually come late. That any other team would’ve found a replacement as soon as they could’ve. That Seungcheol leaving actually did leave them stranded for a while. 

Jungwoo. Jungwoo. Why would they replace him with… Jungwoo? 

It’s not like he’s a bad driver, Seungcheol reminds himself. His talent was being wasted as a reserve.

It’s just that Jungwoo wouldn’t have been the first person he thought of. He feels a little bad for thinking that the man wouldn’t have been Ferrari’s first choice either. But Jungwoo has always been a nice guy to be around. The team will have it a little easier this year without two drivers constantly fighting each other on track, all the time.

A muffled thud against his chest makes Seungcheol snap out of his daze. He looks down, seeing the white remnants of snow before looking up again. His first thought is Seungkwan, but the boy’s house is too far for him to aim so accurately. His eyes slowly move towards your backyard, separated only by a picket fence.

“What are you thinking so hard about, man?” You squint at him, “Not a very common sight.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol greets before bending down. It makes you yell in defence.

“Don’t! Please!” You squeal, running away from the fence, “Cheol, I have a cold.”

“Oh come on,” He rolls his eyes, “Excuses.”

“No, seriously.” You nod, stepping closer to show him, “My nose is red, see! From all the blowing.”

“Really?” Seungcheol asks, walking over to you.

You nod again, sticking your face over the fence so that he can see.

He bends down to your level, leaning in to observe. And then he gasps.

Seungcheol doesn’t usually gasp, you realize. Not unironically, anyway. But you’re too slow to move away before he drops a small snowball onto your face.

You stumble behind, spluttering to get the snow off your nose and mouth. You hear Seungcheol laugh, bright and loud and for a second you have half the heart to deck him in the face. But it hits you that you haven’t heard him laugh like this in ages, so you hold it in and splutter a little more.

But just as soon as he realizes it, he stops, drawing his lips back into a straight line.

You narrow your eyes at him, “What was that?”

“What?”

“Why are you suddenly frowning again?”

He shakes his head, telling you to let it go but you don’t. “Come on, just tell me, it’s not going to kill you.”

Seungcheol stalls for a second. He could tell you. You’d understand, and it isn’t something that he’s very, very deeply upset by. He knows he’ll get over it in some time. So before he can second-guess himself, he opens his mouth.

“It’s nothing really,” He shrugs, shifting weight from one foot to another, “Ferrari’s getting Kim Jungwoo to drive for them from next year.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, an understanding expression flashing over your face. He waits, wondering if you’ll say something else. When you don’t, he speaks again.

“Did you already see the news?”

“Nah,” you purse your lips, kicking the snow around absentmindedly, “After it was announced that you were leaving, I kind of unfollowed them on all my social media. Not much reason to know what’s going on with them anymore, is there?”

Seungcheol hates that what you said makes him smile. It’s good to know that the only reason you kept up with the team was him. He tries to keep a blank face. “Huh.”

You snort. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even followed them in the first place. They’re so unserious.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She shrugs, leaning against the fence. “Come on, you know what I mean. Always making the worst strategy calls, acting like they have their shit together, and then screwing you over, like, five laps into the race.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not-”

“Ok. Explain Brazil 2024, then.”

It makes him groan, hand coming up to cover his face, “Can we not talk about that. God.”

“Like? Who the hell puts intermediates on a drying track? God, imagine spending years dealing with that.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. "Yeah, imagine."

And somehow, just like that, he finds himself slipping into it, this old, familiar rhythm. Complaining about Ferrari like it's just another bad joke between them. It’s easy.

Too easy.

"Honestly, I should’ve known they were hopeless when they let you sit in the pit box for ten minutes at Silverstone with no tires ready," you muse, shaking your head. "Like. Be so fucking for real."

Seungcheol is about to laugh when he realises.

His ex is standing here, bitching about his old team the way best friends complain about their friend’s shitty ex.

And the irony of it fucking knocks the wind out of him.

He pushes the thought away before glancing at you again. “Have you always disliked Ferrari? I thought you liked them.”

You scoff, shaking your head, “No, not really. I just had a favourite driver.”

And fuck.

That shouldn’t get to him, but it does.

Without thinking, he mumbles, “Yeah? Don’t have one anymore, do you?”

You still, gaze flying up to his face. “It depends. Are you going back?”

Seungcheol holds your stare for a few seconds before looking away, bringing his hand up to brush his nose. He pretends to sniffle, to fill the silence. But you wait. It’s about time he answers anyways. It’s been more than two weeks. None of you know what’s going on with him.

“Cheol.” Your tone sounds a bit stern now, and it makes his turn further away from you, “Cheol, look at me.”

He begrudgingly faces you, glancing at your face for a second before looking down at his shoes.

“Are you going back?”

He doesn’t reply instantly. You didn’t expect him to anyway, but when he does, it only confirms what you’ve been suspecting all along. 

“No,” He sighs, “Not for this season, no.”

“Okay,” You nod, “You’re just taking a break. Not retiring.”

He nods too, swallowing hard before looking up at the sky, “Sun’s out today. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

You roll your eyes, “Just say you want me gone.”

Seungcheol shrugs, “Assume whatever you want.”

“Alright then,” You hum, turning around, towards your house to leave when you remember. “Did Seungkwan tell you, by the way?”

“What?” He’s looking at you.

“He was wondering if we’d like to visit this rooftop bar on New Year’s Eve. I think it’s opened recently.”

His shoulders drop visibly. He’s trying to put on the exhausted act, you know. 

“I don’t know, I don’t feel like celebrating anything right now and-”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased this better.” you interrupt him, “He’s already reserved a table for the four of us and wanted me to inform you.”

Seungcheol scoffs, “Then why’d you say it like that?”

“Just wanted to make it seem like you had the option to decline, sorry.” You yell over your shoulder as you skip up to your porch. “Guess I’ll see you day after, then.”

The door swings shut behind you.

Seungcheol exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks lightly at the snow.

“Guess so.”

The bar is warm, buzzing with life. On second thought, coming here in the midst of winter was probably not the best decision, but the heat from the alcohol and the many radiators around the place make up for the cold. The low hum of conversation weaves through the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. The four of you have been here for a while now, tucked into a corner booth, half-empty plates in front of you and the remnants of shared appetizers pushed to the side.

Seungkwan, already three drinks deep, leans back against the booth with a dramatic sigh. "Man, I love this place. Good food, good company—" He points a fry at Jihoon. "Except for you."

Jihoon, unbothered, spears a piece of chicken with his fork. "Good."

You snicker into your glass. "Couldn’t even make it ten minutes into the meal before fighting, huh?"

Seungcheol exhales, shaking his head as he pushes his sleeves up. "It was inevitable."

Seungkwan groans. "Oh my God, listen, I’m just saying, I don’t understand why you’re like this. We’re here to have a good time, and you’re sitting there like a- like a-" He waves his hands, searching for the right words.

Jihoon deadpans, "Like a what, Seungkwan?"

"A fun-hating, emotionally repressed, grumpy old man."

Jihoon hums, chewing. "And yet, here you are, still inviting me places."

Seungkwan gasps. "Because I pity you."

Seungcheol, who has been stirring the ice in his glass with his straw, shakes his head. "You two have issues."

Seungkwan scoffs when you nod along, “Hey, you two have issues too!”

It makes you snap at him playfully, “At least we’re still amicable about it!”

Seungkwan continues, “Okay, then. Only ‘Mr. I won’t fucking talk about my emotions’ does.”

Seungcheol stiffens. He recovers quickly, taking a slow sip of his drink, but you catch it.

Jihoon does too. "Seungkwan."

"What?" Seungkwan blinks, setting his drink down. "I’m just saying-" He stops when Jihoon elbows him under the table. His lips purse, eyes darting to you, then back to Seungcheol. "Fine. New topic."

You exhale, trying to ease the sudden tension. "Yeah, let’s maybe talk about literally anything else."

Seungkwan, still slightly flustered, snaps his fingers. "Okay. Resolutions. Everyone, go."

Jihoon rolls his eyes. "I’m not doing this."

Seungkwan ignores him. "I’ll start. I am manifesting a rich, hot, emotionally available woman into my life. Preferably earning like seven figures. I can be her house-husband if she wants."

Seungcheol snorts. "Good luck with that."

"Don’t be jealous just because my standards are higher than yours."

Jihoon hums, “I know you mean to insult him, but don’t you think it’s more insulting to her?” He waves his fork in your direction, “I mean, they literally dated for what, like three years? And they’d been crushing on each other for literally half their lives.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. "You guys are literally bullying me at my first social event in weeks."

Seungkwan pats his shoulder. "Welcome back, buddy."

You smile, watching them banter. This feels normal. Almost like it used to be before everything changed. Before Seungcheol’s entire world flipped upside down. Before yours did too.

You glance at him. He isn’t saying anything, just stirring his drink again, gaze slightly distant.

"Cheol?"

He looks up.

You tilt your head. "Resolutions?"

He holds your stare for a second before he exhales, leaning back into his seat. "I don’t know," he mutters. "Haven’t thought about it."

Seungkwan clicks his tongue. "Think your next career should be in PR, honestly."

Seungcheol shrugs. "Don’t have anything I want to manifest into my life, I guess."

Jihoon, still picking at his food, speaks without looking up. "Or maybe you just don’t know what you want yet."

Seungcheol stills.

No one says anything for a moment.

You watch him carefully. He’s good at hiding things, good at pretending he’s unbothered, but you know him better than that.

The silence stretches, too long, too heavy.

So you break it.

"Well, I’ve got a resolution for you."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You nod, leaning forward. "Go outside more. See the sun. Maybe even touch some grass."

Jihoon hides a smirk behind his drink.

Seungkwan points. "Ohhh, she got you there."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but exhales, his shoulders easing up. "Wow, thanks. Really helpful."

"Anytime." You grin.

Jihoon, now slightly more invested, sighs. "Fine. If we’re actually doing this-" He sets his fork down. "I guess my resolution is to sleep more."

Seungkwan stares. "That’s your resolution? That’s so boring."

"It’s realistic."

Seungcheol hums, tilting his glass slightly. "Yeah. Maybe I’ll add that one to my list too."

Seungkwan gives him a look. "Right. Because you totally need more excuses to lie in bed all day." He turns to you.

“What about you, my favourite person in the room?”

You hum, rolling your glass between your fingers as you think. "I guess… just figuring things out."

Seungkwan tilts his head. "Figuring what out?"

You hesitate. "Life. What I want from it."

For a second, no one speaks. Jihoon glances at you briefly, then looks away. Seungkwan, for all his dramatics, stays quiet, watching you with something like understanding.

Seungcheol’s gaze lingers the longest.

It’s not an obvious thing, not something anyone else would catch. But you feel it. The weight of his stare. The way his fingers drum against his glass, like he’s stopping himself from saying something.

Finally, Seungkwan exhales, breaking the moment before it stretches too long. "Damn. That was deep."

You snort, shaking your head. "You asked."

Seungcheol lets out a quiet breath, tipping his glass slightly before setting it down. "Figuring things out, huh?"

You glance at him, but his expression is unreadable.

Jihoon shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. "Makes sense. We’re not exactly eighteen anymore."

"Thank God for that," Seungkwan mutters, before perking up suddenly. "Oh! Speaking of—what’s the first thing you guys wanna do next year? Like, the second it turns midnight?"

You tilt your head. "I don’t know?"

Seungcheol lets out a quiet laugh, and something about it settles warm in your chest.

Seungkwan dramatically shakes his head. "Boring. Jihoon?"

Jihoon shrugs. "Go home."

Seungkwan glares. "Why do I even ask you guys things?"

Before anyone can reply, the TV volume rises slightly, and the sound of the New Year’s Eve broadcast pulls your attention. One minute.

The countdown hums in the air, anticipation bubbling in the spaces between laughter and half-finished drinks. From up here, the city stretches endlessly, a thousand tiny lights flickering.

Ten. Seungkwan wobbles slightly, the telltale sign of one too many cocktails. He grabs your arm, eyes twinkling.

Nine. "Guys," he slurs, "New Year’s tradition. Come here."

Eight. Jihoon exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. "Whatever it is, don’t."

Seven. "You didn’t even let me finish!"

Six. "No," Jihoon repeats.

Five. Seungkwan is already moving, ignoring Jihoon completely. He leans in and smacks a kiss onto your cheek, holding your face in both hands as you laugh and return the favor.

Four. Then, Seungcheol’s name slips past Seungkwan’s lips.

Three. Seungcheol finally looks over, his gaze breaking away from the skyline. You see the exact moment he realizes what’s about to happen.

Two. "Don’t you fucking-"

One. Seungkwan grabs him by the shoulders, dramatically pressing a sloppy, exaggerated kiss to his cheek. Seungcheol jerks back like he’s been physically attacked, wiping his face aggressively.

Zero. Jihoon tries to escape, but he’s not fast enough. Seungkwan catches him by the collar and yanks him back in, completing the set. Jihoon lets out a noise that’s half a groan, half a plea for mercy.

Fireworks explode in the sky, casting everything in bursts of color, reflecting off glass, off city windows, off Seungcheol’s skin.

And when you turn back toward him, he’s already looking at you.

Something heavy settles in your chest.

Because this…this moment, this night, this space between you. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

New Year’s Eve used to mean something different. It used to mean his hand finding yours before the countdown even finished, his smiling lips pressing against yours, just as the first firework lit the sky.

It used to mean you and him, always.

And now, it means this.

Seungcheol swallows. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides, his gaze flickering lower for a second too long, too telling.

For a moment, you wonder.

If things were different, if things hadn’t changed, he would’ve been kissing you instead.

And God, wouldn’t everything be so much easier?.

The world feels softer around the edges, your pulse too loud in your ears, and you wonder if he hears it too.

Seungcheol exhales, blinking like he’s trying to shake something off. And then just like that, the moment passes.

Seungkwan sighs dramatically, swaying where he stands. “God, I love you guys.” He throws his arms around both you and Seungcheol, completely ruining the moment.

Jihoon, still rubbing his cheek aggressively, mutters, “I hate all of you.”

You don’t laugh.

Instead, you break the silence first. “Happy New Year, Cheol.”

Seungcheol looks at you again. Something unreadable flickers in his eyes, something you can’t name. Something you don’t dare to. But it’s the new year, girl. You better start figuring your life out.

He exhales. “Yeah,” he murmurs. "Happy New Year."

The driveway is full of movement. Suitcases rolling, car doors slamming, voices overlapping as their parents double check everything for the tenth time. Seungho leans against the car—the designated driver for the airport run— arms crossed, looking thoroughly unbothered by the chaos.

