#everyone was always making the wrong choices i believe the show was all about that

[arabellasfvv]

Kyle dealing with your anger cause I'm currently fuming over dinner. MDNI 18+

Kyle perks up the seconds he hears you curse. There wasn't a bang or an 'ouch', so you're mad. Which would be fine any other time. But a glance on the calender tells him it's that time of the month. So a simple curse will turn into death threats torward everyone and everything, and a minimum of two things broken.

Not fun.

But he's been learning to deal with it. Slowly getting up from the couch, mentally preparing himself for an outburst.

The closer he gets to the kitchen, the better it smells. Clearly you had something good cooking. He peaks around the doorframe to check if you were curled up in a ball and sobbing.

That, frankly, would've been better than your tense figure, hands curled into tight fists. Your heavy breathing makes his own heavier, as if he's trying to blend in, not wanting to set you off.

"Sweetheart," his voice is soft as ever as he steps beside you. "What happend?" A dangerous question that could definitely blow up in his face.

"Nothing fucking happend!"

Right. He doesn't believe that. And you know that.

"Uh huh. Somethin' wrong with the food?" He pressed, while his hand snuck up your arm. Not too soft, he wanted you to feel him, a firm, grounding touch.

Kyle didn't flinch when your fist came down on the counter, one, two, three times. Just gripped you a little tighter. "Nothing's working! The sauce was weird, the potatoes ain't cooking, the fish smells fishy-"

"I think that's how fish is supposed to smell." Oh boy, if looks could kill he'd be a dead man. The kiss he presses against your head is supposed to be soothing.

He takes a fork to stab into a potatoe, before dipping it into your 'weird sauce'. Tastes fine, like everytime. "They're hard boiling potatoes, luv. Supposed to feel like that. And your sauce taste like usual, yer taste buds might be a little out of whack."

He wraps his buff arm around your shoulder, his hand slipping up to your jaw to tilt your face to him. "You bought the wrong potatoes, Kyle."

"Aww, did I? List just said potatoes." He's quick to retreat when you squint up at him, brows furrowing like he's stupid. "Okay, okay, that's on me. I shoulda known better. So why don't ya tell me which ones ya want for next time, hm?"

You want to smack him for being so rational, so calm, while your heart is about to beat out of your chest. "All purpose, or starchy." You grumble. He nods, like 'of course, those are the right options'. "Noted. You go sit down, sweetheart. Pick out a movie, order some pizza.."

He doesn't give you the chance to interrupt, the moment those pretty lips part he knows what you're going to say. "Don't worry, this won't go to waste. I'll put it aside, and we'll make something out of it tomorrow. No point in trying when you're all grumpy."

You huff. How dare he be right? You stomp away to do as told.

He joins you on the couch a little later, smiling when he saw your choice of movie. No suprise there.

He was far more focused on you than on his own appetite. So he quickly shoved down his pizza to focus on you. Guiding your feet into his sliding his deft fingers between your toes, massaging each one. Watching your little reactions, the ones you were trying to hide, so you could keep acting mad.

He's itching to you advice on how to deal with this. He knows better, though. Had learned the anger during this time is different than usual, so he doesn't. No, his warm hands just keep gliding slowly along your feet, tracing along the curves of your arch, showing exactly how familiar he is with them.

His thumbs were pressing gently into the soles, doing his best to knead away any and all tension, when you speak up again. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. As long as ya don't kill anyone, we'll always be alright, got it?" "So, killing is your limit? Ironic." "It's the laws limit."

You smile back at him, you do feel guilty about getting so worked up. Which makes it tempting to get angry again, just to ignore that feeling. But he's quicker, reads the emotions off you like it's written on a billboard.

Hands slide up your legs, before kyle is pulling you closer to him. You insult him under your breath for his strenght. He's too busy to notice. Busy pulling you into his lap, shifting you until your legs are straddling him. His hands are all over you in an instance. Feeling up every little curve, before one settles with slipping under your shirt, and drawing little patterns into your lower back.

The other coming up to cup your cheek. You lean into it like a dog starved for affection. "You're an emotional thing, I'm aware of that. Wouldn't have gotten involved if it bothered me," he assures you in a gentle whisper against your lips.

You barely manage to whisper the sacred words of 'I love you' before he has your lips against his own. Slow, and careful, but he tilts his head to fit you better, to kiss you deeper. He wants to steal your breath, watch you pull away and pant just to drag you back in until everything else's fades away. Until that flame of anger simmers down and allows your mind to be a little quieter. If just for a moment.

That's it, I'm too lazy for more.

[deadpool15]

Lovers Will

The sun was shining bright out. Almost blinding myself as well as my lovely friend Agnes. It was early. Too early one could even state, the morning started the same as always. Get up, eat my usual breakfast consisting of oatmeal and toast with jelly of course. Then I was off for a morning run. I never enjoyed the run, or the aspect of having to be up so early. Though, I can say the routine brought a sense of relief and familiarity in my life. Something I don’t see a lot, I’m a child actor if you couldn’t tell. Now, don’t get me wrong, acting has always been my passion, I happened to start when I was very young. About 6-months old, like I said quite young. It was just a moment of a production needing a baby and I happened to fit the look. My mother at the time believed it to be cool, or at least something that would earn me bragging rights in Kindergarten. And, I mean it did, for a while after that my acting career was nonexistent. Simply, became a notion of the glory days if I do say so myself.

Later, it turned into something more. It was like an itch that I couldn’t resist. I was obsessed with the people on the screen and I had to become one of them. I threw myself into roles, small things a first but then, life turned around and decided to give me a special chance. I scored the role of Aqua in Avengers: Civil War. Turning myself into this badass alien kid which uncontrollable powers. It was amazing, shortly after that the roles just started coming to me. For the first time, people were looking at me. Genuinely, looking and past the smiles on the carpets and the clothes. They were talking about my skills, my acting. It felt surreal to say the least. Life couldn’t get any better after that. Though, it seems like most things life can give you things you truly want and then find a way to make sure you never get it again, until you’re ready.

While on a much needed vacation, I took sometime to visit the farmland. Montana is definitely not everyone’s favorite choice when it comes to a moment of peace. I needed realism, animals had always made me feel comfortable, more so than reporters have done. It was an unforgettable experience for me, the heat was intense. Spending time in bars wasn’t my goal but it happened. Until, one night a man came. A face I had seen before, yet I couldn’t put a finger on. A shy smile here and there lead to a night of insane laughter, happiness. In the mornings we lay in each other’s arms, talk about our favorite things, and at nights we dance until our feet hurt. Laughed until our stomachs couldn’t take it anymore, staring into tho blue eyes was like floating in the my beautiful ocean without a care in the world. He had that effect on people. We never crossed the line of physical intimacy, I’d just never been ready. Didn’t know what I was quite waiting for, because I was sure he was the one. It was scary, I’d never felt this before, never wanted to think about leaving him or going back to the real world. But things aren’t always meant to work out the way you want it. Before, I know it, I’d gotten a call back. Sinners, I realized all this time out here playing normal made me forget about my real life. I had to wake up soon and it hurt.

I had to leave without as much as a goodbye. It was just too difficult. I threw myself into my work. Using all my tools and emotions to just focus on my character, the pain that I was constantly experiencing went straight into her. Sooner, or later I heard about the marvel movie, I didn’t want to waste and second and auditioned right away. I figured if I wasn’t granted even just a moment to think about myself or anything because I was simply too busy. I wouldn’t have to constantly think about Lewis. I ignored everything, the calls, texts. I was terrified, these feelings were eating me up from the inside it was started to show. Michael managed to see this and took it upon himself to make me feel better at all times. Now to me he was the best friend anyone could ask for, but to the media he was a heartthrob who had just set his eyes on yours truly. I never made a comment about it, the glances or the touches. That was just how he was, I let them pain the narrative they wanted. My mind was too consumed with those baby blue eyes.

“Two movies released in the same year the hell you trynna do, give out girl.” He had stated after finding out about the marvel movie. I realized later why I thought Lewis had such a notable face. Nepo baby. He was the son of actor Bill Pullman. To make matters worse he was also in Thunderbolts. I avoided him like the plague. It was genuinely concerning to the other cast. They’d created this idea that I hated him, though I figure I didn’t quite help with me constantly acting repulsed by his mere presence. If we had scenes together which in my case Lucy wasn’t on my side. I’d do the work and hurry up to leave before he could start a conversation. On a side note when Flo invited all of us to her current apartment she was renting in LA for the time being to celebrate our hard work, it became clear I didn’t want to be around him so Flo tried and well let’s just say it didn’t work out.

“So, what’s it with you and Pullman, huh? A bad breakup or is he just secretly an asshole and is very good at acting.” She stared at me waiting for a response with a bear in her hand. Blonde hair slicked back, with a smile that I could say men would go to war for, if I’m being honest.

“Nothing, you’re just thinking too hard about it, he is just a dude.” A look of absolute disbelief had taken over her face. She didn’t buy it. Of course she didn’t, Flo had never exactly been the type to let things go. Especially, if she had a feeling about it.

“Oo, I get it. You two have shagged, right? He must’ve been had for you to ignore him like you do.” She laughed after her statement.

“W-what no we didn’t shag, that sounds wildly inappropriate Flo. Why would you think that?” Turning red would’ve been my initial reaction had my skin been pale.

“There isn’t anything wrong with it, I mean I’ve slept with a coworker it’s fine we have all been there. That’s the only reason you would avoid someone like you have, I mean you have gone to great lengths to not be around him. Or unless you’re like in love with him and you know scared to tell him.” The deadly silence was confirmation enough to her statement.

“Wait, omg you’re in love with him aren’t you? Jesus, shit how didn’t we pick up on that. I mean he loves you too that’s obvious, always around here looking like a kicked puppy every time he can’t speak to you or when you leave the room.”

That couldn’t be true, Lewis could never love me. We would never fit, he would grow bored of him, he would hate me. It couldn’t work. Never, he needs something else. “I don’t love him, what are you even talking about? You’re drunk that’s what it is, I don’t even like him, he’s boring and a loser. Definitely not my type.” After my extremely loud outburst, I failed to notice how silent the room had become. And how Flo had been trying to tell me that someone else had arrived to the party. Turning my head slowly I see Lewis, I couldn’t my eye contact even though he tried. I felt like an asshole.

“Thanks for sharing, Lia. You really know how to make a guy feel special. I’m gonna go guys, early start in the morning.” After those fatal words he left. Almost as if he wasn’t there to begin with. Or maybe that’s what I tried to convince myself as everyone looked at me. Pity. I could see if in their faces, my feelings were obvious to anyone with eyes. In my head it was just easier to tell myself Lewis couldn’t be with me, he was meant for someone more his pace, famous parents, long straight hair and white. I was my own form of destruction. I was my own enemy.

Could he ever actually be with me, love me? Questions that plagued my mind as I replayed the face of emotional turmoil on his face when he heard me utter those words. What was wrong with me. To make matters worse press tours were coming up, how could I face the world if I couldn’t even face the man I love?

[saebaragi]

arguing about shows with my friend is so funny, I usually don't like talking about my opinions cuz I know they'll be too different from hers, but sometimes is just much, one of these days she was like "I'm so pissed at serena for not wanting to go to college" and i was like "you and me literally never wanted either" and she was like "yeah, but she had it handed to her" and I was like "jessica you were the top of the class, our more severe teacher wanted to help you get into college, you could have went if you wanted. but you didn't. that's fine. sometimes we don't want things even when they're handed to us"

[ggukivrse]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | teaser

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs, other chapter specific tags

word count: 1k

notes: right soo... this fic was not apart of the poll i put out BUT i did manage to finally write something so you can't say anything (writer's block has been kicking my ass lately, study break was just a result of my horniness loll). this is j a teaser so if we like this, i’ll prioritise it, if not, it’ll still get written, just a bit slower! enjoy reading my angels <333

ps. kiara is pronounced like tiara, just with a k

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The road stretches out ahead, long and quiet, humming under the tires. You lean into the car door, forehead pressed against the glass, fingers mindlessly tugging at the threads on the hem of your shorts.

Summer air seeps through the half-cracked open window, warm and heavy with the scent of trees and sun-baked asphalt.

You should be excited. Everyone else is.

A full week away — just your group, no classes, no work shifts, no group projects hanging over anyone’s head for the first time in four years. A final trip before the “real world” starts to pull everyone in different directions.

But your stomach’s been tight since the moment you packed your bag. And now, with every mile you put between yourself and home, it just gets worse.

“You’re really quiet,” Kiara says, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. She’s got one hand on the wheel, the other flipping the volume knob down on the music. “Like... unusually quiet. Do I need to be concerned?”

You shake your head without looking at her. “Nah. Just tired.”

Kiara makes a sound like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press, and you're grateful for it.

You glance over at her. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, dark brown hair falling in curls past her shoulders, sunglasses balanced on top of her head instead of over her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in full DJ mode by now,” you say, nodding toward her phone. “Where’s the summer playlist?”

She smirks. “I’m easing you into it. Jimin says my music tastes give him whiplash.”

“He has a point.”

She scoffs. “Please. Hoseok says my music’s amazing.”

“He says that about everything you do," you say with a smile.

She shrugs, casual. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s adorable how hopelessly smitten they are. Even after a year together, Hoseok still looks at Kiara like she hung the stars.

You remember when they finally got together, after years of dancing around it. Everyone in the friend group had seen it coming — everyone except them.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kiara laughs, and you can’t help but join in. For a second, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little.

"Speaking of Hoseok," you start, glancing over at her. “How come he's not coming with you?”

She sighs. “Shift at work. He tried to switch but his manager’s being a dick. He’ll drive up tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “That sucks.”

She hums in agreement, but you’re already half-lost in your thoughts.

As much as you feel bad for Hoseok, you're quietly grateful Kiara asked you to come with her. The idea of doing this drive alone — just you, a quiet car, and way too much time to sit with everything you haven’t let yourself feel — would’ve made the weight in your chest unbearable.

She hasn’t said much, but she’s always had good timing. Maybe she didn’t even realise how much you needed the company. Or maybe she did.

“Lucky me, I got upgraded,” you say lightly.

She grins. “Damn right you did.”

The playlist switches songs, something soft and nostalgic. You stare out the window again, at the lazy sway of trees and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

“I can’t believe we actually pulled this trip off,” Kiara says, after a beat. “Twelve people committing to anything at the same time? Miracle.”

You nod. “Taehyung’s been talking about it since first year.”

“Yeah, and threatening to disown us if anyone bailed.”

You huff out a small laugh.

Back when this trip was just an idea tossed around during late-night study sessions and half-finished group projects, you'd been genuinely excited — borderline giddy, even. The promise of a full week at a fancy resort with your closest friends had felt like the perfect reward after years of deadlines, breakdowns, and pulling all-nighters on cheap coffee and instant noodles.

It was one of those plans that didn’t feel real at first — the kind of thing you talk about just to survive the semester — but then slowly, it started taking shape. Rooms were booked. Deposits paid. Group chats flooded with outfit ideas and packing lists.

You remember counting down the months, then the weeks. You’d imagined bonfires and inside jokes, sunsets by the water, slow mornings in a warm bed.

Back then, this trip had felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Something to look forward to. Something certain.

Now, you can barely keep the dread from crawling up your throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Kiara asks again, gentler this time.

You blink, pulled back to the present. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”

Again, she doesn’t push. Just gives you a side glance and says, “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ve got a whole week of sun, overpriced cocktails, and probably at least one group fight. You’ll be fine.”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be fine.”

But your stomach’s still a mess, and the name you’ve been avoiding thinking about drags itself right back to the front of your mind.

Jungkook.

You haven’t seen him in a month.

Not since it ended.

And in about an hour, you’re going to be standing under the same roof as him — spending an entire week in the same space, breathing the same air, pretending it doesn’t feel like your insides are still bruised from the last time you spoke.

A small, irrational part of you hopes he won’t show. That something will come up. That he’ll decide it’s not worth it.

But you know him. He’ll be there.

Of course he will.

Kiara says something — probably teasing, probably meant to distract you — and you laugh on instinct. Keep the smile on your face, even as dread pools low in your gut.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

You glance out the window again, the road narrowing in the distance.

Now, a part of you can't stop looking for the nearest exit.

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taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme

[gojoidyll]

MYDEI GETS ANGRY AT YOU, or when Mydei says something to you that's hurtful when all you're trying to do is show that you care.

angst, mydei x fem!reader, arguments, mydei is kind of mean here, fluff at the end, etc.

“I- I’m sorry Mydei, I really didn’t mean anything wrong by-“

He silenced you by taking a step forward, that lone action striking fear in you as you took a step back, the back your thighs hitting the bed as you lost your balance and ended up falling into the mattress, but you were quick to sit up as Mydei looked down at you.

“You’re always sorry,” he bit, “but you don’t understand at all. You do not understand the choices I have to make or the responsibilities that I bear, and yet you preach about how I need rest or need to take a break when you don’t even know what I do to keep you and everyone else safe,” he snapped at you, barred his teeth, lashed out.

You knew he was stressed, and all you wanted to do was to help…

“I- I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out as tears began to bubble up at the corners of your eyes before cascading down your cheeks. Your lips doing that quivering thing they always do when you start to cry ugly tears.

“Tch, and now you’re crying,” he turned away from you, “if you stopped nagging at me and stopped being so damn clingy and acting like you know what’s best for me then you wouldn’t be crying so damn much.”

He went to leave and you called after him, asking him where he was going.

“Out, your crying is annoying. I need some peace and quiet since you talk so much.”

You bit back anything you had left in your mouth in fear that he would turn around and have even more to share with you. And when you couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing any longer and even a loud slam of a door, you fell back into the bed, your tears coming out faster and harder than before.

When you see him again, you’ll apologize. You didn’t want him to be angry at you for long.

You curled up on his side of the bed, your hands reaching for the covers as you pulled them over you in a mock embrace. You sniffled as you closed your eyes in hopes that sleep could put your mind at ease…

Meanwhile, Mydei was taking his frustration out on multiple training dummys which didn’t go unnoticed by a certain deliverer.

“Don’t you think they had enough,” Phainon mused as he watched Mydei hack yet another head off. The straw made head falling a little away from them due to how much force Mydei had used to cut it off.

“Not now deliverer. I’m not in the mood.”

Phainon watched as Mydei cut off another dummy’s head, his eyes scanning the man carefully – he observed Mydei’s body language, saw how his fist would punch a hole into a dummy’s stomach straight through before moving onto the next. Only one person could get Mydei so worked up.

“Did you fight with your wife again?”

Phainon had to hold back a laugh at the way Mydei so visibly tensed. It was just too easy to read the kremnoan man.

“Well,” Phainon pressed, “you should make up with her soon, fighting with her will do you no good.”

Mydei unclenched his fists before sighing heavily, “I do not believe she wishes to see me.”

“Why is that?”

Mydei glanced to Phainon and weighed his options, but decided to talk to the man anyway as he was … the closest person he could talk to about this. So he recounted the argument with Phainon, and much to his displeasure, by just looking at Phainon’s face he could see just how much he messed up.

“Friend, I am going to say this as kindly as possible… you messed up.”

“Tch,” Mydei crossed his arms over his chest as he looked away, “I already know that.”

Phainon sighed, “how long has it been since the argument?”

“This morning.”

It was already well passed noon.

Phainon shook his head as he gestured to the exit of the training grounds, “you better hurry on back to her.”

Mydei didn’t even need anymore convincing as he rushed home. Many in the streets wondered what at the kremnoan prince in such a rush, but he paid them no mind as he ran home to you.

Bursting through the doors, he went into each room he came across, but you were nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until he reached your shared room did he find you under the covers and curled up on his side of the bed, right where he had left you. Were you waiting for him to come back?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went up to you and kneeled beside the bed. He reached for your face as he brushed the stray hair from your face, your eyes were puffy and cheeks dried with tears. Regret was filled inside of him.

“Y/n,” he called for your gently as he ran his fingers along your cheek, the cool metal of his gloves waking you up as you groggily opened your eyes.

“Mydei?”

When you saw his face, your eyes were immediately started to fill with tears again, he was quick to wrap you up in a hug as he pulled you close into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he tried not to strain those words as he apologized, tried to even make it sound soothing as he held you, “please do not cry. I was a cruel man with what I said to you, all because you were worrying about my well-being.”

You sat up a little and wrapped your arms around his waist, “I’m sorry too,” you said quietly, “I knew you were stressed and tried to help instead of giving you space.”

Mydei shook his head, “I don’t ever want you to give me space. I should have listened to you, please forgive me.”

He knew words alone would not fix what he had said and done. He knew that he scared you today, he could see it in your eyes earlier that morning when you were trying to back away from him. You were … afraid … of him.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - part one is finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it. i can't wait to write more of this series for you x

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

next chapter (two).

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lunge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your Dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

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[scarletwinterxx]

drowning in the deepest of truths, I think I'm falling for you - choi seungcheol scenario

hellooo ~ so it's been a while... few things to address😅 i saw svt recently and i can confirm i cried hahah and second thing, a certain mr. seungcheol choi bias wrecked me so we're here. say thank u to him🤣

THIS ISTG TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE. if you've been here for a long time, i think it's obvious i love a good friends-to-lovers storyline. i wanna give myself a pat on the back for writing this😅hope you like it too!!

for my other svt fics, check them here

my x acc - niniramyeonie 😊💛

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

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve been friends with Seungcheol for as long as you can remember. He’s the dependable guy, the one who shows up at your door with takeout when you’re upset, drives you to late-night emergencies, and threatens to "have a word" with anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way. He’s also the same guy who will call you at 2 AM to complain about Jeonghan stealing his food or Seungkwan roasting his playlist choices.

It’s all very platonic.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

But here’s the thing—platonic friends don’t always behave the way Seungcheol does with you.