“Are we done?” he calls, watching the four parents shuffle through their bags. “Or do you want to unpack and repack one more time just to be sure?”

His mother slaps his hand playfully, still making him flinch as she walks past him.

You drag the last suitcase down from your house, stumbling over the lawn, onto Seungcheol’s driveway where your parents wait. But before you can lift it into the car, Seungcheol steps in. “Just leave it here,” he says, nodding toward the side. “I’ll keep it.”

You blink. “Why?”

Seungcheol jerks his chin toward the trunk. “There’s no space left. Just leave it, I’ll figure it out.”

You glance at the car’s boot, suitcases jammed together in a precarious puzzle. He’s right. Trying to squeeze in another bag would probably end with someone’s luggage flying out on the highway.

Before you can respond, he’s already reaching for another suitcase, lifting it effortlessly into place. His arms flex under his t-shirt, veins prominent along his forearms as he shifts the weight. You look away before your gaze can linger.

When everything is put in and all the last checks are done, Seungcheol’s dad walks up to him, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Take care of things while we’re gone, yeah?”

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Your mom’s voice comes out muffled as she keeps her handbag inside the car, “Take care of each other, okay?”

His mom nods, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And try not to fight.”

It’s such a simple remark, one that could easily be brushed off as something parents would say to any two people left alone for a while. But the way they say it, the way their voices dip just slightly. You don’t really like it. Feels like they’re intentionally teasing the two of you.

You open your mouth to protest, but Seungho honks the horn impatiently. “Do you guys want me to book another flight for tomorrow, or are we leaving now?”

Your mom reminds you to throw out the milk tomorrow as she gets into the car and closes the door shut. Last minute reminders and goodbyes are thrown at the two of you before the car finally pulls out of the driveway.

You watch your dad wave from the window, making you smile as you wave back. You stand with Seungcheol in silence until you see the car disappear around a turn.

He sighs, a fond expression on his face before he turns to you, “Well. I’m still shocked with the fact that no one’s sent in a noise complaint about us by now.”

“They’re used to it, I guess,” You snort. “Hey, remember the last time they left us alone?”

Seungcheol lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “How could I forget? You almost burned the kitchen down.”

You scoff. “Excuse me? We almost burned the kitchen down.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You put an entire metal pot in the microwave.”

“And you watched me do it,” you fire back.

Seungcheol groans, rubbing his temples. “I was a little distracted, alright?”

You huff out in disbelief. “By what?”

“I don’t know? You were the one with your hands up my shirt-” Seungcheol clamps his lips shut as soon as the words escape him, his mouth running faster than his brain.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. Why would you say that, you buffoon?

You blink at him, an awkward sound leaving your mouth. He looks like he’s about to strangle himself to death any time now, so you try to push down the colour rising to your cheeks and decide to take him out of his misery.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t come off as dismissive as you intend for it to. If anything, it almost sounds like you’re agreeing with him.

Seungcheol notices too. His eyes flicker, like he’s not sure whether to be alarmed or relieved.

The awkwardness settles heavy in the space between you, which Seungcheol should’ve definitely not opened up.

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Uh. Anyway.”

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly.

Seconds pass, then a few more.

And then, deciding this is definitely getting too weird, you spin on your heel. “I’m going inside.”

“Good call,” Seungcheol mutters, dragging a hand down his face as you walk off.

Great. Fantastic. Just what he needed to begin the three weeks without your parents.

—

You step into your room and shut the door behind you, exhaling sharply.

What the fuck was that?

You press your hands to your face, as if somehow, somehow, that will help erase the last five minutes from existence. But your brain is already working against you, replaying the moment in crystal clear detail.

I don’t know? You were the one with your hands up my shirt—

You groan, dragging your palms down your face. Why would he say that? No. Actually, why would he say it like that? Like it was just a casual, normal fact? Like it was something that could be thrown into the conversation without completely derailing your entire sense of self?

And then—oh, because it wasn’t already bad enough—you had to go and agree with him.

You groan again, louder this time, flopping onto your bed before immediately sitting up again. No, you can’t sit still. You need to move, shake this weird, unbearable feeling out of your body.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. This is fine. It’s just Seungcheol. You’ve said worse in front of him, he’s said worse in front of you. It is not a big deal.

Except it feels like a big deal. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t quite ignore the way your skin feels a little too warm, or how your mind keeps circling back to the fact that, for just a second, he looked like he was waiting for you to say something else.

You take a deep breath, fanning your face with your hands, and march toward the window to pull the curtains closed.

And that’s when you see him.

Standing in his own room, directly across from yours, also mid-freakout.

Seungcheol’s hands are in his hair, mouth moving like he’s talking to himself. He paces around his room and then, as he turns, his eyes land on you.

Both of you freeze.

The silence stretches. Neither of you move.

Then, at the same time, you both panic.

Seungcheol immediately grabs his phone and stares at it like it holds the meaning of life, screen dark and completely off. You, on the other hand, take the only logical course of action. You very slowly reach for the curtains and pull them shut.

Nope. Not dealing with this.

Behind the fabric, you stand there for a moment, gripping the edges so tightly that you think you might pull the curtains down. Outside, you hear a muffled “Fuck.”

Yeah. Exactly.

Your hands are still gripping the curtains when your phone buzzes.

You don’t even need to check to know who it is.

Seungcheol: you saw nothing. [16:25]

A disbelieving scoff escapes you before you can stop it. Like hell you saw nothing.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether to respond or pretend you’re already asleep. But then, another buzz.

Seungcheol: You… didn’t right? You looked just as surprised. [16:25]

You roll your eyes and push the curtains open just enough to peek out. Seungcheol is still in his room, still looking thoroughly distressed, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing at his jaw. When he sees you looking, his eyes widen comically.

You narrow your eyes and type back.

You: Oh I saw EVERYTHING. [16:26]

Across the window, Seungcheol visibly groans. Your phone vibrates again.

Seungcheol: okay but honestly what the fuck was that. [16:26]

“You were the one that said it, idiot.” You call out to him, an edge of irritation in your voice as you whip the curtains open completely.

Seungcheol has the audacity to open his windows as he scoffs, “Well, you replied to that in a very weird way.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you have nothing to say, really. You could’ve ignored him, or just thrown a weird look, or called him an idiot. But no. Your stupid mind went Yeah, well, whatever.

You glare at him through the window. “Maybe I was just too stunned to think straight.”

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. And I wasn’t thinking. There. Done.”

“Like you ever do, come on,” You throw your hands up in the air, “Really, what was the need to even say that in the first place?”

Seungcheol looks offended as he points at you, “You were the one who fucking put that metal pot in there. You were also the one who was getting handsy, not me!”

You let out a strangled sound, nearly slamming your hands against the windowsill. “You probably enjoyed it then, shut up! That was three years ago, Cheol.”

“And yet, here we are!” He waves between the two of you. “Still dealing with the consequences!”

You stare at him, chest heaving. Seungcheol stares back, just as fired up.

Then, at the same time, you both inhale deeply before breathing out.

“three weeks,” you mutter. “three weeks without our parents.”

Seungcheol nods, looking grim. “We might not survive.”

Another pause. Then, without another word, you both shut your windows.

Two days in and Seungcheol hasn’t bumped into you, thankfully. To be fair, he hasn’t actually stepped out of the house, so there’s not many ways to see you. Unless, of course, through your windows. But your curtains haven’t opened up since that day and while it makes him cringe at himself everytime he sees the soft blue fabric through your window, it also amuses him. Your room must be a little depressing by now, with not much sunlight or air coming inside. He wonders how long you can go.

Right now, Seungcheol’s dragged himself off the couch and into the kitchen to cook something up for dinner. After digging a little into one of the cabinets, he settles on a pack of rigatoni. Shrugging to himself as he sets the pasta aside, Seungcheol moves around the kitchen, pulling out the rest of the ingredients. A can of tomatoes, a head of garlic, some olive oil. He checks the fridge next, grabbing a wedge of parmesan and a pack of butter, setting them onto the counter in a neat row.

If there’s anything he’s learnt from spending all those months in Maranello for Ferrari, it’s how to cook Italian food. In the beginning, Seungcheol remembers thinking how much of a hassle it was to go to Italy all the time. Most of the other teams had their bases in England, which meant that for most drivers, home and work weren’t too far apart. But for him, every return to Ferrari meant another flight to Maranello, another stretch of weeks spent in a place that never quite felt like home.

But food was easy. Food was routine. It was something he could rely on, even when everything else felt uncertain. Late nights at the factory meant post-midnight plates of pasta, thrown together with whatever was left in the kitchen. Pre-season training meant strict meals, but the off-season? That meant sitting down for a proper dinner, watching as the mechanics argued over which trattoria had the best carbonara. Somewhere along the way, he’d started paying attention.

So now, as he stands in his kitchen, setting up to cook, he almost functions on autopilot. He pulls out the ingredients one by one, the process easy, familiar. Olive oil first, then garlic, then tomatoes. The butter sits on the counter to soften while he grates the parmesan directly onto a plate, the fine shavings piling up neatly.

The water on the stove is boiling now, but before he reaches for the pasta, he moves to the counter where he usually keeps the basil. His hand goes straight for the small ceramic pot near the spice rack, expecting to pluck a few leaves from the bunch.

But when he looks inside, it’s empty.

He frowns. Checks around the counter, glancing near the sink, even peeking inside the paper bag of groceries he never put away. Nothing.

He could do without it. The sauce would still turn out fine. But knowing it was supposed to be there would bother him the entire time. He glances at the clock. 10:15 PM. It’s not too late, but late enough that he feels lazy to drive over to the grocery store.

Just make it without basil, He tries to convince himself, sighing as he walks back to the stove. It’s fine. The sauce will be fine.

And yet, for some reason, his body refuses to continue. He knows exactly how this will go. He’ll finish cooking, plate it up, sit down, and take one bite before getting annoyed at himself for skipping the basil.

Seungcheol’s fingers tap against the counter, slightly restless. He could just finish cooking. He should.

Or, a small part of his mind pipes up. Or you could just shoot her a text and ask if she had some.

Seungcheol shakes his head, huffing out a small laugh. No way.

Not like we have another choice. Unless you want to go buy some.

He stares at the stove for another long second, arms crossed over his chest. The water keeps boiling, steam rising steadily, like it’s waiting for him to make up his mind.

It’s just basil.

Seungcheol huffs, dragging a hand down his face before finally pulling his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovers over your contact name, debating.

Then, before he can overthink it, he types out a message and presses send, locking his phone and setting it face down on the counter.

And then he waits.

You see the message immediately, blinking as the words register in your head. Basil? Out of all the things he could’ve texted you for.

For a second, you debate leaving him on read. Your bed is comfortable and you were probably only a few minutes away from falling asleep. But you sigh, pushing yourself off the bed before sluggishly moving to your kitchen.

When he opens the door after two knocks, you’re standing there, hand stuffed into your hoodie pocket, eyes flicking toward the ground like you’re not sure why you’re here either. In your free hand, a small bunch of basil.

"You owe me," you mutter, holding it out.

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he takes it. "Yeah, yeah. Come inside before you freeze."

You hesitate for a second—just a second—but then you step past him, kicking your shoes off at the entrance as he closes the door behind you.

The kitchen is warm, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the air.. You lean against the counter, arms loosely crossed, watching as Seungcheol moves around like this is second nature to him.

It’s easy to fall into this, watching him cook, letting the quiet stretch between you. The way he moves, the unhurried rhythm of it all, is strangely familiar. Like this isn’t the first time. Like it won’t be the last.

You watch as he picks up the basil, rolling a few leaves between his fingers before tearing them over the pan. His movements are steady, practiced.

“Well,” you say eventually, tilting your head, “guess your time in Ferrari was fruitful after all.”

Seungcheol huffs, raising an eyebrow as he stirs the sauce. “Yeah?”

“At least you learned how to cook.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Right. Spent years fighting for championships, but I guess this is my real achievement.”

You smile a little. “It’s not nothing.”

He hums. His voice is a little softer when he agrees, “No, it’s not, I suppose.”

You watch the steam rise from the pot, twisting into the air, before speaking again. “You know… you used to be really bad at this.”

Seungcheol lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were,” you insist, amused. “You didn’t measure anything. You used to dump in way too much garlic and just hope for the best.”

He presses his lips together, looking down at the counter like he’s holding back a grin. “And you used to complain the whole time.”

“I had to,” you say, “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have learned. But to be fair, I wasn’t that great either.”

Seungcheol glances at you then, gaze undeniably soft. But instead of saying anything, he just shakes his head, stirring the sauce like this conversation isn’t stirring something else up entirely.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the counter. “I used to think about it, you know.”

“Think about what?”

You shake your head, letting out a small laugh. “Who’d do the cooking.”

He pauses, glancing at you again.

You shrug, “We were both pretty bad at it back then. I used to wonder if we’d ever get better or if we’d just end up eating terrible food forever.”

Seungcheol blinks at you before scoffing, shaking his head. “Wow. That’s what you were worried about?”

You laugh lightly. “I mean, it was a real concern.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And? What did you decide?”

“I figured one of us would have to learn eventually,” you say, flicking a stray basil leaf across the counter. “Guess I was right.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce one last time before lowering the heat.

“Well,” he mutters, “you still haven’t seen how it tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the way his fingers drum quietly against the counter, the way his jaw tenses like he’s debating something.

Then, finally, he sighs. “I wouldn’t make you bring me something and then just make you leave without tasting it.”

You shift against the counter, watching as he reaches for a pair of plates. A pair.

“Alright,” you say lightly. “Don’t screw it up, then.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head as he grabs the ladle.

“No promises.”

Seungcheol twirls his fork slowly through his pasta, gaze flicking toward you between bites. “So,” he says after a moment, “what’s everyone else been up to?”

You glance up. “Everyone?”

He nods, leaning back slightly. “Yeah. I know what Seungkwan and Jihoon are up to, but what about the others? It’s been a while.”

You pause, thinking. “Well… Hyerin got fired.”

Seungcheol stops, fork mid-air, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Fired?”

“Mhm,” you hum, spearing a piece of pasta. “She got into an argument with a customer and called him an dumbfuck or something.”

Seungcheol lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It shouldn’t,” you say, smiling faintly. “But what should surprise you is that the customer just so happened to be the owner's brother.”

His fork clinks softly against his plate. He blinks at you once, then exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” you murmur, shaking your head. “She had no idea who he was, and by the time she found out, it was too late. He complained, and she was fired the next day.”

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, tilting his head slightly. “I bet she doesn’t regret it.”

You shrug. “Not even a little. She said she hated the job anyway. She works at a bookstore now, says it’s peaceful.”

“Figures.” He takes another slow bite, chewing as he watches you. “Didn’t she always hate dealing with people?”

You nod in agreement, twirling your fork absently as you think. For a moment, it’s almost easy to forget how much time has passed.

Seungcheol leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the counter. “What about Daehwan?”

Your lips press together. “Still an idiot.”

His mouth twitches. “That bad?”

You sigh, setting your fork down. “Worse, actually. You remember how he used to do those ridiculous stunts?”

Seungcheol nods, “Hard to forget.”

“Well, now he does them online. He started filming them, and somehow, he has an actual following.”

Seungcheol walks over to his fridge, pulling out a drink. You notice how he slides your favourite one towards you. “…Are you telling me Daehwan is famous?”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, rubbing your temple. “Last month, he tried to skateboard down the town’s library’s stairs, and the video got over a million views.”

Seungcheol stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, laughing quietly. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re telling me.” You take another bite, shaking your head as you chew. “And, of course, he hasn’t changed at all. Still does everything last minute, still never thinks things through. I swear, one of these days, he’s going to get himself seriously hurt.”

Seungcheol hums. “He’s lucky, though.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

A faint smile plays on his lips, but there’s something thoughtful in the way he exhales. “Not everyone gets to stay the same.”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around your fork.

Seungcheol doesn’t elaborate. He just shakes his head slightly, reaching for his drink. “Anyway,” he says, voice lighter now, “who else?”

You let out a slow breath, deciding to let it go. “Jiwon’s engaged.”

That gets his attention. His brows raise slightly as he sets his glass back down. “Really?”

“Mhm.” You nod. “Her fiancé proposed in Jeju. On a boat.”

Seungcheol scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “Of course he did.”

You smile. “She called me after and talked for forty-five minutes about how seasick she got.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds like her.”

You push a piece of bell pepper to the edge of your plate, barely paying attention as you continue talking. Seungcheol absentmindedly reaches over with his fork and takes it.

You pause mid-sentence, watching as he eats it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a second, your brain stutters. Because it is.

Because he’s done this before, so many times that it’s instinctive now, something he probably doesn’t even think about. He never liked bell peppers much either, but back when you were together, he always ate the ones you picked out, saying it was “a waste to leave them.”

When you go back home to your room, climbing under your covers, you see the faint light from Seungcheol’s room fall onto your wall. 

What were you thinking, really? Pretending like everything would be fine if you just acted like you always did in front of him. You’d been his best friend before his girlfriend, yes. But you realize now that it doesn’t make anything easier. Pretending you could sit across from him, talk to him, let him be a part of your life again without it meaning anything. You’d hoped and convinced yourself—in the fifteen minute car ride to work, the day he came back—that it would be easy. None of this is, you know now. Maybe you've always known.

Maybe he had made it easier for you by not coming back last winter, even if he didn’t intend to do it. There’s no part of your life he wasn’t in. No part of you that wasn’t shaped, in some way, by him.

And now he’s here again, living across from you, eating across from you, seeing you almost every day like this is normal. You press the heel of your palm against your eyes, exhaling shakily. You were supposed to be okay. 

You left him. You were supposed to be okay. You told yourself you did the right thing, that there was no other choice, that this was what needed to happen. So why does it still feel like you lost something?

He did have a point. You didn’t have to act like everything was fine. That whatever happened between you two didn’t exist. Maybe you really should have ignored him. Maybe that would make this easier. But Seungcheol remembers. You remember. It’s only been a little over a year. Did you just need more time away from each other? Maybe if he’d never come back, then you’d finally have enough time to forget him.

You had convinced yourself that distance was enough. That if you just stayed away long enough, if he stayed away long enough, the weight of him would eventually fade. But he’ll never truly leave you and you know it. Because the moment he sits across from you, the moment he speaks to you like nothing’s changed, the moment he reaches across the table and takes something off your plate like he always used to, it’ll all come back. The familiarity, the ache, the unbearable knowing that he still fits into your life in ways you thought you’d outgrown.

Your body betrays you, months of restraint splintering apart as a sob slips past your lips before you can stop it. You press a hand over your mouth, but it doesn’t help. Your shoulders shake beneath the weight of it, your lungs constrict, and for the first time since he came back, you let yourself break.

You don’t think he even realizes what he’s doing to you.

You don’t think he knows that with every little thing he does, he’s unraveling everything you’ve spent the past year trying to stitch back together.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. It’s not like you can suddenly ignore him and start acting different now.

Maybe tomorrow, it’ll hurt less.

Maybe tomorrow, you’ll be able to look at him and feel nothing.

Maybe tomorrow, you’ll finally believe it.

tagging: @sojuxxi @fancypeacepersona @stupendouschildnerd @reiofsuns2001 @archivistworld @teddybeartaetae @selenethings @angelarin @gyuguys @starshuas @coupsma @the-vena-cava @smiileflower @minjiech @luxmoonlight @kookiedesi @znzlii @syluslittlecrows @blckorchidd @yawnozone @exomew @ceruissleeping

[kxsagi]

Hii!! Im here to request something if that’s alright! First of all, I need to say I love your work, it genuinely has me kicking my feet in bed till midnight sometimes!!

If it’s okay, I’d like to request something with the BLLK character (Shidou, Ness, Kaiser and anyone else you think) with a super feminine, girly and pink girlfriend, who just snores loudly when she sleeps?

Hope your well!! XOXO❤️

“𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩”

a/n: thank you so much lovey!! i'm well and hope you are too! ❤️

duality is the hottest personality trait imo so this request idea is gold

(don't know art credits so sorry)

ft. shidou ryusei, ness alexis, kaiser michael, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae

shidou ryusei

thinks it’s hot. like genuinely. the snoring? music to his ears. 

when he first hears it, he starts laughing so hard he wakes you up. 

“no, no, don’t stop, babe, go back to sleep. i was vibing.” 

totally makes a stupid beat out of your snores and plays it for the team. it actually slaps. 

calls you “princess piggy” affectionately. 

buys you pink satin sleep masks and pink skull-print blankets. the duality. 

ness alexis

nearly cried the first night. 

he genuinely thought you were choking? he was so worried omg. 

now he brings earplugs and still cuddles you like a human teddy bear. 

if anyone says anything about your snoring he’s like “it’s not that loud 🙄” (it is, it’s seismic). 

calls you “sleeping beauty” and tucks your hair behind your ear like he’s in a kdrama. 

insists on pink everything in your shared space. pink slippers? matching. pink toothbrush? bought two. 

kaiser michael

smirks when he first hears it. 

“so that’s the sound of true love, huh?” 

secretly records it once to tease you but ends up setting it as his alarm because “it’s motivating.” 

loves that you’re all dolled up in pink during the day and a little goblin at night. if that isn’t balance, what is? 

he calls you “snuggle siren” like it’s a title of honor. 

custom-orders pink silk pajamas with his number on them for you. “gotta rep your man in your sleep.” 

nagi seishiro

doesn’t even notice. 

he sleeps through it. 

when someone brings it up he’s just like, “eh? she snores? that’s kinda cute.” 

if anything, your snoring helps him fall asleep faster. “white noise, but better.” 

likes napping on your lap while you play games with your pink claw clips in his hair. 

sometimes snores back in harmony. it’s a duet. 

itoshi rin

immediately shot up in bed the first time like what the hell was that. 

“is there a demon in this room? oh. it’s just you.” 

took a while to get used to it but now he just shoves a pillow over his head and accepts fate. 

buys noise-canceling headphones but still insists on cuddling. 

if anyone talks bad about your snoring, he’ll glare and say “she’s perfect.” 

lets you paint his nails pink once. regrets it instantly but lowkey loves the way your eyes sparkle. 

isagi yoichi

was so startled he thought it was an earthquake. 

but he gets used to it fast and actually finds it endearing. 

“you’re the cutest girl in the world, even if you sound like a truck.” 

he tucks you in so gently every night like he’s prepping you for battle. 

brags about how pink and adorable you are but would throw hands if someone mocked your snoring. 

insists on couple items: pink jerseys, pink keychains, and matching pink water bottles (preferably stanleys). 

itoshi sae

lifts his head the first night like are you serious right now. 

side-eyes your sleeping form for a full minute. 

next day: “you snore.” no further comments. 

but he lets you sleep on his chest anyway and eventually finds the noise weirdly comforting. 

buys you expensive pink loungewear like it’s nothing. “you like this color, right?” 

kisses your forehead before bed and says “don’t shake the walls tonight.” you never listen. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[revelboo]

I have nothing to say I just want to contribute to filling your inbox to the brim :3

🤣 at this point, I’m going to figure out if there’s a max limit on asks the hard way

I’m free?! 🤣 let’s go! And yes, I did hint at Dratchet on Drift’s

Mass Displacement Mayhem Pt 5- MTMTE 2

Tarn

• Backing up a step as you slowly smile at him, for the first time in a very long time, he feels actual fear. Because you’re bigger than he is now and he’s painfully aware of all the times he’s failed you in taking care of you before you could understand each other. “I think,” you croon at him. “You need a bath.”

• Seizing him, you hear his tired growl and he’s shockingly heavy for his size, making you stagger slightly. And he’s not even resisting, just hanging limply as you awkwardly shuffle with him toward your rigged together bath. Because you’re getting some harmless payback for all the indignities he’s heaped on you before you could understand each other.

Scavengers

• “Cut it out!” Shuffling Spinister to a hip to snag Misfire and haul him up on your other side, your arms are already aching with how heavy they both are as you turn your attention on the other three, hearing Crankcase swearing as he backs away. What? Don’t enjoy being babied and manhandled? They do it to you all the time, though. Grinning, you head toward the others, watching Fulcrum run away from you. And Krok just tiredly vents, not even bothering to avoid you as Spin clings to you, apparently happy to be carried, Misfire struggling like a wild thing.

Swindle

• “Babe, no.” Struggling when you grab him and his peds leave the ground, hears you wheeze that he’s so heavy. Needs to be figuring out how to undo this, maybe comming his former team for help. Because you don’t understand how vulnerable you both are right now. That he has enemies. “I need to secure the ship!” Don’t you understand? How hard he works to keep you safe and right now? He can’t defend you if one of your many fans were to find out he’s helpless.

• Oh, he’s even cuter little. Pressing your face against his neck, he shudders and makes a strangled noise. Hear him groan that ‘you’re killing him.’ Why is he so upset?

Megatron

• Venting as you laugh so hard you’re crying, he smiles ruefully. At least one of you is finding this amusing, because he’s not. Is this Brainstorm’s doing? Wouldn’t be surprised. Startling when you reach to cup his face in your soft hands, he leans into you. Not about to fuss about being so small when you’re obviously loving it. Would do anything for you to keep you and his new spark happy.

Rung

• “Please don’t,” he asks, venting tiredly when you just grin and slowly lift him into the empty box from his latest model. Knowing that he’s too little to get back out right now. And he frowns up at you in exasperation. But. Are you smiling? Really smiling not those fake flashes of teeth you usually give him? Startled, he feels warmth spread through him. Because he can deal with being out in ‘time out’ if you’re happy.

Previous

[crystal-wingeddragon-spikes]

So, you are telling me, this is not just a massive scientific misinformation, but is now an excuse to actually kill real endangered animals.

You are telling me this start-ups science company stunt is used by Trump regime to destroy long-standing public science that had made positive realistic impacts because making a world a better place is inherently opposing to the imaginary infinite-growth capitalism.

I feel so, so bad for Julie Meachen. Extracting genome from 10,000+ yaers old bones is genuinely impressive, and I was a fool to think some tech start-ups did that itself.

From Pfizer covid vaccine, to SpaceX, and now Colossal Bioscience. They all use public science knowledge, staffs, and resource for profit, never mind who they had to kill and what they had to destroy for money.

The Washington Post with pay wall removed. 8 Minutes read, I beg you to read it.

Text extracted from the article:

The Trump administration is trumpeting a biotech company’s claim of reviving a long-lost wolf as an argument for slashing endangered species protections.

Dallas-based Colossal Biosciences said Monday that it used gene editing to create “de-extinct animals” in the form of three pups with the light-colored fur and musculature of a dire wolf.

Many scientists expressed skepticism that the pups could be classified as part of a canine species that went extinct over 10,000 years ago. But Interior Secretary Doug Burgum said the achievement demonstrates that it is not government regulations but innovation that will save species.

(Video could not be played, per nature of webpage capture)

“It’s time to fundamentally change how we think about species conservation,” Burgum wrote in a post on X. “Going forward, we must celebrate removals from the endangered list — not additions.”

He has already met with the company about using its animals in federal conservation efforts, as well as for potential species restoration.

“If we’re going to be in anguish about losing a species, now we have an opportunity to bring them back,” he told Interior Department employees during a live-streamed town hall Wednesday. “Pick your favorite species and call up Colossal.”

Even before the dire wolf announcement, the administration had begun moving to upend the protections regime that has been in place for five decades, since the passage of the Endangered Species Act in 1973.

On Monday, the Fish and Wildlife Service — which falls under Burgum — sent a proposal to the White House to redefine what it means to “harm” a species under the act. Although no details have been released publicly, environmentalists expressed concern that a rule change would allow for greater habitat destruction.

“If that’s what they intend to do, it’ll just fundamentally undermine the Endangered Species Act,” said Noah Greenwald of the nonprofit Center for Biological Diversity.

Meanwhile, Republicans in Congress are preparing sweeping cuts to protections for bears, bats, lizards and still-living wolves. They say unnecessary and overbearing rules hamper economic development and infringe on the rights of states and private landowners.

The Endangered Species Act is a “very well-meaning bill that had great objectives,” said Rep. Bruce Westerman (R-Arkansas), chair of the House Natural Resources Committee.

But he added: “It’s been a bit of a failure.”

The revival of the ‘God Squad’

In less than three months in office, President Donald Trump’s team has shown few qualms about overriding endangered species protections that threaten to block his energy agenda or other policy goals.

On Inauguration Day, Trump signed a memorandum declaring that he was “putting people over fish.” The president directed water away from a Northern California river system, which supports a tiny protected fish called the delta smelt, to parts of the state facing wildfires — even though a lack of water was not the reason for the historic fires in Los Angeles.

In February, the Interior Department rescinded guidance from under President Joe Biden that the oil and gas industry should slow ships in the Gulf of Mexico to avoid striking a species called the Rice’s whale. With fewer than 100 remaining, the Rice’s whale is one of the most endangered marine mammals left in the ocean.

Burgum also issued an order asking deputies to consider economic factors when deciding habitat protections.