Like how he always walks closest to the road when you’re together. You thought he did that for everyone until Jeonghan once teased him about being your personal bodyguard. “What, I’m just making sure she’s safe,” he’d grumbled, cheeks faintly red. You’d laughed it off, but now every time he switches sides to keep you away from traffic, your brain unhelpfully replays Jeonghan’s teasing.

Then there’s his car. His precious car. The one you’ve seen him ban people from for spilling a drink or even breathing too close to the upholstery. Yet, somehow, you’re the only one allowed to eat fries in it without getting scolded. “Because you’re neat,” he’d explained once, though you distinctly remember dropping ketchup on the seat that one time. He cleaned it up himself and still handed you another fry.

And don’t even get started on the hand thing. He always has a hand on your back—guiding you through crowds, steadying you when you wobble on uneven ground, or just casually resting it there when you’re walking side by side.

It’s warm, reassuring, and totally not something friends think about when they’re lying in bed at night.

You tried asking him about it once. “You’re very handsy, you know.”

“Would you rather I let you trip and fall?” he’d retorted with a smirk.

“Not what I meant, but okay.”

The problem is, Seungcheol seems completely unaffected by all this. He treats you like you’re just another one of his friends, albeit one he’s particularly protective of. You’ve heard him swear up and down to Jeonghan and Seungkwan that you’re just his friend. Jeonghan, of course, doesn’t believe him.

“Right, because you hold all your ‘friends’ like they’re a national treasure,” Jeonghan had said, earning himself a withering glare.

“Shut up, Jeonghan,” Seungcheol had snapped, but his ears were noticeably pink.

Then there was Seungkwan, who once asked, “Why don’t you just marry her already? Save us all the suspense.”

“We’re friends,” Seungcheol had groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

It’s honestly infuriating. Not because you want him to admit something else (okay, maybe you do, but only a little), but because it leaves you constantly second-guessing everything.

Like when he shows up to your apartment with soup because you mentioned a scratchy throat, or when he lingers outside your building after dropping you off just to make sure you’re inside safely.

Or—your personal favorite—when he softens. That big, tough guy act he puts on with everyone else melts the second he looks at you.

His voice gets gentler, his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he’s suddenly the kind of guy who brushes hair out of your face without a second thought.

It’s maddening.

And apparently, you’re not the only one who thinks so.

“I don’t get it,” Jeonghan says one day, while you’re all sitting at a café. “Why are you two still dancing around each other? Just confess already.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “What?! There’s nothing to confess!”

“Exactly,” Seungcheol agrees, but his jaw tightens ever so slightly

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Sure. And I’m the president.”

“Jeonghan, drop it,” Seungcheol warns.

“Fine, fine.” Jeonghan smirks but doesn’t look convinced.

By the time you’re walking home together later, the conversation keeps replaying in your head. Seungcheol is quiet beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you say, bumping your shoulder against his.

He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“...Nothing important.”

You don’t push, but as his hand finds its familiar place on your back when you cross the street, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Jeonghan was onto something.

You knew it was going to be a long day when your boss handed you that stack of papers at 4 PM. By the time you finally wrapped up, the office was practically empty, the night sky spilling across the windows.

A quick glance at your phone confirmed what you already dreaded—you’d missed the last bus. Groaning, you stuffed your things into your bag, resigning yourself to the long walk home.

It wasn’t that bad. Just… cold, dark, and slightly creepy. You’d be fine.

Totally fine.

But when you pushed through the lobby doors and stepped outside, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was.

Choi Seungcheol, leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest like he’d been waiting all night. His head tilted up as soon as he heard the door open, and when he saw you, that familiar, infuriatingly soft smile spread across his face.

“Finally,” he said, pushing off the car. “I thought you were going to sleep in there.”

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before you managed, “What… what are you doing here?”

“Picking you up,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world

“I didn’t ask you to.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t need to.”

You frowned, confused. “How did you even know I was still here?”

“Your light was on when I drove by earlier.”

“You drove by?”

He had the audacity to look sheepish. “I figured you’d miss the bus. And I didn’t want you walking home alone.”

Your heart did an annoying little flip. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Sure you can,” he said, completely unfazed. “But humor me, okay? Get in the car.”

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to argue, but the cold wind nipping at your cheeks made the decision for you. “Fine,” you muttered, walking past him to the passenger door.

“Good choice,” he said, smirking as he opened the door for you.

The car was warm, smelling faintly of his cologne, and as you settled into the seat, you couldn’t help but notice the little things—how he’d adjusted the seat warmer on your side or how there was a blanket folded neatly in the backseat.

He climbed in and started the engine, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Hungry?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You barely eat when you’re working late,” he said. “We can grab something on the way home.”

You stared at him, baffled. “Do you do this for all your friends?”

He smirked, pulling out of the parking lot. “Do what?”

“Show up unannounced, wait in the cold, and then offer to feed them.”

“Only the ones who miss the last bus.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “So just me, then?”

“Just you,” he admitted, glancing at you again with a small smile.

The ride home was quiet, the hum of the engine and the city lights passing by making everything feel oddly intimate. When he finally pulled up in front of your building, you turned to him, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Thanks for… this,” you said awkwardly, gesturing vaguely.

“Anytime,” he said easily.

As you reached for the door handle, he stopped you. “Hey.”

You turned back, and his expression had softened, the playful smirk replaced with something quieter, more sincere.

“Text me next time, okay? So I don’t have to guess.”

Your chest tightened, and you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

You stepped out of the car, his eyes on you the entire time, and as you walked to your building, you couldn’t help but smile.

He wasn’t just a friend. Not to you, anyway. And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t just a friend to him either.

It was supposed to be a quiet night for Seungcheol. He’d gone out with some friends, had a couple of drinks, and was planning to head home early. But somehow, he ended up back at Jeonghan’s place with Seungkwan sitting cross-legged on the couch, both of them looking far too smug for his liking.

They were up to something. They were always up to something.

“So,” Jeonghan started, drawing out the word like he had all the time in the world, “guess who’s out on a date right now?”

Seungcheol barely glanced up from his phone. “I don’t know. Who?”

“You,” Seungkwan deadpanned, then snorted. “Kidding. It’s her.”

Seungcheol’s fingers froze mid-scroll. “What?”

“You know who,” Jeonghan said, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s on a date,” Seungkwan added, like he was explaining something to a toddler.

Seungcheol’s brain short-circuited for a second. “Wait. What?”

“Why are you so shocked?” Jeonghan leaned back, looking like the cat that got the cream. “She’s a grown woman. She deserves to have a little fun.”

“She’s—she’s on a date?” Seungcheol repeated, his voice louder this time

“Yes, and he’s so handsome,” Seungkwan said dramatically, clasping his hands together like he was narrating a fairytale. “Tall, charming, great hair—”

“Wait a minute. You set her up?” Seungcheol cut in, his voice sharp

“Of course,” Jeonghan said breezily. “You weren’t making a move, so we figured someone else should.”

“I’m not—” Seungcheol started, then stopped, his jaw clenching. “She doesn’t need you meddling in her life.”

“She seemed fine with it,” Jeonghan said, grinning. “Actually, she looked pretty excited.”

That sentence hit Seungcheol like a punch to the gut. You? Excited to go on a date with some random guy? The thought made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t want to think about.

“I don’t get why you care so much,” Seungkwan said, narrowing his eyes. “I mean, she’s just your friend, right?”

Seungcheol’s head snapped toward him, but he didn’t say anything, his jaw working furiously as he tried to come up with a response.

“Right?” Seungkwan pressed, leaning forward.

Jeonghan smirked. “You do seem awfully worked up for someone who’s ‘just a friend.’”

Seungcheol shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “She is my friend.”

“Hmm,” Jeonghan hummed, unconvinced. “Then why do you look like you’re about to track down this guy and challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m not—” Seungcheol groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m just… concerned.”

“About what?” Seungkwan asked innocently.

“About her,” Seungcheol snapped. “What if he’s some creep? What if he says something to upset her? What if—”

“Oh my God,” Jeonghan interrupted, laughing. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Seungcheol said through gritted teeth.

“Then why are you gripping the couch like it insulted your ancestors?” Seungkwan asked, gesturing to Seungcheol’s white-knuckled hands.

“I’m just protective,” he argued weakly.

“Right. Protective,” Jeonghan said, rolling his eyes. “Because that totally explains the vein popping out of your forehead right now.”

Seungcheol groaned again, sinking back into the couch. He hated how transparent he was, especially to these two.

“Look,” Jeonghan said, leaning forward, his tone suddenly serious. “If you don’t want her going on dates with other guys, then maybe you should finally admit how you feel.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t even try it,” Seungkwan cut in, holding up a hand. “We all know. She’s the only person you drop everything for. The only one you talk to with that stupid soft voice. You treat her like she’s your entire world, but you’re too stubborn to say it.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Because they were right. They were absolutely, infuriatingly right.

“Okay, fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I feel something. But what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

Jeonghan snorted. “Are you kidding me? She’s just as bad as you. She talks about you all the time, and don’t even get me started on the way she looks at you. You’re both idiots.”

Seungkwan nodded solemnly. “Big, dumb idiots.”

Seungcheol stared at them, his mind racing. Maybe it was time to stop being an idiot.

“Where’s this date happening?” he asked suddenly.

Jeonghan and Seungkwan exchanged a glance, their smirks returning.

“Why?” Jeonghan asked, feigning innocence.

Seungcheol stood, grabbing his jacket. “Because I’m about to fix this.”

“Finally,” Seungkwan muttered, shaking his head.

Jeonghan grinned. “Go get her, tiger.”

And with that, Seungcheol stormed out, determined to set things right—even if it meant crashing your date.

Meanwhile you were having a perfectly peaceful evening. The kind where the air was crisp, the stars were starting to peek out, and the banana milk you’d picked up from the convenience store was hitting just right. Strolling through your neighborhood, you took another long sip, savoring the sweetness.

And then, like something out of a drama, Seungcheol’s sleek black car zipped past you.

You blinked, nearly choking on your drink.

Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. But then the brake lights lit up, and the car slowed before making a sharp U-turn.

You stopped walking, half-expecting someone else to step out of the car. But, of course, it was Seungcheol.

He parked haphazardly by the curb and got out, looking a little disheveled, which was unusual for him. His jacket was slightly askew, and his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

“Hey,” he said, jogging up to you, his voice slightly breathless.

“Uh, hi?” you said, thoroughly confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he countered, crossing his arms but not quite meeting your eyes.

“I’m just walking,” you replied, holding up your banana milk as if to prove your innocence. “What about you?”

He hesitated for a second too long. “I was… driving.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Driving? Around here?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was… in the area.”

“In the area?” you repeated, unconvinced.

“Yes,” he said firmly, but his eyes flickered to the drink in your hand, betraying his nerves.

You decided not to press him. Seungcheol acting weird wasn’t exactly new, but something about him tonight seemed different. Like he was on edge. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and he kept shifting from foot to foot like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

He froze, then sighed, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m just… stressed,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Work?” you guessed.

“Something like that,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

You frowned, feeling a pang of concern. Without thinking, you held out your banana milk to him, your fingers curling around the straw as you offered it up. “Here. This always makes me feel better.”

He blinked at you, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“Drink it,” you said, blinking up at him innocently. “It’ll help.”

He stared at you for a moment, his expression softening in that way that always made your heart skip a beat. “You’re sharing your banana milk with me?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you mumbled, cheeks warming.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he took the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours. He took a hesitant sip, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment, the world felt strangely quiet.

“Not bad,” he said, handing it back to you.

“See? Instant stress relief,” you said lightly, though your chest felt tight for reasons you didn’t want to examine too closely.

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made you feel uncharacteristically shy. Finally, he reached out, ruffling your hair like he used to do when you were younger. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

You laughed softly, brushing his hand away. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.”

His smile faltered just slightly, something unspoken passing between you before he cleared his throat and stepped back. “I’ll drive you home.”

“It’s just a short walk—”

“Let me drive you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You didn’t fight him on it. You weren’t sure why, but Seungcheol’s strange mood tugged at something deep inside you.

As you climbed into his car and he pulled onto the road, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his stress than he was letting on. And from the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened every time he glanced at you, you had a feeling he was thinking the exact same thing.

A few days later since that night. You're still wondering why Seungcheol was acting weird but you brush it off, thinking maybe he's just stressed because of work.

Now you're somewhere unfamiliar.

You sighed in frustration, staring at the unfamiliar street signs around you.

You were definitely lost.

The errand you thought would take twenty minutes had somehow turned into an hour-long disaster. To make matters worse, your phone signal had cut out just when you’d tried to pull up directions.

After wandering aimlessly for what felt like forever, your phone finally regained some service, and you immediately dialed Jeonghan’s number. He was your go-to for emergencies like this—always on his phone and annoyingly calm in situations where you were about ready to cry.

“Hello?” Jeonghan’s familiar voice answered on the first ring

“Jeonghan!” you practically wailed. “I’m lost.”

“Lost?” he echoed, sounding more amused than concerned. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned, scanning the street for anything remotely familiar. “I think I took a wrong turn somewhere, and then my phone lost signal, and now I have no idea where I am.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, clearly suppressing a laugh. “Relax. Describe your surroundings.”

You rattled off a description of the nearby buildings and street signs, and Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. “Alright, I think I know where you are. Just stay put, and I’ll send someone to get you.”

“Wait—someone? Who?”

But before he could answer, the line disconnected.

Fifteen minutes later, as you sat on a bench scrolling through your now-working phone, your screen lit up with an incoming call from Seungcheol.

You hesitated for a second before answering. “Hello?”

“What the hell?” was the first thing out of his mouth, his voice a mix of irritation and concern.

“What?” you asked, confused

“Why didn’t you call me?” he demanded

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re lost, right? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I—” You paused, feeling slightly guilty. “I figured you’d be busy with work. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” he repeated incredulously. “You think calling me when you’re lost is a bother?”

“I mean… kind of?” you said hesitantly. “You’re always so busy, and I didn’t want to distract you.”

There was a brief pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost hurt. “You’re never a bother, you know that, right?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling small. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything important.”

“You’re important,” he shot back without missing a beat.

Your heart did a funny little flip at his words, but you tried to shake it off. “Jeonghan said he’d send someone to get me,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, and that someone is me,” Seungcheol said, his voice firm. “I’m on my way.”

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

“Stay where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said, and then the line went dead.

True to his word, Seungcheol’s car pulled up exactly ten minutes later. He got out and strode toward you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and relief.

“You okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any signs of distress.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said sheepishly. “Sorry for making you come all the way out here.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly. “Just… next time, call me first, okay? No matter what. I don’t care how busy I am.”

You nodded, feeling warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Okay. I will.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before reaching out to flick your forehead gently. “Idiot,” he muttered, but there was no heat in his voice. “You scared me.”

You smiled up at him, clutching your phone tightly. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Always.”

And with that, he opened the car door for you, muttering something about making sure you had a proper map app installed while you slid into the passenger seat, feeling safer than you’d felt all day.

The car was quiet save for the low hum of the engine as Seungcheol drove. You sat in the passenger seat, sneaking glances at him every now and then. His brows were slightly furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he was still annoyed—though more at himself than at you—but the silence was starting to get to you.

“Are you really mad?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper

He didn’t answer right away, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. You shifted in your seat, feeling a small pang of guilt.

“Cheol?” you tried again, a little louder this time

Finally, he glanced at you, just for a second, and that’s when he saw it—the faint pout on your lips, your eyes wide and filled with worry.

Whatever lingering annoyance he felt melted away instantly.

How could he ever stay mad at you?

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

In that fleeting moment, something clicked. He’d always known he cared about you, but this was different.

This was deeper.

The way his chest ached at the thought of you being lost, the way he couldn’t focus on anything else until he knew you were safe—it all made sense now.

He was in deep. Really, truly in deep.

But he kept that realization buried, locking it away for now. Because what if you didn’t feel the same? What if he ruined what you already had?

So instead of saying what was really on his mind, he shook his head and let out a small sigh. “No, I’m not mad,” he said softly, his voice losing all the sharpness from earlier.

“Really?” you asked, your pout disappearing as a hopeful smile crept onto your face.

He glanced at you again, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Really. Just… call me next time, okay? No matter what.”

“Okay,” you said quickly, nodding.

“Good,” he said, turning his attention back to the road. But the corner of his mouth quirked up, betraying his amusement at how eager you were to ease his worries.

And as you settled back into your seat, sipping the banana milk you’d insisted on bringing with you, Seungcheol kept driving, silently grappling with the fact that you had him wrapped around your finger—and you didn’t even know it.

It’s not something you consciously think about, but Seungcheol is the first person you instinctively search for in every situation.

Whether it’s at a gathering, in a crowded room, or even during simple moments like deciding where to sit, your eyes always find him first. And it’s always easy to spot him—because, without fail, he leaves a space open beside him, like he’s silently saving it just for you.

He never says anything about it, but you’ve come to notice how it’s always you in the passenger seat of his car, you who gets the last fry from his plate, and you who he lets get away with things no one else can.

One day, after an especially long week at work, you found yourself riding home with him again. The car was quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

“Cheol,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” he responded, glancing at you briefly before returning his attention to the road.

“Do you think…” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Do you think I’m taking advantage of you being such a good friend?”

He frowned slightly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “What?”

“I mean…” You trailed off, unsure how to explain yourself. “You do so much for me. I feel like I’m always leaning on you, and maybe—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, pulling the car to a gentle stop at a red light. He turned to look at you, his expression soft but serious. “You’re not taking advantage of me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he reached over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear in that way that always made your breath catch.

“I wouldn’t do any of it if I didn’t want to,” he said firmly, his voice low and steady. Then, with a small smile, he added, “Take advantage of me all you want.”

You blinked at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone. For a moment, it felt like the world outside the car had faded away, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble.

There was something in the way he said it, something in his gaze that made your chest tighten. Like he wasn’t just saying you could rely on him, but something deeper—something more.

But you didn’t push it, didn’t ask him to elaborate.

Instead, you smiled softly, feeling your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Cheol.”

He nodded, turning back to the road as the light turned green, but his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, as if he was trying to shake off whatever had just passed between you.

And though neither of you said it out loud, his words lingered in the air between you, unspoken but clear.

Take advantage of me all you want.

It sounded an awful lot like he was saying, I’m yours.

The music was loud, the kind that vibrated through your chest and made regular conversation impossible.

You were at yet another one of Seungkwan’s chaotic gatherings, where everyone was laughing, shouting, and dancing all at once. You were trying to tell Seungcheol something, but no matter how loud you spoke, your voice barely reached him over the noise.

Finally, with a little huff of frustration, you stepped closer to him. So close that you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. He raised an eyebrow at you, amused but curious, as if to ask, What’s up?

Without thinking, you stood on your tiptoes, your hand lightly gripping his arm for balance. Leaning in, you brought your lips close to his ear and whispered the words you’d been trying to say.

His reaction was immediate. You felt his hands gently rest on your waist, steadying you like it was second nature. His touch was warm, firm, and grounding in the chaos of the room.

“What?” he asked, turning his head slightly so his lips were near your ear now, his voice low enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

You repeated yourself, barely able to focus with how close the two of you were. You could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint, familiar scent of his cologne.

When you pulled back just enough to look at him, you caught the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slid one of his hands down from your waist and took your hand in his.

Your breath hitched when his fingers laced with yours, his grip firm but gentle, like he wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, and he gave your hand a little squeeze, as if to silently say, I hear you now.

The moment stretched between you, the noise of the room fading into the background as you stared up at him. His eyes were warm, his smile soft, and for a second, you felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

“Better?” he asked, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded, your cheeks warm as you managed a small smile. “Better.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.

As the night wore on, you and Seungcheol gravitated toward each other like magnets. Even in the chaos of the party, you never strayed far, and he made no effort to hide how closely he kept you by his side.

At one point, you found yourself standing in front of him, tucked neatly into the protective circle of his arms. His broad frame loomed behind you, shielding your much smaller figure from the crowd. It was a natural thing, the way his arms rested lightly around your waist, his hands occasionally brushing against your sides.

You weren’t sure when you had become so glued to each other, but you didn’t mind. You felt safe there, cocooned in his warmth, the noise of the party fading into the background as you leaned into his steady presence.

Seungcheol leaned down slightly, his chin nearly brushing the top of your head as he murmured, “You okay?”

You turned your head slightly to glance back at him, your eyes meeting his. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, and he gave your waist a gentle squeeze, as if to reassure himself. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I think I’m fine as long as I stay right here,” you replied without thinking, and you felt his chest rumble with quiet laughter behind you.

“Yeah?” he teased, his voice low and warm. “You planning to stick to me all night?”

You shrugged, your cheeks warming. “Maybe.”

His laugh softened, and you felt his arms tighten around you ever so slightly. “Good,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost like he hadn’t meant for you to hear it.

From the other side of the room, Seungkwan and Jeonghan stood together, sipping their drinks and watching the scene unfold like it was a live drama.

Jeonghan leaned casually against the wall, a smirk dancing on his lips as his eyes flicked between you and Seungcheol. “You seeing this?” he murmured, just loud enough for Seungkwan to hear over the noise.

“Oh, I’m seeing it,” Seungkwan replied, trying his best to keep a straight face but failing miserably. His grin threatened to split his face in two as he watched Seungcheol pull you closer, his arms tightening protectively around you.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “Should we—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Seungkwan interrupted, though he looked like he was barely holding himself back. “You saw the look he gave us earlier. He’ll kill us if we say anything.”

Just then, Seungcheol’s eyes flicked toward them, sharp and warning. It was a look that screamed, Don’t. You. Dare.

Jeonghan, of course, couldn’t resist a bit of mischief. He raised his glass in a mock toast, tilting his head slightly as if to say, Oh, we’ll see about that.

Seungcheol’s glare darkened, and he subtly mouthed, Don’t.

Seungkwan elbowed Jeonghan, barely stifling his laughter. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

“Oh, come on,” Jeonghan whispered back, smirking. “It’s too good not to say something. Look at them. She’s practically in his arms, and he’s acting like she’s the only person in the room.”