During his confirmation hearing, Burgum lamented the “weaponization of federal rules meant to actually protect wildlife.”

“It’s used for groups that are just trying to block our nation’s progress,” he told Congress.

Perhaps Trump’s most sweeping action so far involves restarting a long-dormant committee that can override protections for endangered species. Environmentalists give it an ominous nickname: “the God Squad.”

The committee, which consists of Burgum and five other high-level officials, can approve projects even if they result in the extinction of a species. The panel, officially called the Endangered Species Committee, has rarely been convened.

The panel“has long been called the God Squad because it has the power of God over the fate of species,” said Andrew Wetzler, senior vice president for nature at the Natural Resources Defense Council.

With control of both the House and Senate, Republicans in Congress hope to go further by cementing changes to the Endangered Species Act in law.

Several Republicans are pushing bills to delist a menagerie of animals. These include the dunes sagebrush lizard, which lives in Texas oil country, and the northern long-eared bat, which lives in forests that the timber industry wants to log, as well as populations of gray wolves and grizzly bears, which ranchers say prey on livestock.

Westerman, the congressman, notes that of the hundreds of protected species, only 3 percent have ever recovered.

“It’s almost like some people think Moses wrote the Endangered Species Act on stone tablets, and we can’t touch it,” he said. “But we’ve got to be honest about the results we’re getting.”

With that record, Westerman is pushing to amend the act to give more power to states and limit courts’ ability to review decisions to remove protections for plants and animals.

The moral hazard of ‘de-extinction’ work

Ahead of the dire wolf announcement, Burgum met with Colossal’s leaders in March to discuss the concept of “de-extinction” and the use of the technology in conservation, according to company CEO Ben Lamm.

The company has big aims to bring back versions of the dodo, the mammoth and a carnivorous marsupial called the thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger. Colossal says it is not trying to create replicas of extinct animals, but functional equivalents that can fill the ecological niches of vanished species.

In addition to modifying 14 genes to produce the trio of gray wolf pups meant to resemble the ancient dire wolf, the company recently also cloned four red wolves, a critically endangered canine.

Fewer than 20 still live in eastern North Carolina, while approximately 240 more are kept at captive breeding facilities. Colossal discussed with Burgum the possibility of using the company’s cloned red wolves in recovery efforts.

“It’s really important to have a seat at the table regardless of your political views,” Lamm said in an interview with The Washington Post.

Even though many conservationists distrust Trump, Lamm added, “Is it really the right thing just to put your head in the sand and ignore the rest of the world?”

The company emphasizes how its gene-editing technology can help conserve existing species. For instance, Colossal wants to fix mutations in endangered pink pigeons, which suffer from inbreeding, as well as make a vaccine for a herpes virus that kills elephants.

The technology, company leaders said, should not be misconstrued as a substitute for protecting existing species.

“What we’re doing gives us the ability to help accelerate recovery, but recovery still is dependent on the conservation of wild habitats,” said Matt James, Colossal’s chief animal officer, who added that the Endangered Species Act is “a monumental piece of legislation.”

In a statement to The Post, Interior spokeswoman J. Elizabeth Peace said Burgum “values collaboration and dialogue with a range of partners.”

“We remain committed to exploring all science-based options that can help strengthen the recovery of the red wolf and other endangered species,” she added.

Among skeptics of “de-extinction,” there has long been a fear that attempts to use biotechnology to revive extinct species would give license to regulators to water down needed protections for existing plants and animals.

“The moral hazard in this work is gigantic, as its support by the Trump organization shows,” Stanford biologist Paul R. Ehrlich said. “Effort put into re-creating dire wolves only makes the threat to our civilization more dire, especially in view of the administration’s large-scale assault on our life-support systems and on science.”

Julie Meachen, a Des Moines University paleontologist who helped unravel the dire wolf genome but was not involved in the creation of Colossal’s three pups, does not consider the three canines to be “true” dire wolves.

But she is worried the Trump administration will use the idea that animals can be brought back from the dead “as a carte blanche to delist all the endangered species.”

“This technology does not replace protections for endangered species,” she added.

Carolyn Y. Johnson and Maxine Joselow contributed to this report.

Ahhh, there’s the obvious conclusion.

If we can de-extinct* species, surely there’s no point in worrying about endangered species anymore! We can bring them back anytime!

*depending on your definition of de-extinction.

[ladyfocalors]

Rivalry

summary: After Grim loudly claims that you’re "the only one allowed to be my hench-human forever" in front of Ace and Deuce. Deuce takes it very seriously. He’s suddenly determined to prove he’s the better choice to be your number one by showing it to you through various means. And now you have a love struck Heartslabyul student and a jealous cat monster fighting for your attention.

pairing: deuce spade x gn!reader

warnings: very dialogue heavy, the usual stupidity that comes with heartshackle.

word count: 1.6k

Lunch had started like any other day. You, Grim, Ace, and Deuce were crowded around a table, eating and chatting between bites. Grim, as usual, was stealing from your plate despite having his own food.

"Ugh," Ace groaned. "Pairing us up for alchemy project without even letting us choose? That's unfair!"

"It's Crewel," you said.

"Seriously, we're the ones who have to suffer." he huffed, "What if we get stuck with some lazy bum who expects us to do all the work?"

You wanted to comment that knowing Ace's grade in alchemy, he would be the one to drag his partner down but you instead settled on a shrug and said, "It's supposed to teach us teamwork."

Ace scoffed. "More like it's teaching me how to carry someone's dead weight. What about you guys? Who'd you get?"

"I got some guy from Pomefiore," you answered, poking at your food. "He seems nice enough."

"Eh, how lucky," Ace mused. Then, he turned to Deuce. "And you?"

Deuce, who had been oddly quiet, frowned slightly. "Some student from Ignihyde. He barely talks."

"Yikes." Ace shook his head. "Bet you wish you had a better partner, huh? If you could pick anyone, who would it be?"

Deuce hesitated. He looked at his plate, thinking for a long moment. Then, as if the answer had been obvious all along, he turned to you.

"The Prefect, probably."

You blinked in surprise. "Me?"

Deuce nodded.

"You're reliable. You actually try to get things done instead of slacking off. If I had to do a project with anyone, I'd want someone I can count on."

You laughed, a little flustered. "That's a nice compliment, thank you."

Before the conversation could continue, Grim suddenly slammed his paws onto the table, nearly knocking over your glass of water.

"NO WAY!" he barked, fur bristling. "No one gets to be their number one but me!"

Ace burst into laughter. "What!?"

Grim turned to you, puffing out his chest. "You're the only one allowed to be my hench-human forever!"

Silence followed his statement.

Ace recovered first, snorting. "Whoa, where's this coming from? Who's trying to steal your 'hench-human,' furball?"

Grim scoffs. "No one! I'm just sayin' you two dunces don't stand a chance."

"Grim. This is not a competition." you sighed.

"But we're a team!"

There was no arguing with him when he got like this. "Sure, Grim. Whatever you say."

Satisfied, Grim went back to eating, clearly believing the discussion was over.

But…

"So, you're saying anyone who wants to be their number one has to prove they're better than you?" Deuce asked, his expression serious. Something about the way he said it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Grim scoffed. "No one's gonna do that 'cause no one's better than me!"

Deuce frowned, but his expression quickly turned determined. You didn't like that look.

"Alright," he said, clenching a fist. "Challenge accepted."

You stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"I'll prove I'm the better choice to be your number one!" Deuce declared, eyes burning with conviction.

Grim shot up. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"

"No! You two are not doing this!" you raised your hand to grab their attention, but your words fell into deaf ears as Grim and Deuce had a stare-down.

You let out a sigh for the nth time that day.

Deuce and Grim were not lying when they took 'being your number one' as a competition. The very next morning you had to deal with them.

Deuce was already at your side, reaching for your bag.

"I'll carry that."

"Deuce, I can carry my own bag."

"But I should do it," he insisted. "A good partner helps out however they can."

Before you could protest, Grim leapt onto your shoulder.

"Well, I help out by keeping 'em company! Try beatin' that!"

Deuce frowned, considering something. Then, his eyes brightened with realization.

"I could walk them to class every day."

Grim gasped in offence. "I already do that!"

"Yeah, but I'll make sure they actually get there instead of wandering off and getting roped into trouble."

"Myah! No, I don't wander!"

"Okay!" You stepped between them before a fight broke out. "That's enough!"

The two of them turned to you expectantly.

You exhaled through your nose. "Look. I appreciate the thought, really. But I don't need to be walked to class. I don't need someone carrying my stuff. And I definitely don't need you two constantly trying to one-up each other!"

There was a long pause.

"... So what you're saying is," Deuce began, rubbing his chin, "I need to do more than just carrying things?"

Grim's ears flattened. "That's not what they said!"

Ace smirked, seemingly enjoying the scene. "Wow, Prefect, tough crowd today."

I need new friends, was the only thought that occupied your mind all the way to your class.

When lunchtime rolled around, you expected to enjoy a quiet meal. If anything went wrong, Riddle would definitely collar both Grim and Deuce. So, you were not worried about anything actually going wrong.

Unfortunately (well, fortunately, but Grim got involved) Deuce had gone ahead and brought you lunch.

"Here," he says, setting your food in front of you before sitting down. "You like this stuff, right?"

You blinked. "Yeah, but…"

"What do you think you're doin'?" Grim butt in.

"Just helping them out." Deuce frowned.

"Oh yeah?" Grim huffed. "Well, I always share my food with them!"

Which was the biggest lie anyone would ever hear from Grim. You had to fight him off every time his paw would reach for your food.

You turned to stare at Grim. "Grim. You literally steal food from my plate."

"Myah! It's called sharing!" he insisted, crossing his little arms, then turned to Deuce. "Besides, what makes you think the hench-human wants you buyin' their food, huh?"

Deuce stiffened, suddenly looking uncertain. "I mean… I just thought–"

"Hey, if you're bringing people lunch, I wouldn't mind one too," Ace cut in, grinning as he reached for your plate.

"This isn't for you," Deuce smacked his hand away without hesitation.

"Ooh, I see how it is," Ace snickered.

"There's nothing to see," Deuce said quickly, ears turning pink.

You sighed, shaking your head. "Deuce, I appreciate it, but you don't have to bring me lunch."

"I wanted to," he said, stubborn as ever. His eyes were set with the same determination he had when he swore to be your number one.

"Then I should be the one doin' it!" Grim declared, puffing out his chest.

You shot him a look. "Grim, you steal my food."

"You're missing the point!" he said, scrambling for some sort of rebuttal. "I don't need to bring lunch to be the best! I got charm! And loyalty! And–" He trailed off, ears flicking as he struggled to think of more reasons. Finally, he threw his paws up in frustration. "And I am the Great Grim! And I don't see you tryin' to be a better number one than me!"

"Because I don't just say it. I prove it." Deuce said in a smug tone.

Grim slammed his paws on the table. "Fine! I'll prove it, too!"

Deuce met his challenge head-on, slamming his own hands on the table. "Fine!"

"Keep this up and Riddle will come here and collar both of you," you grumbled, which shut both of the idiots up.

"What are you doing, Deuce?" you asked the boy with a toolbox in your dorm. Something always kept happening, and you were on your last straw.

He cleared his throat. "I noticed your door's been sticking out, so I thought I'd fix it."

You blinked at him. "Deuce. That's… actually really nice."

You barely had time to be touched by the gesture before a blur of gray fur shot past you.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T!"

Grim skidded to a halt in front of the door, standing his ground like a knight protecting their master.

"I already fixed it!"

Deuce frowned. "You did?"

"Yeah! Used my claws to pry it loose!"

You slapped a hand to your forehead. "Grim, that's not fixing it–"

"But I did it for you!"

Deuce narrowed his eyes. "I can actually fix it. Properly."

"Like I'd let you take my job!" Grim's fur stood on their end.

And then they started arguing again. Right outside the door.

It took forever to separate them, and by the time you did, you had enough.

You planted your hands on your hips. "That's it! I am done with this stupid competition! Stop this nonsense!"

Deuce and Grim froze.

Grim blinked up at you. "Huh?"

You exhaled, dragging a hand down your face. "Look. I get it. You both want to be my 'number one', but you don't have to prove anything to me."

Deuce bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're both important to me," you continued. "And I don't need ridiculous competitions or going out of your way to do things for me to prove that. Just be yourselves."

There was a beat of silence. Then Grim huffed, crossing his little arms. "Fine. But I still say I'm your number one."

"Grim." You glared.

"What? You said I don't have to prove anything!"

Deuce let out a quiet chuckle.

You turned to him, exhausted. "And you. Are we done with this?"

A faint pink dusted his cheeks. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Good."

You closed the door behind you, rubbing your temples. You couldn’t help but think about how much energy had been wasted on this ridiculous competition. You had things to do. Assignments to finish, a half-broken dorm to manage, and you had to handle the biggest troublemaker in NRC.

As you sighed, relieved the ordeal was over, Deuce hesitated before speaking.

"But if I did have to prove something, it wouldn’t just be about being your number one." He swallowed, his usual determination wavering. "I… I like you." His face was burning now. "Not just as a friend. I– I wanted to show you that."

Grim gagged. You ignored Grim, meeting Deuce’s nervous gaze. Then, you smiled. "You didn’t have to prove anything for that, either."

His eyes widened, then softened, lips curving into a grin.

© ladyfocalors

[sswed]

dammed if i do, dammed if i dont

lucy bronze x swimmer!reader

A/N: pure unadulterated smut, thus minors DNI, thanks

You pull at the collar of your turtleneck. You don't know how your stylist convinced you to wear this but it's a little late to take it off now. So now you're sweating to death in a hall filled with other so-called 'nike' athletes.

You don't really want to be here, drinking sparkling water in a champagne flute rather than alcohol and looking at the little cakes instead of eating them because you're in season .

It's all far too boring for you to be here, something about bringing female athletes together and nike being at the centre of it all.

It sounds like a bunch of crap to you and it probably is but your agent says that nike pays half your paycheck. So, you rather remain in their good books for an extended period of time than be dropped. Swimming doesn't pay much, unfortunately but sponsors do.

You pull at your collar again. Not only is it hot but itchy as well. You glance down at your empty glass, you're not even that thirsty but you'd rather have something than nothing. You scan the room for a waiter, ignoring all the swanky décor, when someone catches your eye.

She's got the most daring dress on, sleeveless, tight and black with a slit right down the left side. Suddenly, you feel extremely thirsty. She's drop dead gorgeous and her arms are to die for, the perfect ratio of muscle.

She's something out of a wet dream and she's standing in the same room as you.

You don't think you've seen someone more attractive in your life. She's got lovely hair, dark and tied up. You want to undo it, let it run down her shoulders.

God, you want her more than anything else. You'd drop to your knees for her and you don't even know her. She's like a cardinal sin and you're very ready to commit.

Lucy shifts on her feet uncomfortably. She doesn't know why today of all days, she's picked to wear heels for once. What she does know is that she deeply regrets it.

She's already got blisters on her feet and it doesn't help that she's been standing around for the past hour talking to people who are far too uninteresting. She wishes that anyone she knew was here but it's just her luck that the only person who actually bothered to attend this, happens to be her.

Lucy sighs deeply and looks around the room. She doesn't know most of these people. There are only a few footballers from teams she vaguely remembers playing against and the rest of the faces are foreign.

Then her eyes fall on you.

You're perfect, or so she thinks. Tall and dressed in a dark suit with long hair around your shoulders. You've got a grimace on your face that Lucy can appreciate, she too finds this event a little pointless.

Yet the expression doesn't take away from the fact that you're built like a statue. Even under the various articles of clothing, Lucy can tell that you've got lean muscle hiding there. Your back is wide and clearly contoured into the suit, she wonders what it would be like to run her nails down it.

She was bored a second ago but now? Now, she's a woman on a mission.

You go to the drinks table soon after looking at Lucy. She's got you thirsty and a little needy, so you decide that a few sparkling waters will take off the edge. Instead you're met with her.

Lucy's standing right next to you and you've barely even noticed. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop you from saying something stupid. This could be your chance and you really don't want to fuck it up.

"Err... Have we met before?" You ask with a slight smile.

You kick yourself mentally. She's probably going to think you're a weirdo, asking her if you've met when you clearly haven't.

Lucy blinks a few times before matching your smile, "I don't think so."

"Awe, must have been in my dreams then," You smirk and Lucy laughs loudly for a moment.

It's a horrible line that you picked up from a television show but it seems to work anyway because Lucy's laughing now and so are you.

"You're dreaming about me?" Lucy's face dons a smirk of her own and your heart races at the sight.

"Maybe," You tease and shuffle a little closer to her.

God, she looks even better up close. She's got a strong jawline that begs to be grabbed and those eyes. You don't think you've seen greener eyes in person, they're like forests in the form of irises.

"Maybe?" Lucy raises a brow and laughs.

"I don't think it's a maybe." Lucy questions and she'd be correct. You're actually certain she's out of a dream.

You chuckle lowly and it's like music to Lucy's ears. You've got the hottest voice she's ever heard. The perfect mix of hoarse with a slight rasp and your accent, Aussie if she's correct which she is, adds to the whole tone.

"Oh no, you've caught me," You murmur close to her and Lucy feels goosebumps rise on her arms.

"Have I, now?" Lucy leans closer until her breath is practically ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You resist the urge to grab her right then and there. You wonder if you're drunk, this sudden confidence alarmingly new but you're not. Not on alcohol at least. You feel giddy like you've found someone to match you in this boring place and now everything seems so much lighter than before.

"I've got another one," You grin and wait a moment until Lucy is looking at you expectedly.

You drop your smile for dramatic effect, "I'm not a photographer, but I can picture us together."

Lucy's hand falls on your forearm as she laughs again and you don't think anything has felt better. Her touch is light but you can feel it through the material of your suit and turtleneck. You want her to touch you everywhere with those hands.

"That does ever actually work?" Lucy raises a brow in question and you chuckle.

"I dunno, did it work on you?" You raise your own eyebrows in a challenge.

Lucy smiles then with a sly expression, "I don't know, maybe?"

You lean in close until you get your mouth against her ear and you can feel her hand ride up your arm. She's everything you need right now.

"I think it did."

You're correct, it did work, somehow because the next second you're outside against a wall on a balcony without anyone else near you. Lucy's got her leg between your legs and you do desperately want to grind down against it but instead you're focused on kissing her. She tastes like wine, sweet and you can't get enough.

You let your tongue trace the inside of her mouth, feeling each tooth. You've got your hands on her waist and she's holding onto your back, her fingers digging into the fabric of your blazer. Lucy's got you feeling hotter than ever. You're on fire, veins pumping blood around faster than in any race and every touch of her lips against yours feel like a burn.

You don't care that you're boiling to death or that you're in the middle of a public place where, in theory, anyone could come and find you. You want to give Lucy what you've been thinking about since you spotted her.

You pull away and take shallow breaths that match Lucy's own. You're gasping for air and it's never felt so good before.

You flip the two of you around quickly, in a split second, you've got Lucy's back against the wall and she's got wide eyes while you're smiling wolfishly.

"You always get your way don't you?" You ask, even though you can already guess the answer.

Lucy seems like the kind of person that loves to be in charge and you'd love to break that down, at least for the moment.

Lucy scoffs, "No."

You smirk, "So, you'll listen to me?"

You seem to catch Lucy out with that one. Her eyes widen slightly and that solidifies it to you. She's always been in charge but now you're here to change that.

You don't let her answer that, instead you press your lips to her in a hard kiss. It's bruising, hard to the touch and you can feel her teeth pull at your bottom lip.

When you pull back, you make a show of yourself. You kneel in front of her slowly with exaggerated movements until your knees are on the stone ground. It's cold, you can feel it through the wool of your trousers but you don't care.

Instead you place your hands on Lucy's thighs.

"What are you doing? Someone is going to see," Lucy hisses from above you and you look up at her with hooded eyes.

You've taken that into account and decided that it would just make things even more interesting.

"Well then keep quiet, Luce." You husk out.

You then pull her dress up until you're half under it, only the darling slit showing half your face. Lucy takes a sharp breath in, you're so close to her now and she needs you badly. Beyond anything else right now, she needs you.

You press an open mouthed kiss to her underwear and feel how wet she is. Lucy's soaked, practically dripping and you can feel it as you press another kiss to the fabric.

Lucy presses her hand against her mouth, trying to stifle any kind of noise from coming out. If someone were to find you, you'd be kicked out and this... meeting... would be made public knowledge.

Neither of you feel like being part of a scandal so she keeps quiet or tries to.

You decide that you've done enough teasing after a while and hook a hand under the waistband and tug her underwear down. Then allow her to step out of them. You grin, the cotton is soaked through and you pocket them without another thought.

Lucy watches you do it. They hang out your back pocket like a flag and she resists the urge to groan.

You lick your lips and kiss up one of her strong thighs. In your wake you leave small bites and long licks that leave Lucy breathless above you.

Then you get to her pussy, it's soaking wet from what you can see in the darkness and you grin. You've waited for this moment and now you've got it, you plan on using it wisely.

You let yourself take a long lick down her cunt first. She's silky on your tongue and you can't help but love the taste of her. Lucy's hand's fly to your head and you gasp against her at the sudden pressure.

This is a dangerous game that you're both playing. Anyone could come outside, on this very balcony and see. You decide to take a gamble and continue anyway.

"Fuck," Lucy gasps above you when you circle her clit with your tongue.

You smile. She's so reactive, it's perfect. Every little touch of your tongue results in her fingers digging further into your skull. Then suddenly, Lucy throws a leg over your shoulder, giving her just the right amount of leverage.

You smirk and pull away for a moment. You look up and meet her eyes, they're hooded with lust and you feel yourself melt at the sight.

"You gonna use me, Lucy?" You tease, it's daring and you hope Lucy falls for it.

"Shut up," Lucy mutters then presses a hand to the back of your head, urging you back.

You go willingly, circling her clit just like you had been doing. Your mouth is wet and you're not sure if it's your saliva or Lucy's wetness, you hope it's the latter.

Lucy does well with her promise. She grinds her hips forwards, right to your face and you stilt your movements, letting her take charge for a moment.

She's got a hold on your hair, pulling it back and forth with each roll of the hips and it's got you gasping for breath. God, she's so good, tastes fantastic and you'd stay on your knees forever if it meant that you could have her.

"You're so good," You hear Lucy murmur above you in a half moan.

The praise goes straight to your core, igniting a flame there. You let yourself flatten your tongue against her and you hear the soft mewl above you.

"Shit, how are you so good at this?" Lucy groans out as she snaps her hips forwards.

Your hands fly to her hips then and you encourage her movements. Letting your hands guide the rolling of her hips with a firm touch and that has her quietly moaning above you.

You know Lucy's close, you can tell by the way her grip tightens on your hair. She's pulling it in all sorts of directions but you don't want this to end so soon. So you slow down her movements with a firm hand.

"What are you doing?" Lucy groans above you and tries to snap her hips forwards but you've got a hard grip on them.

You pull away and Lucy frowns at the lost contact. You look over her face for a brief moment, her face is a little flushed and her lips are parted slightly. She had clearly been close.

"Taking my time, Lucia," You smirk.

This time when you duck your head to go back, you don't swirl your tongue around her nor do you let yourself lap over her whole cunt. You kiss your way around her pussy teasingly and Lucy tenses with every touch.

"Stop teasing," Lucy pulls you head back.

You look at her with a grin, wetness clear around your mouth. You look like a mess, hair spiking up from the tugging, eyes wide with lust and tongue out.

"Can't you wait?" You ask with an eye roll.

Lucy responds with a half whine and you decide to give her what she wants. You go back to her pussy with a wolfish grin and immediately dive back in.

You swirl your tongue around her clit as she moans quietly above you. You feel the light rolls of her hips in your hands as she gets closer and you smile against her.

"Close," Lucy groans and her hold on your hair tightens again.

This time you don't pull away, instead you speed up your efforts. You lap over her quickly and let her thrust her hips without restraint. Now, she's practically grinding on your face and you're happily letting her.

Then, suddenly, her hips stutter and she gasps loudly before slapping a hand over her mouth. You can feel the leg on your shoulder tighten around you and you grin.

"Fuck..." Lucy moans without restraint and you pull back to look at her.

She's got her mouth open, gasping for breath, face flushed with heat. You think she looks divine like that, back against a stone wall with you between her legs. Like a goddess of some sort.

You shuffle out from between her legs and stand, you're slightly taller than Lucy but that doesn't stop you from pressing yourself against her as you kiss her again. She can taste herself on your tongue along with the glass of wine she drank earlier.

You have your hands on her waist and hers go to your neck. The kiss is soft, a warm embrace after the main event and you take your time savouring it. Letting your hands explore Lucy's wide back and curve.

You pull away after a while, to take your breath and Lucy does the same. You lean forwards and rest your head against her shoulder, one of her hands comes to card through your hair gently.

"Can I see you again?" You whisper into her bare shoulder and you can feel Lucy chuckle.

"Yeah, you can," Lucy murmurs and you can't help but smile.

Turns out boring events for nike can lead to fun activities and new relationships.

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ₊ ⊹

miya atsumu x f!reader

all you wanted was a roommate who enjoyed watching the bachelor just as much as you did. so when a disgruntled frat boy becomes your subtenant for the year, you decide to work with what you've got.

part one of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

Your new roommate was moody.

He was a frat boy, you'd heard — not from any actual conversations you'd had with him — but from your friend who had internet stalked him for the sake of your personal safety.

He was also a setter on the men's volleyball team, a business major, and — as if things couldn't get any more interesting — a fraternal twin. The other, less hot-headed one had been by the apartment a couple of times to drop off some groceries and the occasional onigiri plate, all of which his brother had accepted with a slight growl before disappearing back into his room. In other words, he wasn't exactly your first choice of a subtenant.

You thought it was strange that a frat boy in his senior year of college had responded to the sublet post you'd shared on Facebook. Didn't fraternities have cushy, off-campus housing with three living rooms and enough booze to cause a forest fire? Or, more reasonably, didn't he have any friends he could room with in the meantime?

Despite your curiosity, it wasn't your business to know his reasons for moving into your quiet north campus apartment in the middle of August. Your old roommate had graduated the previous year, and you couldn’t exactly question her replacement when he was the only one willing to move in with you. So long as he wasn’t a smoker or a wanted felon, you could tolerate a bit of grumpiness here and there.

Still, it didn’t stop you from trying to be kind to him.

"Atsumu?" you asked, knocking on his doorframe.

It was rare that he left his door open; normally, he'd storm in here after volleyball practice and promptly shut the door. He wouldn't slam it, but he always used more force than necessary, as if doing so would rid himself of the anger you could so clearly see in the way he tensed his shoulders, flexed his jaw.

"Yeah," he said by way of greeting, setting his gym bag by the bedside table.

"I was just going to grab some groceries before my afternoon classes. Did you need me to get you anything?"

"Nah, thanks. Osamu dropped off some stuff o’er the weekend.”

"Okay," you nodded, grip tightening around your car keys as you debated whether or not to just turn around and walk out the front door.

No, you told yourself, your need to be a friendly roommate outweighing your hatred of awkward small talk. Just ask him. The worst he could say is no.

As if he could see the buffer wheel spinning in circles on your forehead, Atsumu asked, "Something' else ya wanna ask me?"

You snapped out of your trance and, before you could think too deeply about it, blurted out, "Yes! I was wondering if you wanted to watch The Bachelor with me tonight."

He blinked once. Twice. "The Bachelor?"

You nodded. "The new season starts tonight, and my previous roommate and I always hosted Bachelor Monday night watch parties. Most of the usual group graduated already, so it would just be us two. But I was hoping to keep up the tradition."

He unpacked his gym bag as you spoke, the skepticism on his face growing with each passing word that slipped from your mouth.

"Ain’t that the show where, like, one guy sleeps with a million different women?"

You pursed your lips to one side. "No, not exactly. He makes out with most of them, though."

"Ya see, now, why would I wanna watch that?"

"...because it's fun? And addictive?" Jesus, you sounded like the salesperson for Vicodin. "Plus, it's a lot more heartfelt than you think. These twenty-five women are willing to put their hearts on the line for this singular chance at love, and it's nice to see a few couples come out of it alive."

He shucked his sweaty gym shorts in the hamper by the door, his face the portrait of disinterest. "Doesn't really sound like my cuppa tea."

"To be fair, I don't think it's anybody's cup of tea when they start watching it. But it grows on you."

He drew his lips into a hard line. "Think I'll pass."

You nodded your head in reverent defeat. At least you'd tried.

"Fair. Well, I hope you don't mind me hogging the TV every Monday night until November, and you're free to join me whenever you want."

He nodded once, as if he'd heard you but was never seriously going to consider it. And that was that.

You drove to the grocery store on University Drive and picked up your meal prep for the week, adding to your cart an assortment of snacks for your solo watch party that night: jalapeño chips, white cheddar popcorn. A pack of blue raspberry sour straws — you'd seen Osamu include a pack in his grocery haul for Atsumu, so you figured you'd refill his stash while you were here. Your roommate might have been a grumpy old man trapped inside a twenty-two year-old body, but that didn't mean you couldn't care for him like you had your previous roommate. It was second nature for you to do so.