“I know, but...” Seungkwan hesitated, glancing back at Seungcheol, who had now fully turned his body to shield you from the crowd. “He’s terrifying when it comes to her.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan said, his smirk widening. “Which makes this even more fun.”

Before either of them could act on their instincts, Seungcheol shot them another glare—this one so intense that even Jeonghan momentarily reconsidered his life choices.

Seungkwan cleared his throat, straightening up. “Yeah, nope. Not worth it. I like being alive.”

Jeonghan chuckled, but even he backed off, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. We’ll let him have his moment. For now.”

But as they watched you and Seungcheol disappear into the night, Jeonghan leaned over to Seungkwan with a glint in his eye. “We’re never letting him live this down, though.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Seungkwan agreed, grinning. “We’re just waiting for the right moment to strike.”

And with that, the two of them shared a conspiratorial laugh, already plotting how they’d tease Seungcheol later—if they lived to tell the tale.

The quiet of the car was a stark contrast to the laughter and energy of the night. It was just the two of you now, the hum of the engine and the soft rush of air outside the windows filling the space between your thoughts.

Seungcheol’s eyes were on the road, his focus steady, but there was something different in the air tonight. It felt like the perfect moment to finally ask the question that had been lingering on your mind.

"Cheol?" you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Mhm?" he replied, glancing at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road.

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of your thoughts making your chest tighten just a little. "We're not just friends, are we?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

You had been wondering for a while now, but it felt like the right time to ask.

Seungcheol didn’t immediately respond. The car continued on its path, the sound of the engine filling the space. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was a quiet, almost amused undertone to it.

"Whatever you want me to be, I'll be that," he said simply, his eyes still on the road, but there was something in his tone that made your heart skip a beat.

You blinked, processing his words. "What does that mean?" you asked, voice quieter now, trying to decipher his meaning.

"It means," he began, "if you want me to be more than a friend, then that’s what I’ll be. If you want me to be something else, I’ll be that too."

You felt your chest tighten, the air between you both thick with unspoken things.

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that things had shifted, that the line between just friends and something more was now more blurred than ever before.

"Thanks for the ride," you said softly, unable to hold back a small smile.

Seungcheol smiled back, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer. "Anytime,".

The boys had decided it was time for a beach day—a full day of sun, sand, and chaos. Naturally, Seungcheol insisted you join, claiming it wouldn’t be the same without you. So here you were, walking down the sandy shore with a tote bag slung over your shoulder while the boys argued over the best spot to set up.

Jeonghan, of course, found the shadiest area and claimed it before anyone could argue, while Seungkwan bickered about who had to blow up the inflatable. Meanwhile, Seungcheol carried your beach chair and umbrella, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were keeping up.

When everything was set up, you kicked off your sandals and ran toward the water, the cool waves splashing against your feet. The boys stayed back for a while, caught up in their own antics, until Jeonghan called out to Seungcheol.

“Hey, big guy! You’re really just going to let her wander off alone?”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes but still got up, his protective instincts kicking in almost immediately. He strolled down the beach after you, arms crossed casually over his chest, his broad shoulders drawing attention from passersby.

You were completely oblivious, laughing as you dipped your toes into the waves. That is, until a couple of guys sidled up to you, grinning and trying to make small talk.

“Hey, you here alone?” one of them asked, his tone far too confident for his own good.

“No,” you replied politely but firmly, already taking a step back.

“Come on, just a little chat—”

“Is there a problem here?”

That voice. Low, firm, and unmistakably Seungcheol’s.

The guys froze, their smiles faltering as they turned to see him standing there. His towering frame, sharp jawline, and intense gaze were enough to make them instantly reconsider their life choices.

“N-no, man, we were just—”

“Leaving,” Seungcheol finished for them, his tone leaving no room for argument.

They didn’t need to be told twice, muttering apologies as they shuffled away.

You turned to Seungcheol, your eyebrows raised. “That wasn’t necessary. I could’ve handled it.”

“I know you could’ve,” he said, his tone softening as he looked at you. “But why should you have to?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “My knight in shining board shorts.”

Seungcheol chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently. “Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”

The two of you made your way back to the group, where Jeonghan and Seungkwan were snickering.

“Cheol scared off some beach bros, didn’t he?” Jeonghan guessed, smirking.

“Didn’t even have to try,” Seungkwan added. “He just exists, and they run for their lives.”

Seungcheol ignored them, guiding you to your chair and handing you a bottle of water. “Drink up,” he said, his hand brushing against yours briefly.

You didn’t miss the way his touch lingered or the way his gaze softened when he looked at you. And while the boys continued to tease him relentlessly, he just sat back with a satisfied smirk, his protective streak in full swing.

By the end of the day, no one even thought about approaching you again—not when Seungcheol made it very clear, without saying a word, that you weren’t alone.

The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The beach was quieter now, the once-loud waves now lapping gently at the shore. Seungcheol crouched down in front of you, his back turned as he gestured for you to hop on.

“Come on, before the sun sets,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a small grin.

“Why do I have to be the one on your back?” you teased, but you didn’t hesitate to climb on, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as his hands secured your legs.

“Because I’d crush you if it were the other way around,” he shot back, standing effortlessly with you in tow.

He started walking along the shoreline, the sand soft beneath his feet. You leaned your cheek against his, your fingers lightly tapping against his chest as you spoke.

“Did you know that sea otters hold hands while they sleep so they don’t drift apart?”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s called a raft. Isn’t that cute?”

“Almost as cute as you randomly spitting out facts,” he said with a chuckle, glancing sideways at you.

You ignored him, continuing your stream of trivia. “Oh! And dolphins have names for each other. Like, they have a specific whistle for every dolphin in their pod.”

“Do they have a whistle for their favorite dolphin?” he asked, his voice teasing.

“Obviously,” you said, squishing your cheek harder against his. “If I were a dolphin, you’d have a whistle just for me.”

“I already do,” he murmured, his words so soft that you almost didn’t catch them over the sound of the waves.

You paused for a moment, the warm breeze brushing past the two of you. Then, out of nowhere, you whispered, “I love you.”

Seungcheol froze mid-step, his breath hitching just enough for you to notice. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you, his cheek brushing against yours.

“I was hoping I’d say it first,” he said with a soft laugh, his dimples deepening as he smiled at you.

Your heart swelled at the sight, and you couldn’t help but grin back. “Guess you’re too slow, Cheol.”

“Guess so,” he replied, his voice warm and steady. Then, without putting you down, he turned to face the sunset.

“Say it again,” he said after a moment, his tone teasing but with a hint of something deeper beneath it.

“I love you,” you said, softer this time, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke.

He let out a content sigh, his hands tightening slightly on your legs as if grounding himself in the moment.

“I love you too,” he finally said, his voice carrying all the tenderness he’d been holding back for so long.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, you stayed there, clinging to each other, both knowing you had everything you could ever need right in that moment.

[iidilio]

ohhhh I want to see uchihas men when they want to confess to their crush or smt 😫🤭 (if it's too much just do obito and madara lol)

[ 🌸 ] sure, sure lmaooo

characters: itachi uchiha; obito uchiha ; madara uchiha

genre: fluff ;;

warnings: none;;

…

..

.

Itachi Uchiha

—Oh, my man

—Well, if he were less shy, he’d confess his feelings without a problem

—Which would be great

—But the thing is, the guy isn’t just shy—he’s also clumsy when it comes to socializing and interacting

—And even more so when it comes to flirting or giving compliments

“What are you looking at?”

“I… uhh… your legs look good in those jeans…”

”…Do you think they’d look better without them?”

“Why would you take off your legs?”

—Bless his humble heart

—He’s not doing it on purpose, I swear

—The poor guy is just a little awkward

—Anyway!

—Months would go by as he tried to gather the courage to finally tell you how he feels

—Though it’s easier said than done (poor guy keeps stumbling over his words)

—He’s also trying to picture what it would be like to have you as his lover

—His clan would accept you, though not without some resistance, even if it’s mild

—He’s just pulling a few strings

—And oh, how bold, he thinks

—He’s doing all of this as if he were sure you feel the same way

—His poor heart beats for you, and you have no clue

—Lmao

—Anyway!

—Don’t be surprised when one day he invites you to train, only for you to find him sitting on a blanket with food, offering you a soft smile with slightly flushed cheeks

—The sight alone is enough to make your knees feel weak and oh—!

—The butterflies fluttering in your stomach

—Some say the best way to confess to someone is under a cherry blossom tree, but Itachi doesn’t think so. Just having you close, whispering tenderly what he feels and every promise his heart has made to you in the silence of that afternoon, is enough for him

…

Obito Uchiha

—Haha

—Oh, isn’t it funny?

—How this man feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he might just explode

—His voice is surprisingly soft and light. Whether you place him in an AU where nothing happened or he’s in Akatsuki…

—Anyway!

—In a normal, soft AU where nothing ever went wrong,

—He’s always trying to start a conversation with you, no matter how clumsy or silly it is

—Trying to gather enough courage to tell you how he feels, but—if Obito is in Akatsuki, he will never tell you how he feels

—Lmao

—But he will protect you until his plan to trap everyone in an illusion is close to completion

—He thinks you deserve the entire world and a reality far from cruelty in the dream of the Infinite Tsukuyomi

—Literally, his idea of creating a fictional world just for you only grows stronger

—You are his strength and his life, even if he never tells you

—Because for some reason, he decided that was the better choice

—Lmao

—He believes that in that fictional world, everything will be better, and maybe the two of you can have a story together

—And that, if you dream of him, he can give you the happiness you deserve—the one he could never give you in this world corrupted by death

—He thinks this world is too rotten for something like love to bloom between you

—And maybe…

—Just maybe, he feels himself slowly regretting it inside

—When his fingers move involuntarily, yearning and aching to caress your cheek, or when he daydreams about kissing your lips because…

—oh my god!

—Why do you have to be so beautiful?

—Why did he have the misfortune of the woman he loved having to exist in such a cruel world?

—To him, you are an angel

—A beauty that must be protected from the world’s cruelty

—For Obito Uchiha, there was no better way to show his feelings for you than by fighting to keep you away from the harsh reality that threatened your existence

…

Madara Uchiha

—Aahh

—Madara is a funny case

—He thinks you are worthy of his affection

—He also thinks you’re one in a million

—Why?

—Because you managed to catch his attention—something no other woman ever did before

—Your charisma, your eyes, your flushed cheeks, your soft lips that seem as gentle as the fluffy clouds decorating the sky fill him with a tenderness he has never known before

—You are so beautiful that he feels he doesn’t deserve you—because he fears corrupting your purity

—He fears taking away that innocent, soft glow that adorns your gentle eyes

—Even though he knows you are a strong woman, he will always have that fear

—Believe him—nothing like this had ever happened to him before

—Madara Uchiha? Afraid of hurting someone? Since when?

—And yet, there he was

—Looking at you with a tenderness that even he found strange while he listened to every word and giggle you let out as you told him something that—had it been anyone else—he would have found mundane and a waste of time

—You completely consumed his attention—he realized

—And he didn’t complain about it

—In fact, he liked it

—Lmao

—He even accepted that the butterflies in his stomach, the way his heart jumped when you smiled or laughed at something he said, the way he, in the privacy of his mind, carefully stored every memory—every little detail that might seem insignificant but was so important to him—

—To him, every sigh of yours was a gift

—And that’s how he realized that he could never be with anyone else but you

—It was you, or no one else

—So don’t act so surprised when this man asks for your and your parents’ permission to court you

Me watching that I still have to finish eighty requests to finish all of them

[scarluna]

KNOCKOUT (001)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 1/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ So, again, I am back at it. Completely fictional.

I don’t look in mirrors if I can help it.

I glance—never stare. I avoid reflections like they’re landmines, each one threatening to detonate everything I’ve worked so hard to bury.

I pull my hoodie tighter around myself as I walk down the hall of my apartment building. Even though it’s warm out, I keep it on. I always keep it on. Oversized, black, long-sleeved—my version of armor. Fabric that hides the parts of me I hate the most.

Which is basically all of me.

My thighs touch when I walk. My arms jiggle when I reach for things. My stomach… don’t get me started. Every inch of me feels wrong, and no matter how many times people say things like "beauty comes in all sizes," I can still hear the laughter from the girls in middle school locker rooms. I can still feel their eyes on me. Judging. Mocking.

I learned early that boys only look at girls like me when it's a joke—or a dare. So, I don’t let them. I keep my head down, earphones in, and move like I’m invisible.

It’s safer that way.

I fake normal better than most. Smiles when I’m supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. I even let my mom believe I’m doing "so much better" lately.

She wouldn’t notice either way. She’s too busy.

She works fifteen hours a day and answers my texts with thumbs up emojis or, if I’m lucky, a "K." I get it. She’s trying to keep us afloat. But sometimes I think she works that much so she doesn’t have to come home.

Can’t say I blame her.

My dad is... well, he’s usually passed out almost every time I visit them. His breath smells like cheap whiskey and bad decisions. He tells me I’m beautiful sometimes—slurred, half-sincere—but only after his third drink. And the next morning he doesn’t remember saying anything at all.

I hate that I still want him to mean it.

No one knows how I eat in secret. How I wait until everyone’s asleep to tiptoe into the kitchen and stuff myself until I can barely breathe. Chips, cereal, cookies—whatever I can find. It’s not even about the food. It’s about silence. About filling something inside me that always feels empty.

Then comes the shame. The guilt. The promise to do better tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes.

People think being fat is a choice. Like I woke up and decided to hate myself. Like I don’t already know what every calorie means. Like I haven’t stood in dressing rooms, numb and silent, while my mom said, “You just need a little more discipline.”

If she only knew.

But she doesn’t. No one does.

And that’s how I survive. By hiding the real me. By locking away every ugly thought and pretending I'm okay. It’s exhausting—but I’m good at it.

I finally curled up In my bed, wrapped in the same blanket I’ve had since high school—frayed at the edges, soft from too many washes. The TV was on, playing some show I’ve already watched three times over. Something comforting. Familiar. The kind where characters have perfect lives, perfect friends, and perfect bodies. The kind where no one ever breaks down crying because they can’t zip up their jeans.

I mindlessly shove popcorn into my mouth, even though I’m not really hungry. I just need something to do with my hands. That, and I don’t know how to exist in silence.

Outside, life moves. People laugh, date, go out for coffee and brunch and spin class. I watch it all through the filtered lens of social media, like I’m peeking through a window at a party I wasn’t invited to.

But the truth is... I don’t want to go.

Not really.

Being outside is exhausting. People are exhausting. The stares, the judgment—even the polite ones, the forced smiles, the awkward glances that say "I see you, but I don’t want to."

I’d rather sit here, in the stillness of my own space, where no one expects anything from me. Where I don’t have to suck in my stomach or pull down my shirt every time I stand up.

Unless she visits.

My best friend, Vicky. The only one who’s ever stuck around long enough to see all my ugly truths and not run for the hills. Unfortunately she lives two hours away. We talk every day tho—text, memes, random voice notes that trail off mid-sentence because we always know what the other means. But when she visits? That’s when I pretend, just for a night, that I’m someone else.

Someone better.

We’ll pour a glass of cheap wine and sit on the floor like we’re still seventeen. She’ll blast music we used to love and I’ll let my hair down, throw on a slightly-too-tight dress I usually hide in the back of my closet, and for a few hours, I’ll play the part.

I’ll laugh too loud. I’ll talk too fast. I’ll flirt with the mirror and call myself a bad bitch even though I don’t believe a word of it.

It’s not real, but it’s fun to pretend.

Sometimes we go out—to a bar or a lounge or some half-dead pub that plays throwbacks—and I’ll catch a man looking my way. And for a second, I’ll feel like maybe... maybe this time is different.

But it never is.

They smile. Then hesitate. Then give me mixed signals that make my head spin. One moment, it’s flirty texts and compliments. The next, it’s radio silence or a sudden ghosting like I imagined the whole thing.

I used to blame myself. Still do, if I’m being honest.

Maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe they didn’t like how my body looked up close. Maybe they thought I was fun—until they realized I came with baggage.

They say I’m “hard to read,” but they never bother to learn the language.

Now, I don’t expect anything. I don’t chase, and I definitely don’t hope. Hope is a cruel thing when you’ve been fed disappointment your whole life.

So I stay here.

Buried in the comfort of my bed. With my blanket and my snacks and my fake little world where I don’t have to feel like a mistake.

And honestly?

Sometimes, it feels like the only place I truly belong.

Some nights, the silence feels like it’s screaming.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The TV is still on, playing something meaningless. Just noise to drown out the thoughts. But it doesn’t work. It never really does. The thoughts always find their way back in—slipping through the cracks like cold air under a door.

I don’t even know when I started crying. My eyes just feel heavy, and my chest aches like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, tears rolling quietly, silently. Because that’s the only way I know how to break down—alone. Always alone.

I wish I could explain this feeling. This tightness. This numb, dull throb of sadness that doesn’t go away. It’s not just about my body, though that’s a part of it. It’s the loneliness. The kind that makes the world feel like it’s moving on without you. Like you’re stuck behind glass, watching everyone else live while you just... exist.

People talk about love like it’s this magical thing. Like it just happens. Eye contact across a room. Sparks. Butterflies. Hands brushing and souls colliding.

I’ve never had that. I don’t even know what it feels like to be touched by someone who wanted to stay. Who wanted me. Not some idea of me. Not some mask I wear to get through the day. The real me.

And God—don’t even get me started on sex.

Everyone acts like it’s supposed to be this beautiful thing. Passionate. Intimate. But for me? It feels terrifying. Not just because of my body—though that fear is always there, a weight pressing down on me—but because letting someone that close means showing them everything I try so hard to hide. The scars. The stretch marks. The parts of me I can’t fix.

The parts of me I’ve learned to keep locked up.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of being loved. Like maybe I was born with something missing. Or maybe I’m too much. Too broken. Too guarded. Too something.

Would anyone ever actually stay, if they saw all of me?

The depression makes it worse. It lies to me. Tells me I’m unworthy. That I’m hard to love. That I’m destined to always be someone’s maybe, someone’s almost. The girl who’s good for conversation but never good enough to hold.

And the worst part? Some days, I believe it.

I hate how much I crave affection, even though I’m terrified of it. I hate that I want someone to hold me and kiss my forehead and tell me I’m safe, but I wouldn’t know how to accept it if they did. My body would flinch, my mind would panic, and I’d probably ruin everything before it even began.

Because that’s what I do. I ruin things.

And then I cry about it in the dark, wondering what’s wrong with me.

I wrap the blanket tighter around me and bury my face in my arms. My tears come harder now, not quiet anymore. Ugly sobs that make my throat burn. I wish I could scream. I wish I could tear it all out of me—the pain, the shame, the fear.

I just want to be held. Not for how I look. Not for what I offer. But for who I am.

All of me.

Even the messy, haunted parts.

Even the parts I don’t know how to love myself.

But maybe that’s a lot to ask.

Maybe no one’s coming.

Maybe I’m all I’ll ever have.

-

Friday night.

The clock on my screen blinks 6:01 PM, and just like that, my shift ends.

Another day of smiling through gritted teeth, typing out canned responses to strangers who think “customer support” means “emotional punching bag.” My fingers are sore, my eyes ache, and I have exactly zero energy left to pretend to be a functioning adult.

I close my laptop and sigh, rolling my neck until it cracks. My apartment is dim, lit only by the fading orange glow of sunset bleeding through the blinds. I consider changing into pajamas and crawling under a blanket burrito-style. It’s what I usually do on Fridays. My little reward for surviving the week. Thank God I was a home office or else I’d be definitely drained at the office.

Then I hear it.

Knocking.

Sharp, insistent, like the sound of someone who knows you’re home.

I freeze. I’m not expecting anyone.

Another knock.

I drag myself to the door, hoodie still on, hair a mess, socks mismatched—classic me. I open it cautiously, peeking through the crack.

And there she is.

“Surprise, bitch,” Vicky grins, arms wide like she’s just delivered the winning lotto ticket.

Right behind her stands Trevor, tall and unbothered, holding a paper bag that smells suspiciously like garlic bread. He nods at me like we’ve just seen each other yesterday, even though it’s been months.

“What the hell—” I blink. “You guys didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“That’s what makes it a surprise,” Vicky smirks, pushing past me into the apartment like she owns the place. “Also, we know you’d say no if we warned you.”

She’s not wrong.

Trevor chuckles as he walks in behind her. “Hey, Y/N. We brought food. Don’t yell at us.”

I just shake my head, trying not to smile too hard. It’s impossible with these two.

Vicky and Trevor have been together for five years now. They met online—some obscure Reddit thread about mental health turned into DMs, which turned into phone calls, which turned into a weekend meetup that never really ended.

She’s a psychologist, whip-smart with a razor-sharp tongue and a heart of gold. He’s an IT guy, quiet and patient, the kind of man who listens more than he talks and somehow always knows when you need space... or a hug.

They’re that annoying kind of couple that actually works—the kind that finishes each other’s sentences and still giggles at inside jokes no one else gets. It’s weird seeing that kind of emotional intimacy up close. Beautiful, but also kind of brutal.

Because deep down, I want it.

That connection. That safety. That soft, quiet love that doesn’t disappear at the first sign of mess.

And it hurts—just a little—because a part of me still believes I’ll never have it.

“You’re staring again,” Vicky teases from the couch. “Are you mentally writing fanfiction about us?”

I roll my eyes, laughing despite the lump in my throat. “No, I’m just wondering how two socially awkward nerds made it work.”

Trevor winks. “Magic and memes.”

“And therapy,” Vicky adds, tossing a cushion at him. “Lots of therapy.”

We eat. We talk. We laugh—really laugh, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. For a moment, I forget about everything else. My body. My fears. My loneliness. It all fades under the glow of garlic knots and sarcastic banter.

Until Vicky suddenly looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We’re going out,” she says.

I blink. “Out where?”

She stands, brushing crumbs off her jeans. “It’s a surprise.”

Trevor groans playfully. “God help us all.”

I hesitate. My instinct is to say no. I’m not dressed for “out.” I’m not mentally prepared. My anxiety starts bubbling up—but Vicky grabs my hand before I can retreat.

“Trust me,” she says, softer now. “You need this.”

I swallow hard, nod slowly, and let her pull me to my feet.

-

An hour later, we’re walking down a narrow alley lit by a single flickering bulb. The sound of bass and shouting grows louder with every step. The building looks like an abandoned warehouse, tagged up and half-broken—but there's a bouncer at the door and people going in like it's nothing.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You’ll see,” Vicky smirks. “Just… keep an open mind.”

I glance at Trevor. He just shrugs and smiles, which tells me nothing.

We walk in—and the moment we do, the world shifts.

It’s hot. Loud. Electric. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and tension. People crowd around a caged ring in the center of the room, shouting, cheering, drinks sloshing in their hands.

A fight is happening. An actual underground fight.

“What the hell, Vick?” I whisper, stunned.

The air hits me like a punch.

Heat. Sweat. Noise.

A crowd of bodies packed like sardines, all facing the makeshift cage in the center. The shouting is relentless, echoing off concrete walls, drowning out my thoughts. People are laughing, jeering, spilling drinks. Some are on tables. Some are barely dressed. Every part of it screams get out.

Vicky turns back and says over the noise, “Trust me. You need this. It’s good for your mental health.”

I shoot her a look. “You dragged me to a fight club for my mental health?”

She grins, unfazed. “You live in your head too much. This place? It pulls you out. It’s raw. Real. No filters. No fakeness. You just feel everything, whether you want to or not.”

I open my mouth to argue but the words stick. Because as chaotic as this place is, I can already feel the numbness cracking. Not in a good way—more like being ripped out of a too-warm blanket and thrown into a blizzard.

I tug my oversized hoodie tighter around myself, the sleeves swallowing my hands. My skin feels too exposed, like people are looking at me even when they aren’t. I’m not dressed for this. I’m not ready for this.

I did shower before we left, thank God. But even that small self-care win can’t calm the panic twisting in my gut now.

Overcrowded places make my skin crawl. I’ve never liked loud spaces, or too many people talking over each other, or being somewhere I can’t make a quick escape from.

It’s too much.

I scan the room, my eyes flicking from face to face. Most people here are loud, confident, half-drunk or fully fearless. Girls in tight dresses, guys in muscle shirts and tattoos, people laughing like this is a Friday night comedy show and not two men bleeding into the floor.

And then there’s me.

Tucked into the corner. Hiding. Heart racing. Wondering why the hell I agreed to this.

“Vick,” I say, leaning closer to her so she can hear me. “I don’t think I belong here.”

She turns, her face softer now. “You do. Just breathe.”

But how can I?

Every step into this place feels like walking deeper into someone else’s life. Someone who isn’t afraid. Someone who belongs in their skin. Not like me. I shrink without even realizing it—shoulders curling in, body trying to disappear into the folds of my hoodie. My safe zone.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want anyone to look at me.

But at the same time… some twisted part of me does.

Just once, I want to be the girl someone notices.

And I hate myself for it.

“Just give it a minute,” Trevor says gently, voice like a low anchor in the storm. “You might surprise yourself.”

But I don’t want to surprise myself. I want to be back home, curled up in silence, not vibrating from the bass of a place that smells like blood and beer.

Still—I don’t leave.

Because as much as I hate this, as much as I want to run, there’s something about this space that feels important. Like I’m on the edge of something.

Even if I don’t know what.

Suddenly, the crowd erupts louder than before—cheers, screams, a few scattered boos. Everyone turns their attention to the ring as a man climbs through the ropes.

A voice booms from the crackling speakers overhead, broken slightly by static but loud enough to cut through everything.

“In this corner, we got the reigning champ of the Southside pits… undefeated in seventeen fights, no tap-outs, no knockouts—only carnage. You know him. You fear him. Put your hands together for THIAAAGOOOOO!”

And that’s when I see him.

Thiago.

He steps fully into the ring—and my heart stalls.

He’s massive.

Tall—at least six foot five—built like a mountain, shoulders so broad they look like they could crush skulls. His skin is littered with scars, some healed into thick ridges, others fresher and angry red. A jagged one runs across his collarbone like a warning sign.

He’s bald, his head gleaming under the overhead lights, and his face—God, his face—it looks carved from stone. Cold, emotionless. A sharp jaw, a crooked nose that’s clearly been broken more than once, and dark eyes full of fury.

He’s not just a fighter. He looks like he’s made for war.

And he’s terrifying.

My stomach flips. My body stiffens. I take a half-step back without thinking.

“Holy fuck” I mutter, clutching my hoodie like it’s a shield. “This is insane. That guy looks like he eats souls for breakfast.”

Vicky doesn’t respond right away. She’s watching the ring with a curious glint in her eye. Trevor’s more stoic, but even he looks a little tense now.

Thiago circles the ring like a predator, chest rising slowly, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s daring someone to challenge him next. He radiates danger—pure, undiluted rage wrapped in muscle.

“He’s one of the best here,” Vicky finally says. “Or the worst, depending on how you look at it.”

“He looks like he could snap someone in half,” I whisper.

“He has,” Trevor says casually. Too casually.

My hands start to sweat.

Why are we here?

Why did Vicky think this was good for me?

My anxiety’s climbing fast. My heart won’t slow down, and my breath is catching in my throat. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere near people like him.

Just being in the same room as that kind of anger—raw, visible, unfiltered—it makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of my dad on a bad night. It reminds me of yelling behind closed doors. Of breaking things that don’t heal. Of fear you can’t explain to anyone.

I can’t tear my eyes away, though. Even as my body begs me to.

Because there’s something about him that feels like a mirror—sharpened, brutal, broken.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

The referee’s voice cracks through the mic again, pulling the attention of the crowd back toward the entrance ramp. People around me start shifting with excitement—some chanting already, others leaning forward, trying to get a better view.

“And in this corner…” the announcer growls with theatrical flair, “…the one you’ve been waiting for. The wildcard. The Ghost of the East Ring. He’s fast, he’s vicious, and he doesn’t say much—but when he moves, you listen. Give it up for—JUNGKOOK!”

The lights dim just slightly. Smoke—real or fake, I can’t tell—floods in at the entrance. Then he steps out.

And everything slows.

He’s smaller than Thiago, yeah. Not small, just… more compact. But somehow his presence fills the room in a different way. Controlled chaos. Stillness before a storm. His body is lean but powerful—tattooed arms flexing under the flickering warehouse lights as he casually rolls one shoulder, then the other.

A black wet mullet hangs across his forehead and brushes against the nape of his neck, damp with sweat or maybe water poured over him before walking out. His dark eyes flick across the crowd—slow, methodical—like he’s searching for something or someone specific.

When his gaze sweeps past me, I freeze.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even notice me. But for a second, I feel… seen.

Then it’s gone.

He climbs into the ring like he’s done this a thousand times. Calm. Efficient. No flashy entrances or chest-beating bravado. Just quiet readiness.

Unlike Thiago—who still paces like a caged beast—Jungkook stands still in his corner, bouncing lightly on his feet, head down, breathing slow. Controlled. Poised.

A storm in waiting.

“What’s his deal?” I mutter, frowning as I watch him from under my hood.

Vicky grins. “That’s Jungkook. He doesn’t talk much, but he moves like poetry.”

Trevor nods. “He’s fast. Thiago hates him.”

“Why?”

“He can’t catch him,” Trevor says with a half-smile. “And when he tries, he gets hit. Hard.”

The bell hasn’t rung yet, but the energy in the room is shifting. The crowd is buzzing, already leaning forward in anticipation. Two men. Two energies. One unhinged rage, the other ice-cold focus.

And I’m standing there in the shadows, heart pounding, watching it unfold like it’s all some dream I don’t belong in.

But I can’t look away from Jungkook.

There’s something about him—quiet, deadly, beautiful in a way that shouldn’t belong in a place like this. Like he’s made of sharp edges and unspoken things.

And I have no idea why he’s making my chest feel like this.

The moment the bell rings, everything changes.

Jungkook and Thiago explode into motion at the same time, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud as the crowd roars around us. The sound is deafening, a mass of screaming voices and wild excitement. I can’t take my eyes off them. The chaos, the violence, the raw power—it feels like it’s coming at me in waves.

Thiago lunges first, furious and relentless. His fists are like battering rams, crashing into Jungkook’s body, and the crowd is losing it, egging Thiago on. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening, and I feel a rush of unease—nausea swirling in my stomach.

But then, Jungkook moves.

It’s so fast, so fluid, that I barely register what happens until Thiago’s momentum is thrown off. Jungkook ducks under his next punch, a move so smooth it’s like watching someone glide through water. He weaves out of the way, and then, like a snake striking, his fist connects with Thiago’s jaw with a crack that echoes through the room.

Thiago stumbles back, and the crowd goes wild. Thiago roars in frustration, lunging again—but this time, Jungkook’s ready. His footwork is impeccable, always staying just out of reach, and every time Thiago throws a punch, Jungkook dodges it like he’s reading Thiago’s mind.

And then, in an instant—Jungkook moves in, faster than I can process. He shifts, gets in close, and with one sharp, devastating blow to Thiago’s midsection, he drives his opponent to the mat. The crowd gasps.

Thiago struggles to get back up, but it’s no use. Jungkook moves in again, his body like a machine, precision in every movement. With a calculated swing, Jungkook lands another hit—this one to Thiago’s head.

Thiago falls.

The crowd goes wild, a tidal wave of cheers and screams as Thiago is knocked out cold. Jungkook stands over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His nose is bloodied, but his eyes are laser-focused, scanning the crowd as he stands tall, shoulders heaving, sweat glistening across his skin. He’s breathless, but there’s no sign of slowing down.

The referee steps in, holding up Jungkook’s arm.

“Winner!” he shouts into the microphone, his voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Jungkook!”

My breath catches in my throat as I watch Jungkook stand there, still and proud, despite the blood smeared across his face. He doesn’t celebrate like Thiago would have—no shout of triumph, no cocky grin. He just stands there, like this is exactly where he was meant to be.

I’m still frozen in place when the crowd starts to quiet down, and my eyes move to Vicky.

“How do you know these two?” I ask, still watching Jungkook as he wipes the blood from his nose, catching his breath. “You’ve been here before, right?”

Vicky glances at me, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite place. “In my four years of studying psychology here? Yeah. I’ve been to this place three times. Every time, I’ve seen Jungkook win.”

My brow furrows. “Three times?”

Vicky shrugs, leaning in to make herself heard over the fading buzz of the crowd. “Jungkook doesn’t lose. Ever. And not just here, either. He’s been in the underground circuit for a while now. He doesn’t talk much, but the guy’s a machine. Everyone here knows that.”

I’m still staring at Jungkook. The blood on his face doesn’t make him look weak—it makes him look… stronger. Like the fight is a part of him, something embedded in his bones. The way he carries himself—the way he moves—it’s like there’s nothing in the world that could touch him.

He’s not just a fighter. He’s something else.

I try to push the feeling down, the one stirring in my chest, but it’s there. Something about him pulls at me.

“He’s scary,” I whisper, though the words don’t feel like they fit the way I’m feeling. It’s more than fear. It’s something like… awe. And maybe a little envy.

“Scary?” Vicky laughs. “Nah. He’s a fighter. And trust me, if you ever find yourself in his corner, you’ll know exactly why people respect him.”

I don’t answer. My mind is too wrapped up in the image of him standing in the ring—barely breathing, bloodied, but still unshaken.

I’m about to turn away and find a quiet corner to collect my thoughts when a sharp pang hits my stomach.

I can’t ignore it.

“Vicky…” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Vicky doesn’t even look at me, still watching the ring as the crowd starts to thin. She gestures to the far side of the room, near the back exit. “Down that hall, last door on the left.”

I nod quickly and make my way through the maze of bodies and noise, feeling like I’m moving through a fog. I don’t care what’s going on around me—I just need to get some space, somewhere I can breathe and not feel so… exposed.

The hallway is dim, the walls dirty and covered in old graffiti. I find the door easily enough. But when I push it open, my stomach drops.

There’s no sign for male or female. Just a simple bathroom with no distinction.

Great.

I freeze for a moment, standing in the doorway. I can hear people in the bathroom—voices. Laughter. But I’m not sure if they’re men or women, and the last thing I want is to stumble into a situation where I’m forced to confront anything uncomfortable. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears.

There’s a stall at the far end, empty.

Without thinking twice, I rush in, lock the door behind me, and press my back to the cool metal of the stall. The air feels thick again, like it’s closing in around me, and I force myself to take slow, steady breaths, in and out.

But it’s not enough.

The panic is rising—fast. My hands start to shake, my chest tightens. I try to block it out, but the air feels suffocating, too thick, too hot. I can hear the muffled sound of footsteps and the low murmur of voices from the other side of the bathroom.

Just breathe. It’s fine. You’re fine.

But I’m not.

The panic is already clawing at my throat when the door to the bathroom swings open. Two women walk in, their voices high-pitched and giggly. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay as still as possible, praying they won’t notice me.

“Oh my God, did you see Jungkook out there?” One of them says, her voice dripping with excitement.

“Yesss!” the other responds, laughing. “I was like, wow—how is he so hot? Like, he’s got that whole dangerous vibe, you know?”

“Totally,” the first one giggles again. “I would literally do anything to be with him. I don’t care if he’s a fighter. He can take me down anytime.”

My stomach twists. I close my eyes, feeling the heat rush to my face. This is exactly what I hate. This feeling of being on the outside, the feeling of not being the one they’re talking about. Not being the one that someone notices.

“Can you imagine how good he must be in bed? I bet he’s rough,” the second woman whispers with a smirk. “Like, you know, he’s got that energy. He could probably have any girl he wants. Hell, he’s probably had every girl he’s ever looked at.”

My heart stops. My hands are trembling against the cold stall door, but I can’t bring myself to leave. I can’t seem to move. The words echo in my ears, over and over, and I want to scream.

Why does this bother me so much? Why does this hurt?

I can’t understand it.

I want to run out of here. I want to disappear. I want to get away from the laughing, the whispered thoughts about Jungkook, about how he’s someone they can have—someone they want.

For a second, I wonder if I’ll ever be wanted like that. If anyone will ever look at me the way these girls are looking at Jungkook.

Stop.

I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself again. My fingers are cold and clammy as I grasp the edge of the toilet paper dispenser. The walls of the stall feel like they’re closing in on me, but I force myself to stay still. I have to. If I move, it’ll make everything worse.

The last thing I need is for them to hear my panic, my heavy breathing, my brokenness.

The girls continue talking, oblivious to me in my corner.

“God, I’m so jealous,” the first girl sighs, “but I bet I’d die if he even looked at me.”

“You think he’d go for a girl like us?” the second one snickers. “Doubt it. He’s probably all about the hot, fit girls. You know the type.”

The conversation continues as if I’m not even here, and I can feel the sting of their words, even though I try to push them down.

He doesn’t want girls like us.

The thought slips out before I can stop it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t make the hurt go away.

I wait for what feels like forever, the girls’ laughter and giggling fading as they finally leave the bathroom. Their footsteps echo down the hallway, their voices growing softer with each step. The silence that follows feels too loud, too heavy.

I take a few more slow breaths, trying to steady myself. The panic is ebbing, though the tightness in my chest lingers. You’re okay. It’s over. Just get out of here.

I wipe my clammy hands on the sides of my jeans and push open the stall door. My legs feel weak, unsteady, as I step out into the dim hallway, my heart still hammering in my chest.

Just get to the door.

I make my way toward the exit, trying to ignore the lingering heaviness in my chest. But as I round the corner, I’m blindsided by a sharp collision.

“Oof!” The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I stumble back, my phone slipping from my hand and hitting the floor with a hard thud.

I immediately bend down, scrambling to pick it up. My face flushes with embarrassment, my hands shaking as I retrieve the phone, fingers fumbling for a moment as I focus too much on my own awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, voice barely above a whisper as I stand up, still feeling the warmth of my cheeks. My eyes instinctively dart to the floor, avoiding any kind of eye contact. The last thing I need is for someone to see how flustered I am. Especially not after all those words in the bathroom, all those thoughts swimming in my mind.

Then I hear a low chuckle.

I freeze. My stomach lurches, the breath in my lungs catches.

No way.

I look up—and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s standing in front of me, his presence almost overwhelming. He’s no longer in the fighting gear, but even in casual clothes, he still carries that intimidating aura. His shirt is loose, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed arms, and his black jeans sit low on his hips. His black mullet hangs a little messy, slightly wet from sweat or maybe water.

But what catches my attention first—what makes my stomach twist—is his face.

Bruises. Dark, angry purple bruises marking his cheekbone, a cut across his lip, and his nose—still swollen and bleeding slightly. The aftermath of the fight. But even with all that, there’s something so… captivating about him. Like a storm you can’t look away from.

I feel my heart pounding harder, my palms slick. Every insecurity I’ve ever had seems to slam into my chest all at once. Oh my God. I must look like a mess. No makeup, a baggy hoodie, messy hair. He’s so… perfectly put together—even with the bruises.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I stand there, completely frozen, completely aware of how ridiculous I must look. I hate how much I want to hide.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice surprisingly soft considering the way he fights. His eyes—dark and unreadable—scan me for a second, waiting for a response. He tilts his head, an eyebrow quirking slightly as if waiting for me to speak.

For a moment, I can’t find my voice.

What the hell am I supposed to say to him?

“I—uh—yeah, I’m fine,” I stammer, cringing at how small my voice sounds. “Sorry about, um, bumping into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going…”

He chuckles again, this time a little quieter, almost like he’s amused by my awkwardness. “No problem.” His gaze shifts down to my phone in my hand, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, like a silent understanding. “You should probably hold onto that better. Might break it next time.”

I nod quickly, biting my lip. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, be more careful.”

The silence stretches between us, and I can’t stop myself from feeling completely out of place. His mere presence—his proximity—feels like a weight on my chest. I want to say something more, something that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot, but the words are stuck in my throat.

What is he even doing here? My brain races. Why is he talking to me?

The bruises on his face, the way he carries himself, the intensity he exudes—everything about him screams confidence, while I can barely keep myself together.

“Hey,” he says again, his voice quieter this time, almost like he’s trying to make sure I’m not completely shut down. “You’re alright. You don’t have to apologize.”

I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time since I bumped into him, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze is steady, almost piercing, and there’s something strangely gentle in the way he looks at me—like he’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, my voice soft, barely audible. “I… didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smirk curling on his lips. “No trouble. But if you’re gonna keep bumping into me, I might start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

My face burns. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s standing right in front of me, and I’m acting like I’ve never spoken to a guy in my life. I’m sure I look like a mess.

I look down again, hoping he won’t notice how flustered I am. But when I glance back up, I catch a glimmer of something in his eyes—a mix of curiosity and something else I can’t place.

“Well, I’ll make sure to avoid you next time,” I mumble, trying to force a smile, but it feels so awkward.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything right away, but his gaze softens just a fraction. “Don’t worry about it,” he replies simply, his voice steady, like he’s seen this kind of thing a thousand times.

And then, with a slight nod, he turns and walks past me, heading back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there in the dim hallway, my heart racing, my breath still shaky.

Did that really just happen?

Monday

The morning light hits different when you’ve had a whole weekend to forget the world. I wake up to the sharp trill of my alarm and the sun creeping through the blinds like it’s personally offended I’m still in bed.

Vicky and Trevor left late last night, their hugs lingering longer than usual. We spent the rest of the weekend curled up on my couch, talking about everything—really talking. The kind of conversations that make you feel both lighter and heavier at the same time. The ones that peel you open in a way that’s terrifying but necessary.

Vicky told me she’s worried about how I retreat when I’m hurting. Trevor said he thinks I deserve to stop living like I’m waiting for something to break. I didn’t say much. Just nodded a lot. Smiled at the right parts. I don’t know how to explain that sometimes, talking about the darkness makes it feel more real.

But it felt good.

Safe.

And now Monday feels like a slap.

I throw on my usual work-from-home uniform—baggy hoodie, leggings, messy bun—and log in just before my boss can ping me. My headset’s tangled, my coffee’s lukewarm, and the emails are already giving me hives.

By 10 a.m., I’ve mentally clocked out.

I’m rereading the same sentence for the third time when Katherine messages me.

Katherine (10:03 AM):

Hey! Got a sec to hop on a quick call?

Katherine is the kind of person who always has her camera on during Zoom meetings. Perfect hair. Perfect lighting. She once told me she drinks celery juice every morning. I pretend to like her but mostly because I’m afraid she’ll sense my existential dread through the screen and report me to HR.

I reply with a thumbs-up emoji and brace myself.

She starts with small talk—weather, client updates, a weird squirrel that got into her balcony. And then she says it.

“So, this is random,” she begins, her tone suddenly shifting. “But... you were at The Pit this weekend, right?”

I blink. “How do you know about that?”

She smiles like she’s trying to be casual. “One of my best friends is in that crowd. I used to go with her sometimes. Total chaos. Honestly, I thought you were more... I don’t know, library-core?”

I laugh awkwardly. “It was a surprise outing.”

“Ah. That explains it.” She leans closer to the camera like she’s about to deliver state secrets. “So listen… I’m telling you this as a friend, okay? Don’t get too caught up in Jungkook.”

My stomach flips.

I try to keep my expression neutral. “I’m not… I don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, “just in case. I’ve known him for a while. He runs with a rough crowd. Really rough. He’s not some tortured artist or romantic bad boy. He’s a fighter. Like, literally and metaphorically. The guy doesn’t let people close. And if he does? It never ends well.”