"Are you sure you don't want me over tonight?" Haruka asked during your advanced writing workshop later that afternoon. Your professor had split the class into pairs for peer-review twenty minutes ago, but you'd since abandoned each other's essays and were now only pretending to work. "I can skip my screenwriting seminar."

"Haru, no. I am not letting you sacrifice your perfect attendance just so you can watch trashy television with me."

"I'm assuming frat boy hasn't let up yet, either?"

"No,” you sighed, fiddling with the purple pen in your hands. "He's the human embodiment of a brick wall."

"I couldn't find anything else about him online, either," your friend admitted. "His socials are completely scrubbed after high school. It's like he went AWOL."

"Maybe he just values his privacy."

"Or maybe he has a secret past he doesn't want anyone to know about."

You considered all of his pent-up energy, the way he threw his bedroom door closed after a long day at volleyball practice. There was definitely a story there; you just weren't particularly keen on searching for it. You were intuitive enough to recognize a boundary when you saw one, and with Miya Atsumu, there were many.

"Maybe," you said, unwilling to divulge further. "But I'll be fine tonight. If anything, it'll be nice to just lounge in my sweatpants and gorge on chips without anyone there to judge me."

And you believed in that statement. Truly.

In fact, as you unlocked the door to your apartment a couple hours later, a people-free evening sounded like the best way to ease into the new semester. You may have been an English honors student about to graduate in ten months, but you would never let the stress of your workload interfere with Bachelor Mondays. The show was too good, too sacred for you to do that.

But as you settled into your couch and laid out the snacks you’d bought earlier that day across the coffee table, you couldn't help but wish you had someone to share them with.

Atsumu returned home from volleyball practice ten minutes into the season premiere, the slam of the front door outcompeting the gentle drone of the television as he walked inside and kicked off his shoes.

He jutted his chin out towards you in greeting.

"Hey." You sat up on the couch and readjusted your blanket. "How was practice?"

"Fine.” He shrugged half-heartedly, already en-route to his bedroom before spotting your assortment of snacks.

He paused, did a double-take. You followed his gaze to the unopened package of blue raspberry sour straws stacked neatly atop your books.

"Oh, yeah. Those are for you,” you told him.

“For me,” he reiterated, pointing to himself. You nodded. “I thought I told ya not to get me anythin.’”

You frowned. “Do you not want them?”

“Nah, it’s not that, I just…” Atsumu blinked, clearly malfunctioning. As if he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. “How d'ya know I liked 'em?"

"Because I live with you," you said matter-of-factly. "And I saw the wrapper when I took the trash out this morning — which, by the way, I created a chore chart for the two of us on the whiteboard over there."

Atsumu swiveled on his heel to face the whiteboard tacked just outside your kitchenette, the 4x6 makeshift chart decked out in washi tape, stickers, and hand-drawn bubble letters. You’d even ordered magnets to indicate when you’d completed each of your chores — bunnies for you, foxes for Atsumu.

He looked at your display like he didn't know exactly what to make of it. “Yer a real fan of stationary, aren’t ya?”

“I may or may not have spent my last paycheck on that whiteboard.”

He massaged the inner corners of his eyes. “Ya ain’t obligated to do all this song and dance for me, ya know. I ‘preciate it, but I can hold mah own.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you said, “I know you can. I just wanted to make you feel welcome, that's all.” You leaned over to pick up the pack of candy and waved it in his direction. “Here, take one.”

After several seconds of deliberation, your roommate finally accepted your offering, tore open the package, and fished out a sugar-coated sour straw bluer than a bottle of Windex. He tore the gummy candy with his teeth and chewed quietly, his shoulders finally relaxing.

You peered up at him from your spot on the couch, scared to make any sudden movements in fear he might scurry off to his room again. After a moment, you asked, "Are they good?"

He nodded, licking the excess sugar off of his fingers. "They are. Thank ya."

You brought the bowl of popcorn into your lap and smiled softly. "You're welcome."

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes as you snacked, the sounds of the television humming between you in a novel sense of harmony. Astumu's attention gradually shifted to the screen, where a beautiful young woman now exited her limousine to meet the man whose heart she would spend weeks vying for.

Behind a mouthful of candy, Atsumu asked, "This the horny dating show ya were talkin' 'bout earlier?"

You snorted. "That's the one."

The bachelor twirled the young woman around in a slow, salacious circle, his eyes sparkling with intrigue as she lifted her face to the sky and laughed.

"He clearly only did that so he could get a good look at her ass," Atsumu scoffed in disbelief.

"Yeah, but look at her. She's practically eating it up," you retorted, shoveling a handful of popcorn into your mouth. "Those are bedroom eyes right there."

Your roommate absentmindedly perched himself on the opposite arm of the couch. "How much ya think he's gettin' paid to do this?"

"Why? You thinking of auditioning?"

"Maybe," he murmured, staring at the flirtatious exchange like one might a wild animal exhibit. You considered Atsumu for a moment —with his clean-cut fade, dark eyebrows, and bleach-blonde hair — and hummed in approval.

"I can see that."

"Can ya? Think I have a face for TV?"

"Maybe," you drawled. "If you wiped the scowl off your face every once in a while."

Almost instinctively, the corners of his lips ticked upwards into a soft flicker of a smile, revealing the dimple on his left cheek. It only lasted about a second, but you caught it like a firefly in a jar.

"So what's happenin' now?" he asked impatiently.

"So only five of the twenty-five women have pulled up so far to Bachelor Mansion, and they can do anything they want to give a good first impression," you explained. "Some just flirt, like the one you just saw. But others have brought wedding cakes, neon signs. The whole nine yards." "Sounds excessive." "Well, at the end of the night, the guy gives a first impression rose to the girl he thinks stood out the most, and she's immediately saved from that evening's elimination."

"They eliminate people on day one?" he asked. You nodded, and Atsumu shook his head. "Damn. That's brutal."

For the next hour and a half, your roommate's eyes never left the television screen, and it was the most you'd ever heard him talk since he'd moved in three weeks ago. He had something snarky to say about everything — the budding drama between the contestants, the tragic backstory of the bachelor himself. You ended up laughing at his out-of-pocket commentary, oftentimes finding his reactions to the show more entertaining than the show itself.

Once the episode was over, Atsumu leaned against the backrest of the couch, intertwining his fingers behind his neck. He exhaled a long, reflective breath.

"Damn."

"I know."

"I can't believe the doctor was eliminated."

"The good contestants often are."

"I mean, her story was so compellin'," he urged, turning to face you from the other end of the couch. "She wanted to prioritize love over her career, have a family before her ol' granny passes away. How could he not give her a chance?"

"Maybe he just didn't feel that spark," you reconciled. Atsumu scoffed in reply.

"Sparks means jack shit if she ain't a good person." He grabbed a piece of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you and chewed thoughtfully. "If I were on this show, I'd make sure I chose the right people."

You nodded. "That's very noble of you, Atsumu."

He cut you a glare. "Are ya teasin' me?"

"No,” you deadpanned, although you didn't sound convincing. "I just think it's funny how you think twenty-five women would line up to marry you in the first place."

He folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "Yeah, right. I'd be a catch on a show like this."

"Really? With all your grunting around and leaving your smelly gym socks by the front door?"

"Hey, that was one time, and I apologized to ya already." He quieted for a moment before adding, "Just haven't been my usual self lately. Been goin' through some personal stuff."

You softened at his casual confession, Haruka's words from earlier that day immediately coming to mind. Maybe he has a secret past he doesn't want anyone to know about.

You didn't need to know what exactly he was going through. But you appreciated the acknowledgment that it was there, that dark, stormy cloud that seemed to follow him around wherever he went. It worried you, even though you'd only met three weeks ago. You wished you could do something to make it better.

But instead of admitting that and potentially scaring him away, you instead resorted to your usual sarcasm.

"Well, I'm sure your charisma is buried somewhere beneath all your steely stares."

Your roommate's brow knit together. "I ain't got steely stares."

"Don't worry. Some women like that." You paused. "Maybe not twenty-five of them, but some."

Despite himself, Atsumu huffed out a laugh, his smile making its second appearance of the evening. "Yer real funny, ya know that?"

"Says the guy who didn't think reality TV was his cup of tea."

"Oh, shaddup," he drawled. You grabbed a sour straw from the near-empty package and held it out to him in a dramatic gesture.

"Atsumu, will you accept this first impression sour straw?"

He swiped the candy away from you and ripped it in half with his teeth. "Will ya quit teasin' me?"

"Why?" you argued. "You having second thoughts about living with me for the next ten months?"

"No," he said a little too confidently, rolling the straw between his thumb and forefinger. "No, I just don't think ya know who yer messin' with."

You were taken aback by the sudden smugness in his voice, the way his eyes slid over to yours with the kind of charm that made your thoughts go hazy. For the first time in weeks, you finally got a glimpse of what Miya Atsumu was actually like.

Just haven't been my usual self lately, he'd told you. You considered the gravity of those words. The person they’d alluded to.

Perhaps your new roommate would prove to be more interesting than you'd initially thought.

a/n: thank you for reading the first part of my new lil' series, in close quarters!

i intend to write each installment as a one-shot so you can enjoy them independently of one another. however, each part will contribute to the greater arc of the story — so if you're here for the long run, welcome! i'm very grateful to have you here. ♡

@miyasmagnolias 2025

[badger2025]

Derek came home stoked

“I got the job baby. You’re looking at the new special teams assistant coach. Getting hired by the NFL is a dream come true” He was excited and pulled you in for a kiss that quickly got heated…his stiff prick pressed against you while he ran his hands all over your body “We gotta do some celebrating”

After graduation, y’all had moved to a new city with the major league team Derek had applied to while you started working as a baseball coach at a local high school. You’d both landed on your feet after the shit storm Kyle tried to stir up, and were looking forward to starting a new life together

“That’s awesome D. I knew you could do it and I’m proud of you” Stepping up to meet his lips and kissing him smiling. “But before you get carried away and get your dick out, I got a message from my old roommate Jeff. He’s in town and coming over for a visit in a few minutes. Maybe we can do something easy with him and call it an early night. Grab a beer or something?”

Just then your phone chimed “It’s Jeffro…he’s outside” and Derek gave you a wicked grin and nodded “Okay baby…but you’re working overtime tonight when we get home” You gave his dick a squeeze “Looking forward to it”

“Hey man” you said pulling Jeff into a hug “long time brother” before Derek reached in with a meaty paw and shook his hand. Jeff still looked as good as ever having kept himself in shape after graduation. “You look good bro. What brings you to town?”

“Thanks” he smiled with a flush “I’m actually here for a job interview. Got a serious offer with a sports medicine outfit that looks like a good fit for me” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looking around, taking in your new place “Nice place Mike. Good to see y’all doing well” Then Derek motioned to the living room

“Have a seat man. I’ll grab some beers and y’all can catch up”

Three beers later, after you’d filled him in on everything you and Derek were up to, y’all were laughing about the stupid shit y’all used to do back in your dorm room days. Then the subject of Kyle came up and Derek looked at you and winked

“Y’all really plugged him from both ends?”

Derek lit up “I got the video…if you wanna see it”

Jeff turned beet red, looking a little conflicted before saying “Yeah…okay”

While Derek fiddled with his phone and the television, you passed Jeff another beer and sat down on the sofa to his right. Once Derek had everything set up, he took the spot to his left. Derek was leaning forward with a huge smile on his face like a kid who was up to no good, then pressed play

You leaned back into the corner of the sofa, almost embarrassed as the screen showed you and Derek absolutely wrecking Kyle from both ends. The audio wasn’t great, but you could definitely make out the grunts and groans and you could feel your swelling cock start to leak. Then you noticed Jeff. He was obviously getting turned on and started adjusting himself, fidgeting and trying to get his junk situated

Derek was still watching the screen with a smile when he said “Kyle’s an asshole, but he could really take a dick” and laughed. Jeff just watched, wide eyed and open mouthed, while pulling his package before saying “Dang y’all…that’s fucking hot”

That’s when Derek seemed to remember Jeff was there and turned to look at him before looking at you and smiling. You knew exactly what he was thinking before he said it

“So Jeff? We were planning to celebrate my new job tonight. You interested?

Jeff sat there mesmerized by the action on the screen before looking at Derek as if he was unsure what he said “What?”

“Do you want to fuck?”

Jeff looked at you like you had the answer he couldn’t give, you knew Jeff had never been with a guy before so you stood and pulled him up into a kiss. Tentative at first “You okay man?” He just nodded and you pulled his shirt off and kissed him again…deeper…making him groan against your mouth. Then Derek pushed into him from behind and Jeff found his back pressed into Derek’s broad chest…his hands running all over Jeff’s torso, making him quiver

You undressed yourself and took hold of Jeff’s belt buckle, undoing his pants and pulling everything to the floor. His throbbing cock sprang up and slapped his belly flinging sap before standing at attention in front of your face. He sighed when you took hold of the base and swallowed his tool while Derek held him firmly against his body, kissing his neck and shoulder

“You gotta stop Mike…you gotta stop or I’m gonna bust”

Then you pulled off his dick and stood to face him. Derek had released him so he could undress himself, stroking his dick and watching the two of you naked and making out. You and Jeff are the same height and build compared to Derek’s massive size, so you’re pretty evenly matched. You wet a couple fingers and ran your hand up the split of Jeff’s ass, tickling his pucker and making him moan against your lips

After a long minute of watching the two of you kissing and fondling each other, Derek decided to take charge, wrapping his arms around your waists and pulling you both into a kiss before hustling you to the bedroom.

He tossed you onto the bed and pulled Jeff up off his feet, one arm around his back, his other hand in the crack of his furry butt, and was kissing him with a kind of hunger. Jeff wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck before bringing his legs up around his waist, matching Derek’s kisses. Derek’s swollen dick was sliding up the split of Jeff’s ass. You were on your knees, pulling your pud and watching your best friend and your partner going at each other like dogs in heat

Then Derek pulled back, looked into Jeff’s eyes and grinned “So little brother…You want us to do you like we did Kyle?” Jeff only looked at him dazed before nodding

Then he set Jeff down on the bed and reached for the lube. He leaned over and kissed you deep while lubing up his tool. Then he used his greased fingers on Jeff’s hole, getting him slicked up and making him squirm

Jeff was on all fours with his feet hanging over the edge of the bed when Derek lined himself up behind him. You were still on your knees and positioned yourself in Jeff’s face and pressed the tip of your dick to his lips, smearing your sap all over him. Then Derek started to kiss and suck on Jeff’s pucker and he was whimpering and pushing back into Derek’s face. You slipped your dick into his open mouth and started to piston yourself slowly while Jeff suckled your knob and groaned

When Derek stood and pushed his member into Jeff’s virgin cunt, Jeff gasped and choked himself on your cock. Tears were leaking from his eyes and he had bedding wadded in both fists. When Derek had his entire shaft buried in Jeff’s hole, he waited, letting him get used to the throbbing intruder up in his guts. Derek was running both hands down either side of Jeff’s body “You’re doing great champ” while you held yourself steady with your dick still in his mouth

Then you both started moving slowly, finding a rhythm while Jeff whimpered and moaned at being stuffed from both ends. Watching Derek pipe down your best friend was pushing you to the edge. You felt your nuts drawing tight and grasped two fistfuls of Jeff’s hair and started thrusting into his throat. Drool, tears and snot were streaming down his chin when you shot ropes of spunk into your best buddy’s mouth

Just as you pulled out, Jeff started to buck “FUCK ME MAN…FUCK MY ASS…OH JESUS…OH JESUS…” and then he was thrashing and shooting all over the bed as Derek wrapped an arm around his waist and pushed himself deep into Jeff’s punished asshole “AW FUCK” he gasped and flooded his guts till spunk was leaking down his taint

When everything was over, Derek climbed into the middle of the bed pulling you both to either side of him. He kissed you deep before turning to kiss Jeff. He ran his fingers over Jeff’s ruined hole making him groan before smacking his butt cheek

“Thanks for celebrating with us little brother. You’re a hot fuck. Hopefully we can celebrate your new job soon”

Jeff lay there for a minute processing everything that had just happened before looking you in the eyes and smiling

“Fuck yes we will”

[kireilien]

okay sure threesomes... cool. but i raise you one better. 02z but it’s enhypen’s 02z x you x &team’s 02z!

anon are you shitting me. this is perfect.

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing; bsf!02z, softer dom!02z, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, casual sex talk, sixsome, “stripping,” oral (m receiving), nipple job(?), handjob, cum play, bukakke, unprotected sex, unintentional edging???

oh to be passed around by five guys~ insert that one song that goes “said she wanted five guys she ain’t talkin’ ‘bout burgers, i pull up with four friends, that pussy getting murdered” aka seppuku by rob apollo

i think i’d be so funny if you were friends with 02z and basically emulate that song. just sighing there on the couch, “i want five guys.” all of them still minding their own business at first, but nicho perks up, “it’s pretty late, y/n. i don’t think they’re open—,”

“i’m not talking about burgers.”

now they’re staring at you.

“and what do you mean by that?” sunghoon quirks at you, his tongue swiping his teeth. you innocently hum, “what do you think i mean by that?” all of them exchange knowing glances. jake throws his arm around you, reeling in your shoulders into the side of his chest, “i think we do know, but you gotta say it for us. we’re interested.” if you moved even a bit more, you’re pretty sure you would’ve felt his cock hardening by the second as you were talking.

euijoo leans back on the couch, “since when did you get this bold telling us you want a sixsome? thought we were all ‘just friends’ to you.” you tuck in your lip as you raise your brows, “i never said you guys were ‘just friends’ to me.” jay cocks his head, “i’m pretty sure you’ve rejected all of us before— at least once.” he jokes as he looks at jake, he’s confessed to you multiple times and you’ve rejected him each time.

nicholas laughs as he gets up from the couch, “yeah, no. don’t fake out on us. just because you’re probably ovulating doesn’t mean you actually wanna fuck all five of us— you can’t even handle it.” he almost walks off before you sigh, “who said i couldn’t?” nicholas stops in his tracks as everyone else stares at you with bulging eyes.

…did you really say that?

“yeah you’re definitely fucking ovulating.” sunghoon jokes as he sits up. “guys, i’m really not,” you groan, “i just wanna see what it’s like.” euijoo scoffs, “y/n, the average person doesn’t ‘wanna see what it’s like’ when referring to a sixsome. threesome, sure, but sixsome is crazy.” you retort, “well, i’m not the average person.”

all of them roll their eyes at your lukewarm response while nicholas turns around and sits on the ottoman that was right in front of you. “so what do you wanna do? you want five guys? you gotta show us that you want five guys rather than just blabbing about it,” he hums as he rests elbows on his knees. you look at all of them before hooking your fingers in your lounge shorts to pull them off and throw them to the side. your cotton panties were basic, but it interested them. were you really gonna strip for them?

you giggle as you slip off your hoodie which reveal your bare breasts, right in front of their faces, just like that. even if you were joking before, you can’t go back now. you can feel the tension in the room, thick enough where you can almost feel like you could grab it. the men stare at you. either gulping down a hard lump of spit or tracing their eyes down your body.

jake decides to be the first one to touch you by slipping a hand down your panties, feeling them pool heavily with wetness, “holy fuck, you’re drenched,” was the only thing that set the five men off to give you what you wanted.

now your panties are discarded somewhere and the same to the rest of your best friends’ clothes, the mess started. nicholas took dibs to fuck your pussy raw first, euijoo and sunghoon went ahead to go at your breasts to fuck their tips along your nipples, jay and jake near your face as you rub their lengths above your lips.

this was so fucking unreal.

all because you were interested of what a sixsome felt like, you had all five of your best friends using you in every way shape and form. you were in a blissful state. you didn’t care about what you looked like or sounded like, all you really cared about was feeling every single one of their cocks some way or another. while your best friends took their time with you.

sure, they were using you, but that doesn’t remove the fact that you were their best friend. getting all fucked out was only a plus. nicho rubs soft circles on your stomach as he keeps his pace— fucking his cock so seamlessly in you. euijoo and sunghoon holds onto arms dearly, making sure your arms aren’t getting tired out. jake and jay were cooing at you as they cup your face and make sure no piece of hair were getting in the way of your pretty face.

it kept on going on and on.

and you were loving it bad.

once someone would barely reach their orgasm, they would speak up so everyone could move to another side of your body to experience. your head was so up in the clouds— you didn’t care. one after another, a new cock was fucking itself deeper into you, two new cocks were rutting against your tits, and two new cocks were jutting themselves around your lips while you had them in your hands.

after god knows what round, everyone stops to jerk themselves off all over your face. the shower of cum drips down your forehead, to your eyelids, to your cheeks, to your nose, to your lips, to your chin, dripping off to your chest.

it was gorgeous.

but who knows what will happen now.

you just fucked five guys— and you weren’t talking about burgers. maybe you should’ve said you were craving burgers at the start.

back 2 catalog

[aangelinakii]

SOME TIME FOR HIMSELF.

— of course he's grateful, but...

summary : of course damian likes that you get on well with his family, he just wishes that maybe they'd let him actually pull you away from them.

note : i always feel like my damian fics are on a whole other level 💀💀 they're so poetic

the first time damian introduced you to his family, inviting you to dinner one night, he had high hopes that you would be a crowd favourite — and he was never wrong about that.

his father had welcomed you into their abode with a tight smile, kind, of course, but rather wary as to what your intentions may be with his son; by dessert (alfred's star tiramisu) bruce was laughing at every joke and grinning at every story.

his brothers — dick, jason, tim and duke — introduced themselves with their most intimidating glares, thick arms crossed over their chests, emphasising their size, and just how much damage they could do if any came to their youngest kin; as alfred's tiramisu was settling happily in stomachs, they found themselves squabbling over who deserved to get you on their team for eight-ball pool. duke won.

that night damian found himself falling asleep quickly, a soft smile plastered to his lips, images of your smile, so comfortable, as you chatted easily with steph as you awaited your turn with the cue. you'd even managed to crack cass out of her shell a little — and it was only tonight that damian realised how big of a family he had.

even alfred had good things to say when damian purposely stayed back to help him load up the dishwasher once dessert was finished.

he couldn't help that warm pride fizzing in his chest.

but that was four months ago, and damian thinks he sees more of your avatar on wii sports than he actually sees of you.

any time you come round his, you're always whisked away by tim wanting to show you the newest issue of a comic you both gushed over a month ago, or steph dragging you up to her room to update you on some gossip she told you about that time you were here last week. sometimes even ace can't help himself wanting your attention.

he doesn't necessarily want to border you from his family, but when you live in a family so big, no one understands the definition of "personal space."

it gives damian the chances to take you out on dates, go out of his own comfort zone; the arcade, the cinema, paintballing, mini-golf. when money doesn't want to be spent, you two can go on walks, or spend your time together at the library getting studying done.

but sometimes chilling at home is nice, too.

sometimes he wants to play wii sports with you, not sit back on the couch, forced to watch you play tennis against jason; sometimes he wants to play one-on-one eight-ball against you, not stand against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the game to finish.

so today he's going to be sneaky.

it'll be difficult, sneaking around a family of detectives and vigilantes and alfred, but damian thinks he can do it.

as he creaks open the mansion's front door, the alarm disarmed by one alfred pennyworth — the only person damian had told in advance about your being there, as he realised there was nothing you could hide from that man, even if you tried — damian scans the foyer for any bystanders. once he's sure there's no movement, he looks back at you and smiles, pushing the door wider for you to step past him.

"i say let's get some food and take it upstairs, so we have steady rations for the day," damian suggests, taking this slightly more seriously than you expected; the crease in his brow reminding you of an army general checking the bunker's inventory for the week.

with a soft chuckle, you allow damian's soft palm to take yours, his nimble fingers closing around the back of your hand, tight like he hasn't been able to hold it in a long time — and he has, he's just being dramatic.

feet careful against the marble floor when the plush carpet disappears, damian leads you into the kitchen, where a softly whistling alfred is standing with his white sleeves rolled to his elbows before the sink, drying up glass cups with a cloth.

he barely sends you a glance, though the corner of his mouth curls slightly, and his whistling ceases for a moment.

"i had to tell alfred you were coming," damian explains, his voice an undertone in efforts to not attract any adopted siblings or billionaire fathers. he heads to a cupboard and opens it, pulling out a few crackly packets of crisps and other shared-favourite snacks he claims to have gone out and bought just for today. "he knows too well when i am lying, even though i hadn't lied about anything yet — i was just scared he would find out if i had."

back from the sink, alfred's whistling stops, though the squeaking of polished glass continues. "wise decision, master damian, i'm glad i taught you early on."

now he glances back. "i would go quickly now, last i saw, master dick and master jason were on their way up from the gym. if you want to avoid them, as you say, i wouldn't dawdle."

"dawdle? we are not—"

"master damian," alfred's tone lilts pointedly.

"right." and, with that, some snacks in your grip, some in damian's, he shifts the weight of them to one arm, which seems slightly uncomfortable, and carefully takes your elbow to lead you through a passage behind the fridge.

flickering flames crackle as you ascend the winding steps to the second floor.

"i get you want to have one-on-one time, damian, but you know i really like your family," you find yourself saying halfway up. "it's not that you think i dislike them, is it?"

"no," damian's quick to respond, glancing back at you. "it is that i am beginning to dislike them. they disturb our time together. every time."

you're about to reply, saying something about how maybe time together is turning into time with them, which is okay, but a cluster of voices mutters past the suit of armour concealing you in the shadows of the passageway, and damian presses a finger to his lips.

it's certainly steph, being a girl's voice, chipper, unlike cassandra's, and a boy's voice, either dick's or tim's — but there's people there, and damian doesn't want to be found. more so, you to be found.

after a few silent beats, the voices recede, as well as footsteps atop carpet, and damian leads you out from behind the suit of armour.

just as you're coming out from thr passage, your shoulder clings against the metal elbow of the knight, having misjudged the tightness of the gap between him and the wall, and a metallic twang rings out.

in a manor filled with junior detectives, nothing of the sort goes unnoticed or unchecked, and a door opens before damian can even take your hand.

"(name)!" a voice gasps cheerfully — three guesses who — and another one groans, who you know by now is your boyfriend's.

chest torn between wanting to go along with what damian had planned, and responding to steph as she emerges from her room, your instincts respond. "steph! hey!"

"i didn't know you were coming round today," she smiles, absently taking a pack of crisps from the bundle in your arms and opening it up for herself.

behind you, damian scowls, not taking it upon himself to hide it at all. "that was the point."

stephanie doesn't seem to notice damian's tone, or, seemingly, damian's presence at all, and she places a hand on your shoulder. "you'll never guess what happened the other day," she begins, guiding you back towards her room.

"more already?" you laugh, both intrigued, yet glancing back wistfully towards damian, who's been left alone in the hallway.

"like you wouldn't believe!"

just as she's about to close the door, damian appears, hand on the wood, holding it open, the food dropped somewhere back in the corridor, thick eyebrows knitted together like a sweater. "hey!"

"oh, hey, dames," stephanie takes a break in her gossip update as she sits down at the pink swivel chair at her cluttered desk. "just stealing your partner for a sec, i hope that's okay?"

"it's not," he replies before stephanie can turn back to you and continue.

the stone in his tone is abrasive, gritty, something usually unheard of. stephanie could ignore it, but she finds herself mouth open, blonde eyebrows upturned.

"oh, i'm sorry, i—"

"no, you're not sorry," damian cuts her off again, stomping towards you and takes some of the load off your shoulders, taking a few of the snacks from your arms. "you always do this. whenever (name) comes round, you and everybody else in this house take them away from me. they're here to see me, not you. not you, not dick, not tim, not father."

"hey, that's not fair—" stephanie shoots you a guilty look as her sentence is cut off once more by your emotional boyfriend.

"what's not fair is that the time i want to spend with them is diminished by my siblings, who are not even my real siblings, who insist on being utterly... utterly stupid!"

damian storms off in a huff, off into the hallway and into his bedroom, where the door slams, causing you and stephanie to flinch.

by now she's abandoned her open crisp packet, her appetite suddenly gone, and you don't feel too normal sitting on the edge of her bed with a strange array of snacks in your arms. you want to apologise, but now you understand why damian was so intent on having a day just the two of you.

the words are on the tip of your tongue, and you want to meet steph's gaze, but you can't really bring yourself to.

"i... sorry, i..."

"it's okay, i should be the one who's sorry," stephanie dismisses your apology with a small shake of the head, not watching you either. "i think you should go check on him."

you release the bundle of snacks onto stephanie's duvet, which you don't think she minds, and get to your feet.

when you pass through stephanie's doorway into the corridor, a few heads are peeking out of doors, including duke a few rooms down holding an airpod in hand, having plucked it out to eavesdrop. you offer a smile, and he shares it, putting his airpod back in and retreating to the safety of his room.

outside damian's room, you knock lightly and let yourself in, knowing he won't respond, but also knowing no one else would be knocking on his door after something like that.

he's lying face-first on his bed, fists clutching the sheets so tight his knuckles are turning white.

the mattress sinks slightly beside him as you lower yourself down, placing a careful hand on his shoulder blade.