I swallow. “Okay…”

She shrugs, taking a sip from her green smoothie. “He’s rich, by the way. Like, crazy rich. Family money. Old money. The kind that hides skeletons behind designer walls. He’s rebelling against it, or whatever. But still—trust me, girls like us?” Her voice softens, almost sympathetically. “We don’t survive guys like him.”

I stare at the screen.

Katherine offers a smile like she’s just done me a favor. “Anyway. Just thought you should know. Back to work!”

The call ends.

And I sit there, headphones still on, heart pounding, trying to make sense of everything she just said.

Girls like us.

We don’t survive guys like him.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Because I already knew that.

But hearing it out loud?

It stings in a way I wasn’t ready for.

The call ends.

And it’s like the silence in my apartment changes shape—heavier, sharper, pressing in from all sides.

I stare at my screen, blinking at the spreadsheet I was supposed to be editing, but all I can see is his face again. Jungkook’s bruised jaw. His quiet stare. The way his voice was soft when he asked if I was okay.

I thought it meant something.

God, I’m so stupid.

Why did I even let myself feel anything at all? One second of attention from someone like him and I’m already spinning stories in my head. Already hoping. Already aching.

But he’s not a story.

He’s not the exception.

He’s a walking warning sign with pretty tattoos and a reputation I should’ve seen coming a mile away.

And me?

I’m the girl who doesn’t even look in mirrors.

The girl who flinches when someone raises their voice.

The girl who hides from kindness because it always turns into disappointment.

What the hell was I thinking?

I push my laptop away and curl in on myself, wrapping my hoodie tighter around my body like it might hold all the unraveling parts together.

It’s pathetic, how easily I fall back into this. This sadness. This hole. Like I never even tried to climb out.

My chest feels tight again. Like there’s not enough air in the room, not enough silence in the world to quiet the noise in my head. Katherine’s voice keeps looping:

“Girls like us… we don’t survive guys like him.”

She’s right.

Not just because he’s dangerous—but because I’m already drowning.

I don’t need someone like him lighting a fire next to the flood.

I’m barely surviving myself.

I can’t afford to let someone else in. Especially someone who could burn me just by standing too close. I’ve done that before—opened the door a crack and let someone walk in like they had a right to rearrange the furniture in my soul.

And when they left, they took everything I had with them.

I won’t survive that again.

I don’t care how soft his voice was. I don’t care how different he seemed. I don’t care about the way his eyes looked like they could hold secrets.

I’m not his mystery to solve.

I’m not some redemption arc.

I’m tired.

I just want to be left alone.

So I grab my phone, fingers trembling, and type out a message to Vicky.

me (11:21 AM):

hey. Can we talk later?

She replies almost instantly.

Vicky (11:22 AM):

of course. you okay?

me:

not really.

Vicky:

I’m here. whatever you need.

I drop the phone onto the bed and let myself cry.

Not the quiet, hidden kind this time—but the ugly sobs. The ones that shake my whole body. The ones that feel like mourning.

Because that’s what this is.

I’m mourning the version of me who thought, even for a second, that maybe someone like Jungkook could want someone like me.

But that girl doesn’t get to stay.

She was too hopeful.

Too naive.

And hope? It’s just another way to hurt yourself when you know better.

-

The apartment walls feel like they’re closing in again.

My chest is still heavy from crying, my eyes swollen and tired, but I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. My stomach growls like it’s mocking me, like even it is tired of my emotions.

I don’t want to go outside. I really, really don’t.

But I don’t have the energy to argue with myself anymore.

So I throw on the armor—the same oversized black hoodie I’ve worn three days in a row, the one that swallows me whole. Baggy sweatpants that drag at the hem, sleeves covering my hands. Greasy hair scraped into a low, half-hearted bun. No makeup. Glasses on. Invisible mode activated.

If anyone looks at me, they’ll see nothing worth seeing.

Which is exactly the point.

The convenience store is just down the block. Two turns and I’m there. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I keep my head low, shoulders hunched, heart pounding in my ears for no reason at all.

I grab a pre-made sandwich, a pack of chips, something sweet. Something to feel something. The cashier doesn’t say much. I pay and leave, crinkling plastic bag in one hand, the weight of my exhaustion in the other.

And then—

I hear it.

A low, throaty vrrrrmmmm.

A motorcycle.

It pulls up to the curb just as I step outside. Black. Shiny. Sleek. Yamaha. The kind of bike that looks fast even when it’s parked.

The rider is dressed in all black—black jeans, black hoodie, black gloves, black helmet. The mirrored visor reflects the late afternoon haze, faceless and quiet.

But somehow—somehow—he looks straight at me.

Not at the store. Not at the sidewalk.

At me.

I freeze.

My breath catches in my throat. My pulse spikes. No one sees me—no one is supposed to see me. Especially not like this. Especially not him.

Because I know.

I know it’s him.

Even before he moves, before he speaks—my bones recognize the tension, the quiet storm under the surface. My body flinches like it’s muscle memory.

I take a shaky step back. Then another. My fingers curl tighter around the plastic bag like it’ll protect me. I turn, heart in my throat, ready to bolt in the opposite direction.

But then—

“Hey!”

Just one word.

But it’s enough.

The voice is familiar—low, rough around the edges, quiet in that way that still demands attention. Not yelling. Not sharp. Just… deliberate.

And it comes from behind me.

I freeze mid-step.

My grip tightens on the bag, but I don’t turn around. My whole body tenses like I’m waiting for the ground to open and swallow me whole.

Please no. Please let me be wrong.

But then—

“You dropped this.”

I glance down. My receipt flutters on the pavement behind me.

I should keep walking. I want to keep walking.

But something in that voice… that calm, steady voice—it wraps around my ribs like wire and holds me still.

I turn, just a little.

And there he is.

Helmet off now. Tousled black hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat or wind. Dark eyes, unreadable. That same bruised jaw from the fight. That same calm chaos in the way he stands, like he’s always ready to run or punch something—but right now, he’s doing neither.

He holds out the receipt between two fingers, casual like he’s done nothing unusual.

I don’t take it.

I can’t move.

I just stare at him, half-hidden behind the oversized hoodie and fogged-up glasses, knowing full well there’s nothing about me worth noticing—but he still is.

His eyes linger for a second.

Not in a gross way.

Just… curious.

Like he’s trying to place me.

“You are familiar, didn’t we spoke this weekend after my fight?” he says, voice soft but certain.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

He waits a second longer, like he’s giving me a chance to say something—to confirm or deny or at least react—but I just stand there, frozen in oversized fabric and fear.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says after a moment, voice even lower now. Almost gentle. “You okay?”

Something in me cracks.

I shake my head—not to answer the question, but to shake off the moment. The whole thing. Him. This.

I take a shaky step back, then another, until I turn away again. This time, I do walk.

Fast.

He doesn’t follow.

But I can still feel his eyes on me.

And it hurts in a way I wasn’t ready for.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m sweating under my hoodie even though it’s barely 65 degrees out. My legs feel like they’re made of wet sand. I shut the door behind me, double lock it, and lean against it like maybe it’ll hold me up better than my spine currently can.

What the actual fuck just happened?

I drop the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and stare at it like it might answer me.

How the hell did he end up here?

What are the odds? No—seriously. Statistically. What are the goddamn odds that Jungkook, bruised, violent, beautiful Jungkook, the guy from the underground fight club with a face like a problem I’d never solve—what are the odds that he parks his sleek-ass murder-cycle right in front of my stupid corner store?

Does he live around here?

Does he live on my street?

Fucking hell.

My head spins. I kick off my shoes and shuffle toward my room like a zombie with trust issues. I don’t even bother with lunch. I just face-plant onto my bed and let out a strangled scream into my pillow.

Muffled, of course. Don’t want the neighbors to call someone.

My brain is already galloping down all the wrong roads.

What if he does live nearby? What if I see him again? What if he recognizes me next time, not just as “the girl from the fight” or “the hoodie gremlin who nearly dropped her sandwich,” but me—the real, fragile, overthinking version who wears pain like perfume and flinches when people care?

God, what if he saw through me already?

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

And just like that, it begins.

The daydream.

The soft edges blur and shift, my breathing slows, and the version of reality I can actually tolerate starts to take shape.

In this one, I’m still me—but I’m her, too.

The cooler version. The one who didn’t flinch. Who took the receipt with a small smirk, thanked him, maybe even made a joke that made his bruised mouth curve into a smile.

Maybe he would’ve asked my name.

Maybe I would’ve told him.

Maybe we would’ve sat on the curb, talking about the way silence sometimes feels safer than words. Maybe he would’ve looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t too much or not enough or anything in between.

In this version, I’m magnetic. Mysterious. Someone he wants to chase.

Not someone who runs.

Not someone who hides.

But the fantasy falters the second my phone buzzes.

A calendar notification.

Break over. Back to work.

I blink, and the ceiling collapses.

The daydream dissolves like mist under a spotlight.

And I’m back here again.

Greasy hair. Unanswered emails. Sandwich still untouched on the counter.

I sit up with a groan and reach for my laptop, the screen lighting up with the cruel reminder that no matter how hard I try to disappear, the world still expects me to perform.

Because I don’t get to be the girl in the fantasy.

I just get to pretend I'm okay for eight more hours.

-

It’s been three days.

Three long, weirdly quiet days since that day outside the convenience store.

He didn’t follow me.

He didn’t try to talk to me again.

But I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Or him.

Or the way his voice sounded when he said “hey” like it wasn’t a loaded word, like it didn’t feel like it cracked something open in my chest.

But today, I need air.

I’ve answered all my emails. Sat through two Zoom meetings where I didn’t say a word. Ate half a protein bar and convinced myself that counted as lunch. The weather’s decent. Grey sky, soft breeze. Not hot, not cold. The kind of weather that makes you feel invisible in a good way.

So I shower. Real clothes aren’t an option—my body still feels like a burden—but I pull on my cleanest hoodie and loose cargo pants. I throw on some concealer, smudge some eyeliner. Just enough to look… functional. Human-adjacent. Lip balm, not lipstick.

My comfort zone.

I pop a Red Bull from the fridge, grab my lighter and smokes, and head out.

The walk to the park is quiet. Familiar. It’s only a few blocks away—lined with sad little trees, apartment windows with peeling paint, and the occasional dog-walker tugging along a leash like it’s a lifeline.

By the time I get there, I’m already feeling a little lighter.

I head straight to the bench.

My bench.

The one facing the outdoor fitness area. It’s a concrete platform with metal bars and makeshift equipment—mostly used by shirtless guys trying to impress no one in particular. Usually, I avoid the place when it’s busy. But I’ve learned the timing.

Late afternoons on weekdays? It’s usually empty.

Quiet enough to breathe.

I sit down, crack the can open with a hiss, and take a long sip. The carbonation burns down my throat, sharp and sweet. I pull a cigarette from my sleeve and light it, the flame catching with a soft flick. First drag, and the world slows down.

My mind goes quiet.

For once.

I exhale smoke into the open air, let it drift above me, unfurling like a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

And then—I see him.

At first, I don’t realize it’s him.

I just register movement.

Someone using the pull-up bar.

Shirtless. Muscled. Moving with a kind of effortlessness that makes my stomach flip.

I glance up, casual.

And freeze.

It’s him.

Jungkook.

His back is to me, muscles flexing as he pulls himself up again and again, like he’s chasing something only he can see. The tattoos on his arms are vivid under the dull light, ink curling down to his wrist in sharp, beautiful lines.

He drops down from the bar, hands on his hips, chest heaving with each breath.

He’s glowing with sweat.

And for a second—I forget how to exist.

He doesn’t see me.

Not yet.

I duck my head fast, pulling my hoodie slightly forward like it’s a curtain I can hide behind. I take another drag of my cigarette, hoping the smoke masks the sudden panic rising in my throat.

Why is he here?

Again?

Does he live around here? Was Katherine right?

Or is this just some twisted coincidence?

He wipes his face with the edge of his tank top, and I catch a glimpse of more tattoos on his ribs—black ink over golden skin—and I have to look away. My heart’s beating like I’ve done a line of adrenaline instead of just caffeine and smoke.

I shouldn't be looking.

He’s not for me.

He’s a storm in a human body. A fighter. A blur of danger and sharp edges.

And I’m just… this.

This hoodie.

This body.

This invisible mess on a park bench, pretending the world isn’t too much.

But even as I look away—

I can feel it.

That shift.

That pull.

And when I glance back, just once, just quick—

His eyes are on me.

Right on me.

Unmistakable.

Direct.

Not in a flirty, playful, hey-girl way.

No.

It’s deeper than that.

Like he remembers me.

Like he sees something he doesn’t quite understand.

I look away so fast I almost drop my Red Bull.

My fingers are shaking again.

What the fuck is happening?

Why does it feel like he’s always three steps ahead of where I want him to be?

[padmerry]

Stanford Pines: “and isn’t it suffocating?”

This is basically my attempt to understand the issues of the Stan twins’ relationship from teen Ford’s point of view and the reason(s) for their separation. Was Ford really feeling suffocated by his relationship with Stan? If so, why? And when did it start? When did things start to shift in this direction, if once they were just fine? There’s just so much to unpack.

I don’t think I need to point out, to most fans, where the word “suffocating” comes from. It was a very memorable scene, if nothing else, since a lot of people hated Ford for it.

Behold the scene in question:

I think it’s so obvious that Ford was projecting and actually talking about his and Stan’s relationship here that I won’t even attempt to prove that, hahah.

Now, is this Ford... a) talking about his true feelings regarding his and Stan’s relationship when he was young, even before the science fair incident, or b) lying to himself, as he presumably started to do ever since (but only after) the science fair incident?

First, I’d like to invite you to actually listen to Ford’s voice/watch his mannerisms as he says this, here (timestamped). The thing is that... he doesn’t sound very bitter! He doesn’t sound like he’s throwing shade at Stan. Instead, he sounds and looks—pay attention to his eyebrows—like he’s genuinely puzzled. Does Dipper... really think he’s not meant for something more? Why! He’s so brilliant, with so much potential! Just like Ford when he was younger! The poor boy must be really attached to his sister...

Second, I’d like to invite you to not be so harsh on Ford, as he says that it, nor she is suffocating—the relationship Dipper has with the girl, not the girl herself. Not that Ford can’t be mean! He can be terribly mean, sometimes, especially out of spite. But the man has some limits. He wouldn’t say this about his twelve-year-old niece.

Another thing to be taken into consideration is that Ford was convinced Mabel would be fine, since she had “a magnetic personality.” This is a trait he very likely also attributes to Stan! In TBoB, for example, he was convinced of Stan’s ability to make the waitress laugh. There’s a lot of evidence for the fact that Ford had no idea of how badly Stan was faring and/or would fare without him, due to the idealized version of Stan Pines in his head.

That said, here is the behind-the-scenes commentary on Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future:

Alex Hirsch: Ford offers Dipper [an] apprenticeship because Ford sees Dipper as somebody who’s special like himself. And that’s Ford’s great flaw, that arrogance. He believes there are special people and everyone else.

Jason Ritter: And that you can be held back by your siblings, maybe.

Alex Hirsch: Yeah, he believes that attachments are actually weaknesses.

It has been said before Alex is too harsh on Ford, hahah. (If you have actually read enough of his interviews and listened to all his commentaries, like I did, you’ll realize he’s harsh on most of his characters, including Dipper and Stan!) That is, however, something also made canon in J3 in many, many excerpts, and stated by Ford himself quite plainly here:

“I thought being a great man meant being alone.”

And of course, his advice to Dipper in the show itself:

“Don’t let anyone hold you [back].” His choice of words is interesting. “Anyone,” not “anything.”

I do believe this line meant exactly what we think it did, since Ford, for all his “Mabel will be fine,” immediately guessed that she didn’t take it well as a visibly upset Dipper returned to his side:

When did he start developing this mindset, though? Before or after the science fair?

I think some of you might have read the (in)famous TVInsider 2016 interview in which Alex states Ford saw his brother as a “bumbling leech” (ouch!) his “entire life.”

In terms of Stan and his brother’s conflict, we always wanted a moment where Ford saw that he was wrong. Ford’s spent an entire life imagining himself as this lone solitary hero and imagining his brother as this bumbling leech. From a narrative point of view, for Ford to see Stan be the hero finally lets Ford see the true side of his brother that he’s been too blinded by pride to see.

Now, an important fact is that—I think many people fail to grasp this—Ford looking down on Stan doesn’t mean Ford not loving Stan. My boy can and will multitask!

And, of course, “entire life” didn’t actually mean Ford’s entire life! It was definitely an exaggeration on Alex’s part, meant to convey that for most of Ford’s life, presumably from late teen years old to the current age, Ford looked down on his brother.

We know for sure that baby Ford never looked down on Stan, and in fact defended him from the Sibling Brothers in the last Lost Legends comic!

But one thing we also see is how baby Ford already shares, to a certain extent, adult Ford’s ambition:

Another trait, equally important, early on: the tendency to think he was special and/or different from everyone else, for better or for worse. Like one of the very first things Stan told us in his childhood retelling in AToTS, “As if his abnormally high IQ wasn’t enough, he also had a rare birth defect: six fingers on each hand. Which might have explained his obsession with sci-fi mystery weirdness.”

As he grows up, he also grows, understandably, very proud of his accomplishments. In Stan’s words, “Ford’s brains seemed to get more impressive every year.”

He grows to embrace the “freak” part of him more and more, both ashamed and proud of not fitting in. Like Bill so gently phrased it in TBoB: “The ego of a king. The insecurity of a circus freak.” (I take all his words with a grain of salt, of course, but sometimes he hits the nail on the head.)

But what does this mean for his relationship with Stan?

I think the first thing we have to know is that Stan is Ford’s identical twin, something that is heavily alluded to in canon and confirmed by Word of God. The first comment from Alex regarding this matter that I could find was this tweet from 2015. Then it was further confirmed in many episodes of the DVD commentaries (the first ones already mention it) and indirectly implied by Bill on the TBoB website.

Why is this even important? Twins of the same gender, especially identical aka monozygotic twins, tend to struggle with identity issues. Not only the same birthday, but the same face—that without having to share even a name.

The second thing is that they only ever had each other. I talk more about their codependency here, elaborating on the differences between the relationships of Dipper & Mabel and Stan & Ford.

Again, I borrow Alex’s words when asked about Shermie’s role in the family as Stan and Ford’s brother in HanaHyperfixates’ and ThatGFFan’s interview:

In terms of Shermie, I remember asking Rob or somebody at some point, like, “Would Shermie be here, logically? Do we have to see him?” I don’t really wanna see him. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in Stan and Ford being—sort of having only each other and then losing each other because of their different life paths.

Let’s not forget, too, the only time Ford ever mentions Shermie in Journal 3—“Sherman Pines’s,” surname and all:

The best example we have of this in the show is probably Stan’s line in AToTS, “Those bullies may have been right about us not making many friends, but when push comes to shove, you only really need one.” Stan not only acknowledges their dynamic, but sounds very content with it.

Was Ford content with it, tough? That’s... more complicated.

Like we’ve established, these two were identical twins (unlike Dipper and Mabel, fraternal and of different genders) and only had each other (again, unlike Dipper and Mabel), which not only exacerbated their codependency but also their identity issues. They were used to being two halves of a whole. It’s very telling that in AToTS, “the Pines twins” are both called to the principal’s office, even though only Ford should have been called. They were seen as a single entity.

And don’t get me wrong, Ford has always loved Stan so much. Perhaps part of him even enjoyed the fact his brother trusted and leaned on him so much, depended on him both emotionally and to... get a passing grade.

But for some reason, even before the science fair... things still grew quite awkward. From Stan’s Land Before Swine commentary (DVD extras):

Anyway, cut to high school, the guy’s never kissed a girl, prom is coming up, and he asked me for advice. “Stanley, I know things have been a little weird between you and me with college, but can you talk to me about girls?”

The interesting thing here, to me, is that Ford... straight up recognized the “weirdness” between them to Stan’s face! And the fact Ford felt the need to mention it, as if he couldn’t simply ask his own twin brother for advice about girls without making a sort of acknowledgement first! These brothers once told each other everything... How did things get to this point?

First, notice how Stan says “prom is coming up.” The same prom at which they laughed together and shared a moment of camaraderie after Stan threw punch at himself to share Ford’s humiliation.

Which to me points to the fact it was something gradual, happening little by little, hand in hand with the sweetest moments in their teen years.

Imagine you’re Stanford F. Pines, not yet PhD.

You know you are special. You’re both a genius and a freak. You are always praised by adults around you, by your teachers. This starts to go to your head. You cling desperately to the “genius” part of your identity, so you can be more than a bullied freak. You grow even more ambitious. You can see a future for yourself.

You have a twin brother. You love him more than life itself. But everyone talks, and... aren’t they right, somewhat? Just a little bit right? Stanley isn’t a genius, like you are. That’s a fact. Stanley also doesn’t have ambition, like you have. Stanley isn’t a freak, like you are. It doesn’t mean Stanley isn’t cool! But you are... different from him...

And yet, despite all that, he’s your identical twin brother! You can only ever be one half of a duo. A single entity. Even your name, you share with him. He doesn’t seem bothered by that, but you are. Can’t you just be Ford, for once, no Stan? (Ironically, the fact is lost on you that your brother was always more under your shadow than you ever were under his.)

You start to think that the Stan O’ War isn’t anything more than a beautiful, but ultimately childish, dream. It isn’t very realistic, is it? You could be so much more than that. You could actually make a difference. You could prove everyone wrong about ever calling you a freak. You try to breach the subject with Stanley, but all he wants to talk about is this damn boat. And you care about it too, of course you do, but... Doesn’t he care about anything else?

I can see, so easily, the influence of other people on Ford slowly (and subconsciously) growing, even though his love for Stan didn’t diminish. I can see him noticing the mismatch between his ambition and Stan’s ambition, his academic achievements and Stan’s academic achievements... or lack thereof. Again, this is the teenage version of the little boy getting starry-eyed about seeing his own face in the papers. Except now, the possibility of Stan being there with him... doesn’t seem as likely.