"damian?" you try, voice just as soft as your touch. "i'm sorry i bumped into the armour, it was an accident. i didn't mean to get steph's attention, and i didn't realise how important it was to you that we got to spend time together."

though muffled, damian's voice comes from within his navy, star-speckled duvet. "it's not your apology to give, you did nothing wrong."

he shifts and you can see half his face, eyebrows still screwed towards each other. "it's everyone else. they can be too much. they always ruin our time together."

"i don't think they realise they're ruining it," you suggest softly. "i think they think they're doing good by you, by getting to know me and having a positive relationship with me. have you ever told them it bothers you?"

the gap between your question and damian's reply is long and lengthy, stretching longer and longer, and you already know the answer, that by the time it comes you're not surprised.

"no."

your hand smoothes circles over damian's upper back. "damian..." you sigh. "how can you expect them to know what you want if you don't tell them?"

mouth squishing out in a pout, damian's shoulders shrug up beneath your touch.

"i know it's difficult, and sometimes you feel like some people should know better, but i think you should tell them."

with a sigh, damian pushes himself up to a seated position, eyebrows less tense on his forehead. "i know, you're right."

improving from that pout, damian's lips pull into a small, minute smile, and he leans forward to engulf you in a hug. "i'm sorry for overreacting," he huffs into the crook of your neck.

at the affection, you feel your lips curl in tandem with his, and one of your arms comes around his back to reciprocate. "it's okay, damian, and besides, it's not me you should be apologising to. we can go together, okay? and then you can tell steph how you feel."

damian's body soaks up into yours, and he lets out a content breath through his nostrils. he doesn't respond verbally, but you can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, and your stomach drops in relief.

[meazalykov]

accidental repost

esmee brugts x f!reader with features of the whole barcelona femeni team x f!reader

a tiktok repost sets the whole team into confusion and laughter

you wake up to the soft hum of your alarm, the sun filtering through your curtains.

honestly, things have been like this for awhile. you have another day of training with the team, and the cold brew you have brewing in your fridge is making you excited for the day.

you stretch, grab your phone, and scroll through your notifications as you always do. some of your teammates like salma, jana, esmee, and vicky have been blowing up tiktok lately, posting dance videos, lip-syncs, and random goofy content that has the fans going.

last night, you were featured in jana's new video. she wanted you to smile or blink depending on how much you liked a dessert from a tiktok audio. since you were tagged, you've been getting the notifications for it.

making a mental note, you go and turn off notifications for the app.

you are the quiet one on social media. your tiktok account, with your full name and a profile picture from a match last season, sits unused... at least when it comes to posting.

you’ve got a decent following, mostly because you play for barcelona fem and your teammates follow you, but you’ve never posted a single video. instead, you’re the queen of reposts.

your repost part of your page is a curated collection of funny skits, relatable memes, and the occasional football highlight from yourself or an idol that catches your eye.

the team loves it. salma’s always bringing up some random repost of yours that popped up on her ‘for you’ page from you, teasing you about your taste in humor.

“you’re the funniest one on the team but do not tell vicky I said that,” she’ll say, and you’ll just shrug, happy to stay in the background while the other girls do their own thing.

however, there’s one thing you’ve been keeping even quieter. it is you and esmee.

for two weeks now, you’ve been dating in secret. it’s new but chill since there are no grand gestures, just stolen glances during training, quiet coffee dates, and late night texts.

neither of you has told the team, not because you’re hiding, but because you’re both savoring the privacy. esmee’s been your heart, her calm presence balancing your more chaotic energy during training.

you’ve been careful, or so you thought.

last night, you were scrolling tiktok, esmee’s head resting on your shoulder as you lounged on her couch.

a fan edit of her popped up on your fyp. it was an impressively edited montage of her best moments on the pitch, set to a sultry, seductive audio track that made your cheeks flush.

esmee laughed when she saw it, nudging you playfully.

“I've seen that page before. they've made edits for you too,” she said, her dutch accent softening the words.

you meant to send it to her tiktok account, a little inside joke between you two but in your sleepy haze, you hit the wrong button.

you reposted it to your page and for others to see and you didn’t notice.

now, as you head to training, you’re blissfully unaware of the storm coming. you pull into the parking lot, your music blasting, and hop out of your car.

the catalan air is crisp with the sun climbing higher, and you’re ready to train for the upcoming semi-final game coming up.

as you walk into the locker room, something feels… off. vicky’s immediately grinning at you like she’s holding a secret. salma’s eyebrows are raised, her phone clutched tightly.

even patri, who’s usually too focused on her pre training routine, gives you a sidelong glance.

you frown, setting your bag down.

“what’s with the looks? is everything okay?” you ask, your voice light but tinged with suspicion.

vicky smirks, leaning against the lockers.

“oh, nothing. things are fine actually...just… you’ve been busy on tiktok, huh?”

you blink, confused.

“what are you talking about? i didn’t post anything.”

salma snickers, already pulling out her phone.

“you didn’t post, but that video you reposted.... it’s a good one.”

your stomach twists, a faint memory of last night flickering in your mind. however, you wonder if you reposted a joke that might have set some media trainers off.

you shake your head, trying to play it cool.

“i repost stuff all the time. what’s the big deal?”

sydney pipes up.

“this one’s different since... well... you should know since it is your repost.”

you glance at esmee, who’s across the room tying her boots. she’s biting her lip, her shoulders shaking slightly...like she’s trying not to laugh.

your heart picks up speed.

what did you do?

before you can ask, alexia walks in, her captain’s aura commanding the room. she takes one look at the group, then at you, and a slow, amused smirk spreads across her face.

you narrow your eyes at her, silently pleading for an explanation.

“ale, what’s going on?” you ask, your tone more desperate than you’d like.

alexia just shrugs, her smirk widening.

“you tell me, y/n.”

you’re officially lost.

the team’s gathering now, their warmup drills in the gym area forgotten as they circle around you like vultures. salma’s scrolling through her phone, and you catch a glimpse of your tiktok profile on her screen.

your blood runs cold.

“salma, give me that,” you say, reaching for her phone, but she pulls it back, grinning.

“oh, no, no, no. you need to see this on the big screen.” she taps a few buttons, and suddenly, your repost is playing.

it’s the esmee edit. the sultry audio fills the locker room, esmee’s best moments flashing across salma’s phone screen...her sliding tackles, her goals, her celebrations, all perfectly synced to the suggestive beat.

your face burns.

you look at esmee again, and now she’s covering her mouth, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter.

“oh my god,” you mutter, your voice barely audible.

“guys, I swear that was an accident!!!”

vicky bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach.

“an accident? y/n, you reposted an edit of esmee looking like a model to that audio and you’re telling me that was an accident?”

jana laughs,

"it takes a bit of buttons to repost something, love."

you sigh but patri’s grinning now, her arms crossed.

“you’ve got taste but why the hell is edits about esmee coming up on your page?”

sydney leans in, her voice teasing.

“yeah, y/n. you hiding something? you and esmee got a little… thing going on?”

your mouth goes dry.

you’re not ready for this and you do not know if esmee is too.

you and esmee agreed to keep it low-key, at least for now. you glance at her, and she’s still trying to hold it together. you’re screwed.

before you can respond, aitana steps in, her voice calm but firm.

“okay, enough. leave her alone, yeah? it’s just a tiktok. so it doesn’t mean anything.”

you could kiss aitana on the forehead right now. she’s always been like an older sister, stepping in when the team gets too rowdy.

even her defense doesn’t stop cata, who’s been quietly watching from the corner.

“i don’t know, tana,” cata says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“that repost was pretty specific. y/n’s not out here reposting edits of me or you.... just esmee.”

the room erupts in laughter, and you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“it was an accident!” you insist, but no one’s buying it.

“sure, sure,” vicky says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“so, when’s the wedding? I gotta be the one throwing flowers of course.”

you shove her off, your face flaming.

“you’re the worst.”

thankfully training starts, but the teasing doesn’t stop. every drill, every water break, someone’s got a comment.

salma hums the tiktok audio under her breath as she passes you. patri winks every time you and esmee end up near each other.

even kika, who is just watching while injured on the sidelines seems to sense the vibe, giving you a curious look during a passing drill.

you’re dying.

by the time training ends, you’re ready to bolt, but the team’s not letting you off that easily. as you’re changing in the locker room, vicky stands on a bench, holding up her phone like she’s about to make a speech.

“so, y/n,” she says, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.

“the fans on twitter are losing it over your little tiktok moment. care to explain to us or to them?”

you freeze.

“twitter? what do you mean, twitter?”

salma grins, pulling up her phone again.

“oh, yeah. it’s trending among the women's football girls. ‘y/n reposting esmee edit’ is, like, all over the barça fan accounts. they’re calling it a ‘soft launch.’”

your jaw drops.

“a soft launch? i didn’t launch anything!”

esmee finally speaks up, her voice steady but laced with amusement.

“okay, enough. you’re all acting like this is some big scandal. it’s just a tiktok.”

the room goes quiet. esmee’s rarely the one to shut down the teasing, and her tone is just sharp enough to make everyone pause. but vicky’s not done. she never is.

“just a tiktok, huh? then why’s y/n looking like she wants the floor to swallow her?”

you shoot esmee a look, silently begging her to help you out.

she’s smirking now, clearly enjoying your panic.

traitor.

patri steps forward, her arms crossed.

“alright, spill. are you two together or what because that repost was not giving ‘just friends.’”

you open your mouth to deny it, but esmee cuts you off.

“fine,” she says, her voice exasperated but firm.

“yes, we’re together. happy now?”

the locker room explodes. vicky’s screaming. salma’s laughing so hard she’s doubled over. cata’s chanting “i knew it!” like she’s won the lottery.

even alexia, who’s been quietly watching, lets out a low chuckle.

you’re mortified, but esmee’s hand brushes yours, a small gesture that grounds you.

“i meant to send it to her through the app” you mumble, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

“not repost it.”

salma wipes tears from her eyes.

“that’s the best thing i’ve ever heard. you’re a disaster, y/n.”

aitana, ever the peacemaker, claps her hands.

“okay, okay, let them breathe. you’ve got your answers and now let’s go home.”

vicky’s not done still.

“hold up. the fans are gonna eat this up. you two are, like, the new favorite couple among the millions in europes football.”

you groan, sinking onto the bench.

“i didn’t want to be anyone’s favorite couple.”

esmee sits next to you, her shoulder bumping yours.

“too late,” she says softly, her eyes warm.

you sigh, but a small smile tugs at your lips.

the team’s still talking about it and being nosey, but esmee’s right. the secret’s out, and maybe that’s okay.

you lean into her slightly, ignoring vicky’s exaggerated “aww” from across the room.

[sapphirecrook]

I got opinions on this, because this has been stewing in my brain for a while. Because this feels like it's dressing up toxic behavior has cute.

The following primarily assumes Hot (or Shit) Takes. I've seen people use tags for appendices, clarifications, or positive feedback. I still think those are undercutting the point of... reblogging in general, but at least they're not being little weasels about it. Just weirdly inconvenient for no reason.

tl;dr: talk to people/friends in private, send a sassy anon ask, vague blog/tweet about it, or keep it to yourself. Don't send what kinda looks/feels like community condoned one-way verbal abuse where the victim is told to stuff it.

Let's be clear. I get the appeal of "I wanna get my thoughts out there without any feedback" also known as the ancient art of "venting".

But this is hilarious. It legit feels like it was born from people who never got tag-reblog'd and thus don't understand that, yes, the person you're sending this too will totally see it, whatever you like it or not. You are NOT being sneaky/subtle in any meaningful way, especially since tags aren't hidden to the outside world either.

Ironically, this makes tag-reblogs come across not as 'I got a thought, but I will not engage in further dialogue, can you respect that?' (a humble request to safely engage, in your own way, without the anxiety) and more as 'you will listen to me, and you are NOT allowed to call me out for it' in a way that, sorry for those that like it, comes across as hilariously entitled.

(and in a way, 'acceptable' abuse)

It's semantics, really.

EXCEPT

Reblogs don't work like that. Not really. You can see other people's reblogs. It appears on your blog too. It appears in the Notes section (sometimes with the damn tags included.) Others can't 'spread' your word, but by now, it's well accepted that people can and will just slap your tags on it.

So now it feels like a weaselly way to voice basically a Hot and/or Shit Take without having to deal with the fact you got that spice/shit going on.

With a rule saying you can't tell that person to shut the fuck up, despite them doing everything EXCEPT owning up to it.

That semantics/optics are terrible.

But, on the other hand, isn't this exactly what subtweeting was invented to do??? Making a post with a link or vague allusion about it? Or sending a sassy anonymous ask?

Moreover, and maybe I'm just too goddamn old for this world, but if you have an opinion, and you know nobody wants to hear it, and you'll hurt the person you're talking to (in a NON constructive way, sometimes you gotta bear the bad news) then, IDK... just... don't do it in public? Talk to your friends about it, in private?

As an aside.

What exactly happened that we have a usecase for a secondary categorization system that is 'I can talk in there without fearing response'? How the heck does the tech team behind Tumblr handle that in the fantasy land they actually do stuff?

"I'm sorry, Jim, we can't redo the tags for better sorting, because if we did, HannasCarCrimes' rant on MickyTwoFacesd will no longer be visible, and that's historical erasure."

Internet etiquette be wild.

(my apologies to weasels, y'all are cute lil' fellas)

Recently had an experience where someone basically took a swipe at me in the notes of my post but put it in the tags and when I responded to it said person called me out for being in breach of netiquette because it's apparently an accepted part of site culture that you just don't respond to stuff in the tags. Said person then proceeded to block me and you know I respect that, but that interaction still left me puzzled because of the absolutely bizarre social dynamic at play there.

I have talked before about how that part of the site culture is stupid, like I don't like it when people write whole essays in the tags and it's especially infuriating when they basically write a whole essay disagreeing with the thesis of the post instead of. Making that part of their own post. But that's not really the issue here. The issue is the whole appeal to netiquette in a situation where a person was taking a swipe at me (it wasn't like a huge personal attack but still something where I felt the need to address it) on my own post. In case you didn't know, when you reblog someone's post and add tags to it, the original poster sees those tags by default, so like. I feel trying to turn the situation around to make it seem like I'm the one acting out of line is honestly just mean-spirited. You came on to my post and sassed me in the tags and I'm supposedly out of line for responding? Nah, fuck that.