Alex on A Tale of Two Stans (DVD commentary), confirming that the rift between them had started before the principal’s words:

A lot of different ideas that we came up with to suggest, you know, what was the moment where things started to change between them? When they went from best friends—and it felt, as we went to draft, that the right moment would be—sort of—as they’re entering the end of high school they have to make a choice about college and the rest of their lives, they’re speaking to guide counselors. That’s when the world at large is pointing out, “by the way, one of you is amazing!” And the toll that would take on Stan.

Alex being mindful of the difference between love and respect, as seen by his commentary on Stan’s condescending love for Mabel in Land Before Swine:

But this idea that Waddles is sort of a metaphor for what Mabel loves. And Stan loves Mabel but he doesn’t—he doesn’t really think that anything she thinks is necessarily smart or right. You know, he loves like her, ah, she’s my sweet niece, but [Stan’s voice] “she doesn’t know anything.”

I can see, also very easily, Ford having some intrusive thoughts, then immediate guilt over them. For example, after someone mocks Stan for his grades, Ford comforts him while thinking, “but yeah, maybe Stanley could really put more effort in—wait, what? He’s my best friend! I can’t think like that about him!”

Stan’s narration over this scene: “The future was looking bright... for both of us.” Oh, Stan... Ford’s smile looks painfully awkward.

Just notice the difference between Ford’s posture and body language there and here in college!Ford’s picture (and, again, look at Ford’s eyebrows, but also the way he leans in Stan’s direction):

It’s important to remember that this, too—the scene in which Ford smiles awkwardly—was before West Coast Tech.

But now, with West Coast Tech, he finally has something solid. Something tangible. A real way to make a name for himself. And he loves it. Now this is the face of true happiness!

He manages to win even the approval of his famously “not impressed” father!

Borrowing my words from another meta:

Pay attention to Filbrick and Caryn’s shocked faces when it’s revealed to them that Ford’s genius can, actually, earn them millions! Pay attention, too, to the way Ford looks at Filbrick when he’s praised by him. He’s very surprised and ecstatic to receive his father’s approval, a very brief, “I’m impressed,” that wasn’t even expressed directly at Ford. Ford doesn’t act as if it’s something he receives every day or casually. He was in fact feasting on crumbs.

Ford also knew it was not unconditional acceptance. From Ford’s point of view, at least, he was worth exactly just as much as he could earn Filbrick, and Bill’s threat in TBoB (“your father won’t want you returning without millions”) touches on that insecurity.

But... What about Stan?, you might be thinking. That was, funnily enough, the only thing that Caryn (who didn’t smile or praise Ford once) wanted to know, too.

He’s visibly very upset by having his brother insulted like that, and he didn’t know Stan was on the other side of the door overhearing their whole conversation. But he also doesn’t defend his brother, like Stan likely would have, and Stan doesn’t see Ford’s facial expression. He just hears silence from him.

And no, young Ford had zero difficulty in standing up for himself or for Stan, as seen in Lost Legends and as explained at length in my previous analysis. My own interpretation is that Ford finds it harder to defend himself or Stan from things that, deep down, he considered to be true: the fact that his polydactyly made him a freak, as pointed out by Crampelter and the Sibling Brothers, and Stan’s lack of ambition (and lack of future born out of said lack of ambition), as pointed out by the principal. I don’t think he appreciated his brother being called “a clown” at all, in the same way he didn’t appreciate being called a freak, but I also don’t think he could bring himself to disagree with the point being made here.

This moment in the series was also probably inspired by a real moment in Alex’s life that inspired the scene in which Mabel overhead Ford’s proposal to Dipper, according to the commentary of Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future:

This idea of Mabel overhearing Dipper and feeling left out actually came from a real thing that happened between me and my sister. This is a weird anecdote about me and my sister but we did this kind of like, sort of competitive improv games when we were in middle school, very nerdy. And we did pretty good, like, our team made it to the international competition every year, and there was this high school team... [...] We had a pretty good team, but there was a team above us, the high school team, that was like, legendary, that we wanted to be like. And when me and my sister went from junior high school to high school, like, this is going to be our last year to do this sort of competitive improv, and I got a call from the high school team saying “hey, guess what? we already raided your team for the standout members, we’ve taken the people from your team that always do good scores and we’re combining the high school team and the middle school team into a super team and we would like you to be on the high school team. And I was like, “what about Ariel?” And they were like, “well, there’s only seven members per team—” and Ariel was listening on the conversation and I remember her like, bursting into tears because they had basically been like yeah, we got two Hirsches [and] we only want one, and I didn’t even blink. I just said, “no, I refuse to be on this team.” Like, I couldn’t, it was just like, this is so messed up, you’re breaking this whole thing apart, like yeah, it’s a great team, yeah, you guys are awesome, but I’m not gonna do this without Ariel. And I just remember being this awful moment where some external pressure was telling us like, oh, you gotta choose, you gotta make a choice. Um, like, and it was like this very personal thing. And so like, that’s a big part of the inspiration of like, somebody comes and says, like, you but not you.

Based on Alex’s reaction to such a proposal, it’s not a stretch to think Ford’s silence here was indeed telling, from a narrative viewpoint. It was a deliberate choice from the creator.

And then... Oh boy, the swingset talk.

“Joke’s on them if they think you wanna go to some stuffy college on the other side of the country,” Stan says, then proceeds to boast about their future adventures, only to end it all with a painful expression that shows he doesn’t believe what he is saying. He knows what Ford is truly going to choose.

Stan asks him what would happen if the college board was impressed with his experiment. “Well then, I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country!” Which indicates he clearly didn’t expect Stan to come with him, either.

Then The Accident happens, and Ford reacts accordingly.

It’s fascinating to me that Ford knew exactly what would bring someone like Stan to do something like sabotage his machine. He doesn’t accuse his brother of feeling jealous of his success or of the attention of their father and teachers! Oh no, that’s not your typical sibling drama of competitiveness, nor an easily solvable lack of communication. Instead, he accuses Stan of sabotaging his machine so Ford would stay with him! Which proves he was aware of Stan’s feelings, despite what a good part of this fandom seems to think! And, while it had been just an accident, a dumb mistake on Stan’s part instead of a deliberate act... Ford is right! Stan really couldn’t handle Ford going to college on his own.

He’s right, because we know Stan’s feelings about this. Stan says, in so many words: “Without Ford, I was just half of a dynamic duo. I couldn’t make it without him. And now, thanks to that dumb college, I was gonna lose my brother forever.” I know the “forever” was perhaps Stan being a bit melodramatic (understandable considering his distress) but it also shows us he didn’t expect their relationship to go back to normal, or for the college to be just one passing fancy. He knew it would be just the start of his brother’s career.

And perhaps this is the last thing you’d expect me to bring up at this point, but...

Do you remember this episode? Little Gift Shop of Horrors? It’s often dismissed as non-canon (due to its hidden keyword being “noncanon”), but even if the events in it didn’t actually happen, the characterization remains very much real.

We talk about Ford projecting on Dipper about a relationship being “suffocating,” but Stan was doing some impressive amount of projecting here too, hah, considering that he was more likely than not making up all the stories.

Just. This entire conversation:

Stan couldn’t be more unsubtle if he tried. And of course, Waddles chooses Mabel, his favorite person in the world.

We know whose “favorite person” Stan wants to be...

But again, back to Ford.

Yay, Ford is free of his suffocating relationship with Stan! Free to do things like looking at pictures of Stan with yearning! Writing that he misses Stan in code while yearning! Staring at the Gravity Falls’ lake with yearning because it reminds him of Stan! The last one in particular is very amusing to me because to study anomalies was basically Ford’s dream job and he loved Gravity Falls and... and yet! There is no place in Gravity Falls he would rather stay than the lake...

You might want to read this for the full extent of Ford’s clownery, but just the fact that Ford canonically (per Word of God) carried a picture of baby Stan in the breast pocket of his coat at least as early as his Gravity Falls researcher days to remember his brother by, is... telling.

That is, without even counting the fact that he has actively attempted to replace Stan with Fiddleford, Bill, and then even poor Dipper! Because, again, he yearns! From Alex’s commentary on Society of the Blind Eye:

Ford as somebody who lost Stan is kinda looking for—even though he rejected his brother, he kinda needs, he needs that other person, and he tried to find that in this kinda sweet prodigy and he just pushed him too far.

Yeah, I know. Ford is quite... confusing. What does he want? To use three other people (or triangle) to fill the role of Stan in his life but still reject and stay away from Stan himself? Everything and nothing, at the same time?

And now I need you to bear with me and read this entire excerpt of the HanaHyperfixates’ and ThatGFFan’s interview, most important parts highlighted in bold:

Ford was very much us building backwards. The same way you know a black hole is there by the light warped around it, it’s like, you know the damage someone’s family has done to them by all of their weird tics and behaviors. So who is the character who would result in Stan being this hurt and needy and mad and also longing?

And so we came up with this guy who kinda seemed too perfect. And is distant. He’s aloof, and distant, and he’s too perfect. And it’s like, “oh! I think he’s also aloof and distant from himself.”

I think he is, uh, deeply deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships. He doesn’t have friendships, he doesn’t have romantic relationships, he is someone trapped in a tower of his own mind and estranged.

We know Ford has always loved Stan very deeply—and yearned for his company just as badly—through his entire adult life. So what, exactly, changed in old Ford for him to invite Stan to sail away together again, post-Weirdmageddon?

Well. I have some hypotheses.

First, he spent forty years separated from Stan, and then almost lost him forever (or at least their relationship), from a certain point of view. Have you ever heard that saying that you only know the value of something or someone after you lose it? Teen Ford had never lost Stan, and didn’t know how much he would miss him.

On that same note, all those years separated allowed him to develop a personality and identity of his own, and a very defined and strong one at that. (Yes, poor Stan meanwhile spent that time pretending to be Ford. Ironic.) The Stan twins have also managed to be competent at what was once their weak spot, something they relied fully on their brother for. Stan has managed to learn and understand complex physics to fix the portal. Ford, on the other hand (and we’re focusing more on his feelings, here), has definitely learned how to defend himself physically.

Second, Ford was severely “humbled by the narrative,” so to speak. He thought he would get to be the hero, when the hero (at least in Ford’s own point of view, which is the only point of view that matters) was actually his brother. “Stanley Pines was the man who saved the world, not me.” His pride—and Stan’s own pride as a reaction to Ford’s pride, but again, this analysis is focused on Ford—was a great barrier between him and Stan. And on what regards his self-loathing and subsequent thirst for external validation, he has learned to seek love in the right places. His family. Stan.

Stan, who has always loved him unconditionally, who never considered him a freak in the first place, who has always tried to make him feel as if he belonged, if only on an old boat. Stan, who after Weirdmageddon is now his priority, above his scientific ambition, symbolized by the journals he was no longer reluctant to destroy.

Another excerpt from the interview I’ve referenced lastly wraps things up perfectly:

[...] and it’s always sweet to see [Stan and Ford] come together again, because they’re so full of themselves, but they are also both so damaged they desperately need each other.

The codependency is mutual—people really should understand this. I don’t think it ever really went away, not in an emotional, psychological sense, despite the two of them having developed separately for decades, as I have elaborated here. They didn’t return to the same place they started because they have matured as individual persons, but the love they had for each other never did decrease. They know, now, exactly how it’s like to stay away from each other, and they... actively prefer not to.

After all, like Ford himself said, “I don’t just want someone to come with me, Stanley, I want it to be you.”

[shapelytimber]

Updated my au's recap to add Tarkin and Krennic :)

And of course I updated The Science

[COMMISSIONS]

(also fixed Sabé's sexuality ! Thank you to the Sabé connoisseurs for letting me know she has a canonical boyfriend at one point ! xoxo)

Yapping below vvv

Welcome to me and my struggle with imperial military uniforms fjdkdkk they just so boring and often khaki-

For Tarkin I took inspiration from a Star Trek concept that I'm so mad isn't a thing in Star Wars... The dress uniform ! The classy, just for show, uncomfortable version of classic uniforms ! (Couldn't believe that wasn't already a thing in sw, but when I searched for it I stumbled upon a sub reddit called "the empire did nothing wrong" and sometimes self care is to not clic on the clearly far right corner of your fandom to look upon a shitty fan made alterations of imperial uniforms 🌸)

Also, I had to make a choice here... Do I make the empire more strict when it comes to gender norms and expectations i.e do I put Tarkin in a skirt gkkgkffn like, I already kinda did that with both Tarkin and Krennic keeping their hair long. But in canon imperial uniforms are unisex and the same for everyone, which is great to like know the imperial military (in universe at least) doesn't do sexism a lot.... But once again, the canon uniforms are a bit boring to draw, they don't have the more classy ones you would wear for special occasions and frankly if you want a side to show more gender inequality would you pick the mismatched rebels fighting for their rights and to overthrow the government, or the established force in power that is also incidentally an empire that took inspirations from a real far right party hmmmmm

Let's look at what I made different about the empire in my au, a) Palpatine is a woman, they have an empress but b) said empress force masced her apprentice and made *him* the figure head of her empire. When you think of the empire you don't picture an old woman in a bathrobe, you picture Vader, a tall muscular cyborg with no face a glowy sword and evil telekinesis.... That is gendered in the masculine (still a dyke tho, but random civilians wouldn't know that- they don't even know if he's human). Having a woman lead a fascist empire doesn't make it better- (in my country, France, the far right party has been lead by a woman for the last 20 years and that doesn't make it fucking better)

All this to say I put her in pants fjkdkd tested with a skirt but it felt too uncanny.

And I also made her stand in the worst position to draw (for me at least) : perfectly facing the camera with a stick up her ass and at parade rest so with her hands behind her back fjkddk I struggled so hard to make it look somewhat good, and I'm still not really satisfied- also Peter Cushing's face with a hat that covers his forehead looks very wrong to me fjfkk

But enough about Tarkin ! For Krennic I also modified the uniform :D (for a second time jfofk link to the first post with another version of her uniform), but hers isn't the fancy version, it's very much her work clothes ! Still trying to distinguish her from the classic military, since she is more of an engineer/architect, so she get heels, slutty white gloves and a dramatic cape coat. Also I loved putting her in a very strict outfit but making it a bit messy in small ways kgfkgj one side of it isn't zipped all the way down, and her hair is coming down from her hasty made bun :)))

PS : one must always picture the death star as the third member of this relationship <3

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 11

______________________________

"Okay, I can't take it anymore, why the hell does everyone get gloomy every time we're at the manor? Everyone seems fine at duty?" Duke places his cutlery down, his tone nervous yet determined to find out what's wrong with his family

He noticed.

Of course he did, after he lost his whole life, he was given to Bruce, and he loved them, they loved him too, they were kind, understanding, and they were all he needed after everything

That wasn't the same for them, They were empty, only rare moments where they relish in happy moments

Did he ruin it? Did he do something? Or was the feeling of never truly being accepted is just because he's new? Does a certain test have to happen?

Worst part, Duke can't even complain, they showered him with love, and he tried too, he plans activities, though they always comply it doesn't help, he feels as if there's this void he can't seem to fill

What can he do to make his family well?

Is this because of that child?

(Name) Wayne?

He couldn't meet (Name), for they were already gone, when he first met Batman, when he first met the family, he didn't see anything wrong, no grieving, he thought it was odd, but it has been a year, no... Bruce would never forget a child, let alone his

Would he?

Then he saw, Duke thought he would try to make his family feel better, by asking questions about (Name), maybe recalling happy memories about that child would cheer them up

But they couldn't speak, Tim who is usually chatty would quiet down and keep to himself, Steph who would never make Duke feel lonely stepped away when asked

He saw no pictures, he heard no stories, He noticed no child.

His family, his new family couldn't have neglected and god forbid forgot a child?

The same one who took him in?

The same one he found peace with?

He knew the answer was right In front of him, Bruce often, though he cares about his kids, Duke knows Bruce is more of Batman than Bruce, And Batman loves his duty more than his kids

He knew the entire family put each other on second, Dick with the titans, Tim with young justice, Oracle with Birds of prey, this family puts family on second, but it doesn't mean they don't care

It sometimes makes Duke wonder if he'll find people that will push him to put the Wayne's second

Could it be, that everyone was so engrossed in their own lives, in their duty, their second make shift family, that they forgot about the first? that they forgot someone needed them, (Name) needed them

He knows they failed, and he's scared they might fail him too

Duke inhales and exhales, his eyes straight to Bruce "How long are you going to let your guilt eat you? You made a choice to pick your duty over your kid, so stand by it" he says

Duke knows they hurt someone, The Waynes hurt someone very vulnerable, but he can't bring himself to hate his family, they're the only one he has

Duke can't wait for the time he meets another family, maybe then he can let go of the Waynes

______________________________

"oh fuck we are so in trouble" you yell as a bunch of hippocampi swim further and further away from the camp

The harpies screech, and Mr. D- looks disappointed, as he's being held back by Hermes, you begin to think what would happen if Hermes lets go of his grip on Mr. D's arm

Percy shuts his eyes tight as he hugs his hippocampus "Thank you dad..." He whispered

Poseidon sending the hippocampi meant his father believed in him, that his father believed that he should be the one to save camp

And it made Percy believe he was enough, that he was strong

Despite the negligence Percy and the rest of the camp suffered, small moments that make the Gods show they care is enough for them

It made you wonder if your father had done the same, if he ignores you for months but pops in to check on you from time to time

Would you have stayed?

Would that have been enough for you?

Seeing as you hold on to the fact Aphrodite called you her favorite, you fear that you would have

______________________________

Duke knows the people he loves did something wrong, but because he loves them he can't bring himself to hate them, he waits to love another person more than he loves his family to leave

@ghostdoodlen @ratchetprime211 @delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar

[gracieheartspedro]

More Than Friends

how to help the Palestinian people

pairing: best friend!ellie williams x fem!reader (set in the jackson era)

description: you and ellie have been friends for awhile. while at a party for tommy’s birthday, you try to catch the attention of your crushes. sadly, they are all over each other. in a childish effort to get them to pay attention, you two try to make them jealous. 'cause that always ends the way you think, right?

word count: 3.3k words

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, smut, wlw, f!receiving oral (reader), fingering, jealousy, semi-public sex, dirty talk, tons of nicknames, no mentions of reader's appearance. talks of sexuality, but it's vague. reader wants to fuck whoever, it doesn't matter lol. let me know if I missed anything!

author's note: I wrote this after watching one too many ellie edits on tik tok. it was written in two hours, so it's not my finest work but it scratched my little ellie itch. okay, much love xoxoxoxxo

“So… you really like Dina, huh?”

Her face twists immediately at the question. She throws herself back in the wooden chair, cursing under her breath. Her arms cross over her chest, her t-shirt riding up a bit above her jeans. 

You saw the way Ellie looked at Dina. She looks at her like she hung the moon. She was always fumbling over her words around her, nervous to say the wrong thing. When she did try to flirt, it came up awkward and strained. And you understood her predicament because you were the same way about Jesse. 

You both were pining after two people in a committed relationship.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” She mumbles, gesturing towards the center of the room where Dina and Jesse slow danced. He was leaning down to whisper something in her ear and it made your stomach flip. “She would never go for me.”

You felt bad for Ellie. She was everything you wished you were yourself; beautiful and funny. You felt like you were the only one, besides the Millers, who got her dry humor. You two had met in class about two years ago, now. You were a newcomer to Jackson, arriving about two months prior with your mom. When you got seated next to Ellie, you could tell her give-no-fucks attitude would mesh well with your give-too-many-fucks attitude. Over the years, you two had really rubbed off one another. You two were inseparable. 

“You’re the whole package, Els,” You say before nudging her shoulder with your elbow. You two are moping at a table near the exit of the food hall. It was Tommy’s birthday celebration, so everyone in Jackson got together to plan a big bash for him. Ellie felt obligated to come and your mom was pretty close to Maria. More time spent with your best friend wasn’t time wasted, so here you are. 

“At least she shows you the time of day,” You say under your breath. 

Jesse had been pretty flippant with you. He could never remember your name, let alone that you two shared the same street in Jackson. You also once shared a table at the mess hall. He was so tall and strong. Your crush on him was more physical than it was emotional. He was funny, sure, but you mainly just wanted to get him alone. 

“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” She ponders, finally looking away from the canoodling couple across the room, “We could do so much better!”

You know she’s just trying to convince herself of something she doesn’t really believe. The tone of her voice changes when she’s lying. 

“Like who? Slim pickin’s out here, Ellie. We have them and maybe 4 other undesirable people. There’s always the butcher’s son, he always had eyes for you.”

She grabs her cup from the table in front of you, “Yeah, men are… not my type.”

You turn your body so your legs are nudging her thighs, “Then, you really don’t have any choices.”

She nods her lips in a thin line. “I wish I could just.. Just go up there and talk to her. Ya know?”

“Why can’t you?”

“The same reason you can’t just go up and talk to Jesse.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward on your knees. Your body is practically in her bubble, but she just sits back with her arm over the back of your chair.

You and Ellie had no real boundaries. You had no qualms about physical touch and Ellie never said anything or seemed to mind. You two have shared a horse countless times and even a bed. She never steered away from you.

“Well, Dina will talk to you if she sees other girls talking to you,” you state, reflecting on the last time everyone in Jackson got together. Some random girl came up to you two and as soon as Dina saw Ellie laughing with the other girl, she scrambled across the room to see what the fuss was about. You saw the same glint in her eyes that Ellie had. 

For some reason, it made you kind of jealous. 

You never tried to explore those knee-jerk emotions you had for Ellie. She was your best friend and you were positive she never felt romantic feelings towards you. Plus, you weren’t sure of your feelings about your sexuality. You always told Ellie you just liked who you liked, not really putting any importance on what was between their legs. You weren’t very experienced, but you had hooked up with both genders and liked it all equally.

“That was a coincidence, bug.”

That stupid nickname that she called you. Born from the one time you practically attracted every infected in the area with your scream over a huge beetle. She could not let it go and ended up calling you bug, just to annoy you. 

You finally look up at her freckled face, waiting for her to crack a smile. When you squint at her with contempt, she smirks. 

“Why don’t we find another girl and test the theory?”

She glances around the populated party, “Everyone here is over the age of 40.”

You turn back to the crowd of people around you and see that she’s right. 

You mull it over, your brain working to find a way that you both could get their attention. You two could simply say fuck it and go watch a movie and forget this stupid encounter happened. Joel would probably chew Ellie out, but when doesn’t he do that? 

Your next idea is something dangerous but something you had thought about before. You had never brought up the idea to Ellie because you were afraid of her reaction. 

“What’s your idea?”

She could read you like a book. You pursed your lips, wondering if you should even propose the idea to her. 

“How desperate are you?”

She laughs out loud, completely taken aback by the query. “Jesus, what are you thinkin’?”

You lick your lips, trying to make sure the idea comes out as a whisper.

“Why don’t we make them jealous? Just you and me?”

“How though?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Well, I’m a girl.”

You glance back at where Dina and Jesse were just dancing. They are both now facing you two’s direction, Jesse engrossed in a conversation with Tommy. Dina is just sipping from her glass, not really staring anywhere specific. 

You look back at Ellie who’s also looking at her, but meets your eyes when your face gets closer to hers. 

You would tell her how beautiful she was all the time and she just would roll her eyes and change the subject. You were physically attracted to her and there had been a couple of times you had thought about kissing her and wondered what her lips would feel like against yours. 

But she was your best friend. 

“Wrap your arm over my back,” You are still positioned, your elbows on your knees, your knees facing her thighs, “And rub it.”

She furrows her eyebrows, but she submits and brings the arm that is slouched over the chair to your lower back. You nod, watching as her lids lower. Her hand creeps up and down your side, her fingers grazing your ribs, up to your side boob. “Now what, bug?”

“Now, slowly move your hand up my back,” She does it as you’re speaking and the movement makes the hairs on your arms stand up, “Grab the nape of my neck.”

“Why are you making me do this?”

You lift up off your hands, bringing your face closer to hers. She doesn’t budge, sitting still and only focused on you and your words. 

“Because,” Her hand grabs the back of your neck, before slowly bringing it forward to collar bone. The gentleness of her touch and the fact that it’s your Ellie, makes every sense heightened. You don’t even realize how her touch is making you feel until you see her crack a smile. 

“Because why?” She whispers, her voice teasing. 

“Cause I want them to see you touch me.”

It comes out needy and desperate. Her eyes change when it slips from your lips, instead of being playful, she’s looking at you like you’re her next meal. She leans forward, her face millimeters from yours. 

You had never talked to Ellie like this but at this moment, you were completely transfixed on her. She was wearing a flannel over her shoulders covering her usual gray t-shirt. The sleeves were rolled up exposing the tattoo Cat did on her a year ago. 

You always thought it was hot, the way it trailed up her arm from her delicate wrist.

Her jeans are ripped and her legs and man-spreaded like she was carrying something in her jeans. 

And she smelled like pine. You loved it when you got the privilege to sleep next to her because her linens always smelled like her. You would love the idea of getting into bed with her right now.

“How do you want me to touch you?”

You chew the inside of your lip, “Any way you want to.”

She chuckles before brushing her hand down your exposed arm, “Is this for the bit or do you want me to genuinely touch you?”

You notice her being sincere. You think back to all the times you joked about sleeping with Ellie, and while at the time you chalked them up to being jokes, deep down, maybe it’s actually what you wanted. 

With the way she’s looking at you now, you prayed on every star that she would continue pushing your buttons. That somehow she would forget Dina even exists and realize it was you all along.

“Hey guys,” Her voice brings you out of your horny daze. It was the last voice you were expecting, and you can tell by the look on Ellie’s face, she is thinking the same thing. 

“Oh, hey Dina!” You quip up, not moving all the much to ensure she sees Ellie’s hand on your bicep. 

“You two busy?” The way she asks is almost too demanding. You glance back over at Ellie whose color is draining from her face. 

You shake your head, finally sitting up. Ellie’s hand doesn’t leave you though, instead, it just drops to your thigh. You try not to acknowledge it, as you notice Jesse coming up behind Dina. But now it feels so heavy against your legs, the weight of the situation finally hitting you. 

It worked. 

“We are just talking,” Ellie manages, her voice cracking. 

Jesse comes up behind Dina, wrapping his arms around her. You’re suddenly grateful that Ellie’s hand is still on you, the jitters hitting your system subsiding by the physical feeling of her being so near. 

“Looked like more than that,” Jesse jokes, his smile taking up a lot of his face, “You good Ellie?”

“Ellie was just telling me about the patrol she just went on with Jesse,” You explain quickly, making sure to look at Dina and not Jesse. “She told me about the infected y’all ran into!”

“Oh yeah, shit was crazy,” Jesse squeezes Dina tighter, “We gotta get back out there again, Ellie. You were a beast at taking those suckers down.”

“U-uh yeah, absolutely.”

You grab her hand as a reassurance. The exchange gets awkward quickly, none of you knowing what else to say. 

“Well, we should get goin’,” Dina says tapping Jesse’s arms, “See you two around?”

You two just nod. They walk away, not saying much of anything else. You stare at the wall, humiliated by the last 10 minutes of your life. You were unsure if you could even look Ellie in the eyes again. 

Ellie huffs loudly, sitting further back in her chair. “Well, that failed.”

You start to agree until that little bit of Ellie that’s rubbed off on you starts to come up your throat. The not-giving-much-of-a-fuck is creeping up on you. 

“Did it? Because I think it went exactly how I wanted it to.”

You finally return your eyes to her bewildered expression. You pull her hand off your lap as you stand up, yanking her up after you. 

“You wanted it to go like that? What was the point?”

You pull her closer to you before raising your lips up to her ear. Her hair is tucked behind the crest of her ear, so it tickles your nose a bit before you speak. 

She turned you on, so now you needed her to do something about it. Here’s to not giving a fuck. 

“The point was to get you to finally touch me.”

The temperature in the room rises a million degrees. Ellie’s eyes light up at the statement and you know that was exactly what she wanted to hear before Dina came up to you. 

You start to pull her towards the kitchen door, right near your table. You remember finding a hidden supply closet back there last Christmas party. Your skin was on fire as you dragged her through the appliances to the somewhat large closet. It was practically empty, void of anything anyone at the party may need, so it was safe. Plus it had a lock. 

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Ellie’s on you. Her lips hit yours and it was exactly how you imagined it. She was quick and eager with her kisses, her tongue plunging into your mouth immediately. She was grabbing your hips, pushing you towards the wall where all the brooms and mops were. You try not to trip, giggling as you pull her face closer to you. 

“So this is what you wanted?” She pulls away from you for a breath, “Using making Dina jealous as a ploy to get to finally kiss you?”

Your hands find the spot above the hem of her jeans, right under her t-shirt. Out of instinct, you start to unbutton her pants. 

“Actually, that wasn’t the plan.”

Her eyes are trained on your lips, “Is that so?”

“No, but you were playing the part way too well and I realized something.”

“What did you realize?”

The overhead light was so dim but you could still somehow see her cute freckles. 

“That I want you more than I want anyone else. I need you to touch me more often.”

She chuckles, her fingers still pressed into your hips, “Well, bug, I’m touching you just like you asked.”

She drags kisses up your jaw and neck. You try not to fall apart over that alone. Ellie always talked about how inexperienced she was, but she’s probably the most tentative kisser you have ever encountered. 

“Can you touch me here?”

You press your hands to the zip of your jeans. She looks down at your body to where you’re touching and she clicks her tongue. 

“Ask politely, baby, and I’ll do anything you want.”

The nickname change makes your heart stop. 

“Can you, my sweet best friend, touch me and get me off? Please?”

She groans at the question, a sound you never thought she’d make for you. 

“Of course,” She grabs the belt loops of your pants before yanking them down your legs without resistance, “What are friends for?”

You know you’re soaked by the way she smiles up at you. She gets down on her knees, looking up at you, as her hands slowly start to spread your legs. You are standing against a wall, watching your best friend’s face creep close to your center. 

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. She pulls at your panties, toying with the fabric before you take matters into your own hands and pull them down your legs. 

She brings her lower lip between her teeth, “This wet for me?”

You could slap the stupid smirk off her face, but before you can even say something snarky back, she slips her digits between your glistening slit. Your body practically buckles at the prodding, so you brace yourself against the shelf next to you.

Your normal reaction to feeling good is to close your legs together tightly, but Ellie has her left hand mounted to your inner thigh, keeping you open for her, while the other one is slowly creeping up to your weeping hole. She’s gentle when she puts one finger inside you.

Once your body reacts around her, she pulls her finger out to inspect how wet you are. After she’s satisfied with her findings, she adds another which causes you to mewl at the sensation. 

“Ellie, please,” You beg, trying to get more friction. She’s not letting you do anything but watch. 

“Mmm,” She hums before moving her face closer to you, “Love to hear you moan my name, bug. You wanna be a good girl? Keep begging.”

You never took Ellie as someone who loves to hear her sexual partner beg, but it turns you on even more. 

You watch her close in on your clit, her tongue finding the bud and flicking it a couple of times. The moans that come out of your mouth are so deprived. Her fingers slip so seamlessly in and out of you, that you try to remember a time you were so wet. Nothing comes to mind because all your brain is thinking is Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. 

“Please, please,” you plead, trying your best to egg her on so she goes faster. It works because she picks up the pace fucking you. Her mouth suddenly closes around your clit, and she sucks. 

Your one hand is still gripping onto whatever is next to you, but your other hand has to rest somewhere. Her short brown locks are right there, so you grab on. 

Her mouth leaves your clit, and instead, her tongue licks up and down your weeping hole. When you bring her closer in, her nose starts to stimulate your sensitive bud. 

The sounds are so wet and depraved, you’re sure the bubbling in your stomach is about to come to a tipping point. You find yourself grinding forward, trying to get friction on your clit again. Her nose prods the spot over and over again as you grind down onto her face. 

Ellie hums as she fucks you, trying her best to push your limit. You know you’re close and you are sure she can feel how tight your pussy is gripping onto her fingers. She knows you’re close so she kicks it up a notch and shakes her head between your folds. That motion alone sends a tidal wave within you crashing to the shore. You pull her hair so hard, you know it probably hurts but fuck, you needed her to feel how good she was making you feel. 

The white-hot feeling starts to subside and you are panting like you just ran a mile. You finally release Ellie’s head, letting her come up for air. Her lips are saturated with your slick and it looks like she’s drunk on you by the way her eyes are half shut. She pulls her two fingers out of your tight hole, making you whine at the emptiness. 

She stands up, bringing her two fingers up to your lips. 

“Wanna see how good you taste?”

She’s so fucking dirty. It gets you so riled up. 

You grab onto her wrist and bring the fingers up to your mouth. You suck them dry, giving into how absurd this is. 

“You’re a freak, too,” She beams at you, before bringing you into another feverish kiss. You were so mesmerized by her. She grabs onto your hips, pulling your naked bottom half to her still-clothed legs. 

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” You grumble, still recovering from the drilling you just had. Her hands travel up your sides, under your t-shirt. She is holding onto your ribcage, looking at your exposed tummy as the shirt rides up. 

“I didn’t think you’d go for me, especially when guys like Jesse are your type,” She explains, so enthralled by the way your body looks to her, “I don’t know if I can let him have you, now.”

You smirk, your hands twisting around her shoulders, “Oh, I see. Well, if he can’t have me, then Dina can’t have you.”

“Well, thank God they have each other, then.”

[cindyss]

are you flirting or starting a fight

theodre nott x female reader

theodore and y/n are academic rivals, and when one time she gets into an argument with snape and gets detention, the slytherin boy finds a way to follow her there

smut!!

Everyone knew you and theodore were academic rivals, both of you had always been racing to be at the top of your classes for years now. However, you always were a few points ahead of him, so you always managed to find a way to brag about it.

You’d always rub your higher marked grades in front of his face, you’d tease him about it in the corridor, lunchtime, anytime, all the time. One class however, potions, was one you faced difficulty with.

Snape wasn’t the biggest fan of your house, Ravenclaw, neither was he of you. He gave you a hard time in his class, while on the other hand theo had it the way he liked.

One time in potions class, Draco gave Neville a potion which caused the Gryffindor boy to throw up slugs all over the room. This little show earned a good chuckle from pretty much everyone, and seeing as Snape wasn’t really trying to do anything about it, you finally snapped. “What the hell is going on?” you shout. “Calm yourself, ms.” Snape answered. “No, no! Look what hes doing to him, do something about it!” “Alright, shush now. This is my class, my business to handle, my choices to make and take.” He said, more angrily now.

“This is bullshit!” You shout. “All right, detention ms!” Snape shouts angrily. Just then, theodore punches blaise in the face, making his nose bleed. Holding his face, blaise speaks “what the actual fuck was that for?”. Theo then goes for another punch and thats when snape stops him using his wand, “alright nott, detention for you too!” you could see the little smirk appearing on theo’s lips as snape spoke.

Later ~

The both of you had to spend your night cleaning the library for detention, wonderful. You got there and to your surprise, theo was already there before you. You ignore him and immediately get to work, you wanted to be done and out of here in no time.

As you’re putting some of the books back, he approaches you. “You’re not going to ignore me the whole night right?” to that you dont answer. “But really, Longbottom, out of all people?” He chuckles. “What are you trying to say, neville is my friend and everyone always finds a way to make fun of him so i will not allow that to happen in my presence.”

You leave the slytherin boy in shock and he turns back to keep working on his part. After a while, he speaks again “You know that this whole problem thing with snape will cause you to fail his class?” he speaks.

“I do.” You scoff. “That means i have a higher chance of getting ahead of you and being at the top of the grade this year.”he teases. “I dont even fucking care nott.” You speak as you keep your face to the front, putting the books back in place. “But that wont happen.” He adds. You turn to him confused, “huh?”. “That wont happen i said.” He speaks.” “And how come?” you ask. “Listen to me, we’ve been academic rivals for years, every single time i was so close to beating you, but i never did, do you ever wonder how?”

You don’t speak, as you cant quiet understand what he’s talking about. He then proceeds to continue “i did it on purpose, i knew how much it matters to you, i read your diary in our first year saying how you were so bad at everything you’ve tried and that studying was the only thing you were good at, thats why i’d write the wrong answers on purpose. Id also steal potter’s invisibility cloak to sneak into the classrooms and change your wrong answers.”

“There is no way,” you say hesitantly unsure what to say instead. “Yes, you need to believe me.” “What the fuck, are you flirting with me or tryna start a fight?” He tilts your chin to look up at him, “i never wanna fight with you, i just want you to be happy.”

Just then you lean in closer and connect your lips. He kisses you back, tongues colliding, his hands land on your hips and he pulls you in closer. He pins you to the bookshelf and starts leaving wet, hungry kisses on your neck and collarbone. You moan at the feeling and grab his hair, to which he responds by biting the skin on your neck, slowly, then more aggressively. “Theo, i wanna thank you for what you did” you speak in between moans. “I wanna pleasure you please.” “You’ll only pleasure me by doing what i ask you to do, let me give you head until you forget your name, cara mia.”

Just then he lifts you so that your legs rest on his shoulders, he raises your skirt and lowers you panties. “God you’re already so fucking wet f’me bella.” He says as he begins trailing kisses around your pussy. You arch your back a bit, wanting him to eat you out already to which he chuckles before he begins teasing your folds with his tongue.

He licks your folds then keeps a hand on your thigh to make sure you don’t fall before he adds three fingers inside you all in one go. “HOLY FUCKKKK” you scream and squirm and squeeze around him, only burying his face deeper into your pussy as his tongue and fingers work in sync. You feel your climax building already, “im gonna cum, theo.” You moan as theo speeds his movements. “FUCKK, OH SHIT YEAH JUST LIKE THAT.”

You release and theo licks you clean. He then shows you some of your come on his fingers and he makes you lick them off his fingers. “You taste so fucking good,” he speaks, kissing you. You moan into his mouth then speak “let me give you head, please, i promise to swallow everything.” He breaks the kiss and smiles at you before beginning to remove his pants. You kneel between the boy, who’s now sat on a chair, and find the lace of his boxers.

You pull them down to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. You begin leaving trails of kisses along his v line. Then, you grab his cock and begin massaging it. He leans down to kiss you as you’re playing with him. You palm him and feel his dick twitch at your touch, then you take most of his length in one go. He moans loudly at the feeling as you lick around, sucking better than ever.

You allow your head to move up and down as you try to take more of his length, your nails digging into his thighs. He tugs at your hair, his fingers playing with your brown curls. The slytherin boy then pushes your head completely making his cock hit the back of your throat.

You gag loudly, the sound sending shivers down theos body. As a result, he throws his head back, moaning as you quicken your moves. “Ohhh, my god ‘hm, yeah, please.. mm.. hmh.. fuckkk just like that principessa.” The boy now a whining, whimpering mess. him moaning like that oml.

Without warning, he cums into your mouth. You look up at him between your lashes, your eyes filled with tears. He smiles down at you, watching you swallow everything. He then carries you and places you on his lap, “good girl, that was fucking awesome, tesoro (sweetheart).”

“I wanna make you cum one more time tonight, i know you have one left.” he speaks. “Only if you promise to come inside me.” You announce. He chuckles and nods as he begins removing your shirt. He removes it then proceeds to remove your bra.

Your boobs fly out, bouncing, also revealing your hard tits. He immediately lays his mouth on your breast, pleasuring your left boob, licking and sucking on it endlessly. He also used his other hand to pinch and play with your tit on the other side. This man, lord. He was only playing with your boobs and he was already gonna throw you over the edge again.

He then pleasured the other boob similarly, licking, sucking, and biting before he started leaving a trail of kisses all the way up to your neck. He then held your hips and slowly begin lowering you onto him, you were able to get most of him in the first time. Then, he gave you time to adjust before pushing more of himself in. You moan when you have his whole length in and then when you get used to his size, you begin riding him.

As you begin riding him slowly and carefully, he groans slightly at the feeling. Theo then places his fingers on your clit and starts rubbing hard which makes you feel yourself cum start to form. “Im gonna cum again teddy..” you announce. “Do it, f’me cara mia.” You speed your movements and so does he, you begin moaning at the speed of things to which he kisses you to stop the moans from being too loud.

Then, theo uses his hips to thrust deeper into your so that you’re practically bouncing on him. That is followed by him sucking on the sensitive skin on your neck, biting and licking it until you scream as you release onto him. As he’s helping you ride out your climax, you moan his name making him groan and cum inside of you.

The boy then grabs your face and kisses you hard, “i fucking loved that,” he speaks. “So did i” you smile back at him. Just then, you hear a sound coming from somewhere to which you both jump in fear and begin getting dressed. You manage to put your skirt and shirt on, but the slytherin boy only his pants before mr lupin appears.

His eyes widen in surprise at the site of the boy half naked, “a little hot mr nott?” “uhh.. yes sir” he says hesitantly. Remus then chuckles, “im gonna let it slide this time but please try to do it in a more private place and finish your duties too.” You both nod before moving back to your jobs.

[ggukivrse]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 01

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, angst, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 4.9k

notes: the first chapter is here!!! i ended up cutting this into two parts so everything that’s going to be in chapter two was originally planned to be in this chapter loll. tysm to my bae @page-isa for beta reading and putting up with me :> as always, feedback, likes, comments, reblogs and asks are so so appreciated, like i love yapping on here loll. enjoy reading my angels <3

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⤷ chapter one — the way things go

and there’s too much on my mind that i don’t even want to try / guess it’s not far from the ordinary, they do say love is blind

The road stretches out ahead, long and quiet, humming under the tires. You lean into the car door, forehead pressed against the glass, fingers mindlessly tugging at the threads on the hem of your shorts.

Summer air seeps through the half-cracked open window, warm and heavy with the scent of trees and sun-baked asphalt.

You should be excited. Everyone else is.

A full week away — just your group, no classes, no work shifts, no group projects hanging over anyone’s head for the first time in four years. A final trip before the “real world” starts to pull everyone in different directions.

But your stomach’s been tight since the moment you packed your bag. And now, with every mile you put between yourself and home, it just gets worse.

“You’re really quiet,” Kiara says, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. She’s got one hand on the wheel, the other flipping the volume knob down on the music. “Like... unusually quiet. Do I need to be concerned?”

You shake your head without looking at her. “Nah. Just tired.”

Kiara makes a sound like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press, and you're grateful for it.

You glance over at her. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, dark brown hair falling in curls past her shoulders, sunglasses balanced on top of her head instead of over her eyes.

“I thought you’d be in full DJ mode by now,” you say, nodding toward her phone. “Where’s the summer playlist?”

She smirks. “I’m easing you into it. Jimin says my music tastes give him whiplash.”

“He has a point.”

She scoffs. “Please. Hoseok says my music’s amazing.”

“He says that about everything you do," you say with a smile.

She shrugs, casual. “He’s not wrong.”

It’s adorable how hopelessly smitten they are. Even after a year together, Hoseok still looks at Kiara like she hung the stars.

You remember when they finally got together, after years of dancing around it. Everyone in the friend group had seen it coming — everyone except them.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kiara laughs, and you can’t help but join in. For a second, the knot in your chest loosens. Just a little.

"Speaking of Hoseok," you start, glancing over at her. “How come he's not coming with you?”

She sighs. “Shift at work. He tried to switch but his manager’s being a dick. He’ll drive up tomorrow morning.”

You nod. “That sucks.”

She hums in agreement, but you’re already half-lost in your thoughts.

As much as you feel bad for Hoseok, you're quietly grateful Kiara asked you to come with her. The idea of doing this drive alone — just you, a quiet car, and way too much time to sit with everything you haven’t let yourself feel — would’ve made the weight in your chest unbearable.

She hasn’t said much, but she’s always had good timing. Maybe she didn’t even realise how much you needed the company. Or maybe she did.

“Lucky me, I got upgraded,” you say lightly.

She grins. “Damn right you did.”

The playlist switches songs, something soft and nostalgic. You stare out the window again, at the lazy sway of trees and the occasional flicker of a passing car.

“I can’t believe we actually pulled this trip off,” Kiara says, after a beat. “Twelve people committing to anything at the same time? Miracle.”

You nod. “Taehyung’s been talking about it since first year.”

“Yeah, and threatening to disown us if anyone bailed.”

You huff out a small laugh.

Back when this trip was just an idea tossed around during late-night study sessions and half-finished group projects, you'd been genuinely excited — borderline giddy, even. The promise of a full week at a fancy resort with your closest friends had felt like the perfect reward after years of deadlines, breakdowns, and pulling all-nighters on cheap coffee and instant noodles.

It was one of those plans that didn’t feel real at first — the kind of thing you talk about just to survive the semester — but then slowly, it started taking shape. Rooms were booked. Deposits paid. Group chats flooded with outfit ideas and packing lists.

You remember counting down the months, then the weeks. You’d imagined bonfires and inside jokes, sunsets by the water, slow mornings in a warm bed.

Back then, this trip had felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Something to look forward to. Something certain.

Now, you can barely keep the dread from crawling up your throat.

“You sure you’re good?” Kiara asks again, gentler this time.

You blink, pulled back to the present. “Yeah. Just... a lot on my mind.”

Again, she doesn’t push. Just gives you a side glance and says, “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ve got a whole week of sun, overpriced cocktails, and probably at least one group fight. You’ll be fine.”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. I’ll be fine.”

But your stomach’s still a mess, and the name you’ve been avoiding thinking about drags itself right back to the front of your mind.

Jungkook.

You haven’t seen him in a month.

Not since it ended.

And in about an hour, you’re going to be standing under the same roof as him — spending an entire week in the same space, breathing the same air, pretending it doesn’t feel like your insides are still bruised from the last time you spoke.

A small, irrational part of you hopes he won’t show. That something will come up. That he’ll decide it’s not worth it.

But you know him. He’ll be there.

Of course he will.

Kiara says something — probably teasing, probably meant to distract you — and you laugh on instinct. Keep the smile on your face, even as dread pools low in your gut.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

You glance out the window again, the road narrowing in the distance.

Now, a part of you can't stop looking for the nearest exit.

You and Kiara are the first ones to arrive.

She pulls into the sandy lot just off the coastal road, the tires crunching softly over sunbaked gravel before the car settles into park. The air smells like salt and sunscreen, and the soft hiss of waves reaches you even before you open the door.

You step out slowly, blinking against the late afternoon sun. It’s warm but breezy, the kind of weather that clings just right to your skin.

The place looks exactly like the photos Namjoon sent in the group chat months ago — quiet, tropical, and beautiful.

Curved thatched-roof villas nestle into thick palm trees, wrapped around a smooth wooden deck that opens to a private pool. Soft lights glow under the railings, giving the whole place a warm, cosy feel. White umbrellas shade loungers facing the ocean, just a few steps off the deck and onto clean, untouched sand.

Seokjin had pulled a few strings to make it happen — his aunt owns the place, a family-run beachside resort tucked just far enough from the touristy areas that it still feels private. He managed to get the whole property reserved just for the twelve of you for the week. No strangers. No noise from other guests. Just your group, the ocean, and time that doesn’t need filling.

It's quiet. Calm.

You breathe in, hoping the calm will seep into you too. It doesn’t.

Kiara rounds the back of the car and stretches with a loud groan, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. “This is so cute,” she says, scanning the view. “God, I’m so glad we actually made it.”

You nod, eyes skimming the road. She leans against the car beside you, and for a while, neither of you say much.

The parking lot doesn’t stay quiet for long.

Taehyung and Yasmine roll in first, their white SUV kicking up dust as it slides into the spot next to Kiara’s. The engine barely cuts before Taehyung pushes open the door and steps out.

You’re already walking over but he gets to you first, greeting you with a wide boxy smile and outstretched arms. You let him pull you into a warm hug that's just dramatic enough to be on-brand.

Yasmine climbs out slower, adjusting her sunglasses with one hand while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She beams at you, dimples on display.

"God, I haven't seen you in forever," Taehyung sighs as he steps back. "Thought I'd catch you at Ari's birthday but you weren't there."

"I've just been busy."

It's not quite a lie, but not the complete truth either.

"Quite being such a workaholic, yeah? You have all the time to do that once summer ends

Yasmine laughs softly under her breath. “You cannot be talking right now, babe."

You snort as he playfully rolls his eyes.

Yasmine steps forward and pulls you into a hug of her own — tighter, less showy than Taehyung’s, but no less sincere. “We did miss you though. Go MIA on us again and we will track you down,” she says simply.

“I missed you guys too,” you murmur. The smile on your face has started to hurt your cheeks, but you can't stop grinning. It's been too long since you've genuinely felt so content, and the trip hasn't even properly started yet.

A familiar hatchback glides into the lot just as Yasmine and Taehyung pull Kiara into matching hugs, loud and overlapping. You squint into the sunlight, shielding your eyes until you catch the unmistakable sight of Ari behind the wheel — one arm slung casually over the open window.

The sun glints off the gold hoops in her ears, the fine chain around her neck, the chipped red polish on her fingers tapping the side of the door. She parks smoothly with one hand, and a wide smile curls across her features the moment she spots you.

Namjoon climbs out of the passenger seat with a long, slow stretch, like he’s waking up from a nap.

“Finally,” you call out, grinning, arms already out.

Ari steps out and shuts the door with her hip. “Bro, we passed the same creepy fruit stand three times. I was ready to fight the GPS.”

She strides over, pulls you into a hug that’s tight and real. She smells like grapefruit body spray and road trip exhaustion. “God, you’re alive,” she mutters into your shoulder. “I was convinced you bailed.”

You laugh. “I thought you would. You hate driving longer than thirty minutes.”

“Don’t remind me. Namjoon promised vibes and delivered car sickness.”

“I heard that,” Namjoon says, pulling you into a side hug of his own. He’s warm and solid, and his smile is small but real. “Still made it before sunset. That’s what counts.”

“Barely,” you mutter. “Kiara drove.”

“I heard that,” Kiara calls from behind the SUV, dragging her bag out with one hand and an iced tea in the other. “And we didn’t even get lost.”

You’re about to fire back a reply when the loud, familiar hum of a motorbike engine reaches your ears.

The sound hits like muscle memory — instant recognition, not even a second of doubt.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

And still, your body goes tense. You keep your gaze low, focused on the faded scuff mark near the toe of your shoe, but your ears are tuned in with brutal clarity.

The engine cuts.

Then boots hit dirt.

“Hey,” a voice calls out — easy, warm, annoyingly smooth. “Sorry I’m late.”

You finally look up.

Jungkook pulls off his helmet, a lazy sort of grin spreading across his face as he scans the group. His hair’s slightly flattened from the helmet, but it somehow works — messy, effortless, and still irritatingly pretty. He adjusts his shirt with one hand, and the fabric clings to the lines of his chest like it has a personal vendetta against your peace of mind.

He looks… fine.

Normal.

Like nothing’s weird. Like there’s no history. Like he didn’t once hold your heart like it was breakable and then drop it like he didn’t even notice.

“Look who’s finally here,” Namjoon calls, smiling like Jungkook isn’t at all late. “Took you long enough.”

“My bad,” Jungkook says, laughing a little as he walks toward the group. “GPS had me driving everywhere but the correct place.”

He makes the rounds casually — daps up Taehyung, hugs Yasmine and Ari in turn, nods at Kiara with that friendly chin-tilt he always does. When he reaches Namjoon, they exchange one of those quiet, guy-coded, half-shoulder embraces.

And then his eyes flick to you.

For half a second, his smile doesn’t change. It just softens at the edges — subtle, like a reflex.

Your stomach tightens.

“Hey,” he says.

You manage something that feels like a nod. “Hey.”

That’s all. No hug. No small talk. Not even eye contact that lasts longer than it needs to.

He doesn’t push it.

You try to focus on the group again, on Ari saying something about which rooms have outlets, but the back of your neck is hot. You’re not sure if it’s the sun or him or both.

You think that’s it — that maybe you’ll be able to forget he’s even here for a bit — when suddenly, from just across you, his voice cuts in again.

“Oh— I brought that thing you left at my place, by the way.”

You blink. For a moment, you’re sure he’s talking to someone else — but when you look up, he’s already looking at you.

“What?”

“That thing,” he says again, like it should be obvious. “You left it last weekend. I figured you’d want it back.”

Your brain stutters.

Last weekend?

You haven’t been to his place in weeks. You’ve barely even texted since the breakup. You definitely didn’t leave anything there last weekend because you were nowhere near there.

He says it so casually. So matter-of-fact.

You look at him — really look — and for the first time since he arrived, you see something behind the relaxed exterior. It’s quick. Too fast to name. But it’s not nothing.

“What… what are you talking about?” you ask, quietly.

He just jerks his head toward the bike. “C’mere for a sec. I’ll show you.”

And just like that, he’s already turning, walking back toward the motorbike like this is completely normal.

You don’t move at first. You just stand there, frowning, trying to make sense of what he said.

You didn’t leave anything. You know you didn’t.

So what the hell is he doing?

You glance back at the others — still busy, still loud, still completely out of earshot. No one even seems to notice that Jungkook is beckoning you away like it’s just another part of the day.

You hesitate.

Then, against your better judgment, your feet move anyway.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you follow him, the group's voices turning to background noise — laughter, zippers, the thunk of a cooler hitting the ground. Faint but fading.

He stops near the bike, facing away, like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

You take the bait.

“What the fuck are you on about?” you say, sharp, not bothering to soften it.

He turns then. Slowly. His face is tighter now — still calm, but the easy smile from earlier is long gone. There’s something clipped in the way he exhales.

“You didn’t tell them?”

You blink. “Tell who what?”

“The group,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You didn’t tell them we broke up.”

You stare at him.

A breeze cuts through the clearing, rustling the edge of your shirt. You feel it but don’t move. Your brain is still catching up.

“I thought you told them,” you say finally, frowning.

He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. I didn’t. Clearly.”

Your stomach sinks.

You shift your weight, eyes flicking toward the group — still too far to hear, but not far enough to not feel it.

“So,” you say slowly, “you’re telling me… they all still think we’re together?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. He just gives you a look. A quiet, restrained yes.

You blink again, the weight of that landing hard and uneven in your chest. Your thoughts start tripping over each other.

“That’s fine,” you say quickly, stubborn. “I’ll just tell them. I’ll— we’ll clear it up.”

“No,” he says, almost before the words leave your mouth. His tone is firmer now, more certain.

You narrow your eyes. “Why not?”

He looks at you, and for a second, he seems like he’s debating whether to say anything at all.

Then he sighs and leans back slightly, arms crossed.

“Because I’m like eighty percent sure Seokjin’s planning to propose to Haeun at the end of this trip.”

You blink.

“What?”

“He asked me about ring sizes a month ago. And he’s been weirdly nervous in the group chat. You didn’t notice?”

You hadn’t. Or maybe you had and just didn’t register it. You're mind has been hazy for the past few weeks, and the person to blame is standing opposite you.

Jungkook shakes his head like it’s obvious, then gestures vaguely toward the resort. “He’s gonna do it. Probably by the beach. Probably with fireworks or some corny shit. It’s gonna be a big thing.”

You stare at him, arms crossed now too, trying to piece it all together.

“And if we drop this whole breakup bomb now,” he continues, “that’s all anyone’s gonna talk about. Not the proposal. Not the memories. Just… us. Ending.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because he’s not wrong. You know he’s not wrong.

You can already picture it — the weird silences, the whispered side conversations, the heavy tension whenever someone says “remember when—” and then catches themselves. All of it looping back to you two. To what used to be you two.

And Seokjin — the guy who makes toast like it’s a grand gesture, who once cried at a dog food commercial — he doesn’t deserve that. Not on his big moment.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

You look at him again.

And there’s a flicker of something you can’t name on his face. Not smugness, not satisfaction. Just… tired honesty.

Neither of you wanted this.

But here it is.

And now you have to deal with it.

You cross your arms tighter, trying to ground yourself with the weight of them. The sun’s lower now, casting long shadows behind the bike, and you can hear the faint sound of Kiara yelling something, probably about food or wine.

But none of it matters.

Not when your very existence here suddenly feels like a live wire.

You glance at Jungkook again, brows drawn. “Okay… so what are you planning to do?”

He hesitates — just a breath, but you catch it.

Then he gives you a look. One you know too well.

That don’t be mad look.

“...You’re gonna hate me for this,” he says, almost like he’s bracing for impact, “but I think we should just… pretend. For the week.”

Your head jerks back a little, eyebrows raised. “Pretend?”

“Yeah,” he says, quickly, like speeding through it might make it sound less insane. “Just for now. Just until the trip’s over.”

You stare at him like he’s grown another head.

“Jungkook.”

“You already said it — you were gonna tell them anyway, right?” he shrugs. “So you’re not lying, technically. You’re just… delaying.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “We broke up one month ago.”

“Yeah. I know. I was there.”

“And now you want us to pretend that we’re still dating.”

“For one week,” he says, holding up a finger like that somehow makes it reasonable. “We dated for four years. What’s one more week gonna do?”

You blink at him.

Hard.

A part of you still doesn't want to believe that you spent four years in a relationship that ended up leading to nothing. All of your college years spent focusing on you and Jungkook, just for everything to just end so abruptly.

“This is not the same as being together for four years.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You’re actually being serious.”

“I am serious,” he says, voice exasperated. “Look, the rooms are already organised. All the couples are paired up. If we tell them now, we'll have to crash someone else’s setup and that'll just ruin the trip more.”

You hate that he’s thought this through.

You hate even more that he’s not totally wrong.

You groan under your breath, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “God. This is so dumb.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Yeah, well… you did.”

You drop your hands, exhaling hard. Your eyes meet his again. His face is calm, but there is a flicker of tension behind his eyes. Like he’s holding something in. Like this is costing him, too, but he’s choosing not to show it.

You want to fight it. You should fight it.

But then you think of Seokjin’s dumb soft smile, the way he talks about Haeun like she built the stars, and how excited everyone is to be here together.

You can’t ruin that. You won’t be the reason this trip turns into a bad memory.

So you sigh. Heavily. Like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the ground.

“Fine,” you mutter.

You don’t meet his eyes when you say it. You just brush past the stubborn knot in your chest and take a step forward.

Jungkook shifts his weight, then holds out his hand toward you like it’s nothing. Like this is casual. Normal.

“Okay,” he says, almost too breezy. “Hold my hand.”

You blink. “What?”

“C’mon,” he says, like you’re the one being weird. “We’re walking back. We’re gonna act like a couple, or someone’s gonna know something’s up.”

You stare at him.

Because it’s not that he’s wrong. It’s that he said it so simply. It annoys you how easy this seems to be for him — to just pretend to be in love with you again.

It makes you wonder if he had been putting up an act for the entirety of your relationship.

You open your mouth to argue, but then close it again. You guys were never lowkey when you were together. You didn’t do subtle. If you suddenly walk back ten feet apart and barely acknowledging each other, someone will notice. Probably Ari first. She always knows when something is up.

You exhale, slow and resigned.

“God, we were so annoying with the PDA,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jungkook snorts. “Yeah. That’s kinda on us.”

You eye his outstretched hand, hesitate for another second. And then — with every ounce of reluctance you can physically manifest — you slide your hand into his, fingers fitting between his like muscle memory.

He curls his fingers around yours automatically, warm and easy.

Too easy.

You stare at your joined hands for a second longer than you mean to.

It’s ridiculous how fast your body remembers this. How natural it feels — the shape of his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers, the way his thumb always rests along the side of yours without even thinking.

You look away quickly.

Your chest does something strange and quiet, and you shut the door on it before it can speak.

It’s not real. Not anymore.

The sound of tires on gravel cuts through your thoughts.

You glance up just as a car eases around the bend, pulling into the last open spot in the lot. It's Seokjin’s car — you recognise it immediately — and the moment it comes to a stop, the passenger doors swing open in near perfect unison.

Jimin hops out first, stretching like he’s just stepped off a ten-hour flight instead of a two-hour drive. He runs a hand through his blonde locks, a smile enveloping is features the moment he spots you all.

He’s dressed like he put thought into looking effortless — loose tee, chain glinting at his collar, a wrist stacked with bracelets that clink faintly when he moves to grab his bag from the seat.

Yoongi follows behind him, slower, more deliberate. He slings a canvas duffel over one shoulder and shuts the car door loudly.

You watch as they start walking toward the group — Jimin already waving, Yoongi just nodding at someone — and then the driver’s door creaks open.

Seokjin steps out with one hand braced on the roof, blinking against the sun. His shirt’s a little wrinkled from the drive, but his hair is neat, like he smoothed it down at the last gas station stop. He circles the car, pulls open the back door, and starts hauling out bags with a quiet sort of efficiency.

Haeun steps out more carefully, eyes scanning the scenery, one hand smoothing the back of her hair. She adjusts her sleeves, then quietly shuts the door behind her. No big entrance — just a soft, polite smile as she approaches the group a few steps behind Seokjin.

"This isn't bad," Yoongi says, giving the area a once-over as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder.

Jimin grins, throwing a look back at him. “You sound almost impressed.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Just expected more bugs.”

“There will be bugs,” Kiara calls from the trunk of her car, holding up a bottle of bug spray like a threat. “But I brought protection.”

“Of course you did,” Jimin laughs.

Jungkook steps in, releasing your hand briefly to clap Jimin on the back before pulling him into a hug. “Good to see you, dude. You took your sweet time getting here,” he says.

Jimin just grins. “Fashionably late.”

Without looking, Jungkook reaches back for your hand and finds it on instinct, fingers sliding back between yours like he never let go in the first place.

Taehyung slings his hands around Yoongi dramatically, even to his standards. Yoongi lets it happen for about three seconds before grumbling, “You’re clinging.”

“You love it,” Taehyung says, squeezing tighter.

“I tolerate it,” Yoongi corrects, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

Taehyung lets go with a satisfied grin, already reaching for his bag, and Yoongi just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he adjusts his duffel.

Jimin’s halfway through complimenting Haeun — something about how her top matches the sky, or the sea, or maybe both — and she just smiles, quiet and a little bashful, before mumbling a thank you and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Seokjin glances over at the exchange with a faint smile but doesn’t say anything, just lifts something from the trunk with a grunt.

It’s starting to annoy you how in love all your friends are. It feels like the universe mocking you — like every laugh, every shared glance, every easy touch is some private joke you’ve been left out of.

Yasmine resting her head on Taehyung’s shoulder, Namjoon glancing over at Ari every time he makes a joke just to watch her eyes crinkle into crescent moons, Jimin and Yoongi refusing to admit that they like each other despite the constant glances and smiles that everyone notices.

None of it is loud or showy, but it’s everywhere. Quiet affection humming underneath everything.

And the worst part? No one’s doing anything wrong. They're just happy. Which, somehow, makes it worse.

Namjoon scrolls through something on his phone nearby, then looks up just in time to catch Seokjin trying to drag three bags at once.

“You good?” he calls.

“I’m thriving,” Seokjin says, winded. “But I won’t be carrying anything else for the rest of the trip.”

A few laughs ripple through the group. The sun’s dropped just low enough to cast long, soft shadows across the lot, golden waves illuminating against everyone's skin.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, raising his voice just enough to cut through the chatter. “Let’s grab our stuff and head in. Hyung, you've got the keys, right?”

You all look over at Seokjin, who holds the keys up briefly.

Everyone moves back to their own cars, reaching for bags, slinging backpacks over shoulders, tugging at zippers and slapping closed trunks.

You slip your hand from Jungkook’s and head to Kiara’s trunk, digging out your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. When you walk back, he subtly extends his hand toward you — a quiet invitation.

You don’t take it. You just keep walking.

You told yourself you'd only do what was necessary — the bare minimum to make it believable. Holding hands in front of others? Sure. Smiling for the occasional photo? Fine.

But extras, like this — when no one’s watching — felt like the kind of thing that could make you slip up without meaning to.

Ari falls in beside you, and without thinking, you hook your arm through hers, quickly falling into an easy conversation.

Behind you, you faintly hear him sigh.

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[mountainsandmayhem]

Maid Discreetly - Chapter One

Tommy Miller x Female OC - 18+

Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or is this just kinky hot sex with an older man? TW: Reader is a fully described female character, the girl in the mood board is not just for vibes, that person will be described in detail. She's badass though, I wish I was her. Eventual smut and open door scenes featuring sub/dom dynamic. Tommy has a filthy mouth and she's a stubborn brat. The slowest of burns. Warnings for this chapter in small red below the cut. AN: First of all, thank you to everyone who made BDSMaid such a success. I expected 2 people to read it (@mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69) but boy oh boy was I wrong! Thank you @for-a-longlongtime for encouraging me and letting me scream about these two and to @lotusbxtch for being in my corner always. I can't believe Joel Miller's fictional cock brought me so many life long friends xo WC: 3.2k

My Masterlist || Story Masterlist || Joel and Kim

CW: swearing; drinking alcohol; parents just being parents, ya know?; Tommy being a dick

You

It’s silly, and completely self indulgent, but the Greater Austin Business Awards has always been a highlight of your year. It’s an evening full of glitz and glamour, of delicious food cooked by Michelin Star chefs, and golden champagne chilled to perfection. Year after year it’s the perfect evening, your dad or Maid Discreetly usually taking home an award. This year though, it was your mom who was going to be honoured. Just like you, she works at Maid Discreetly, her title though is much more impressive than yours. Tonight, she will take home a beautiful glass plaque, etched with her name right below ‘CFO of the Year’. You didn’t think anything would make the night any more idyllic, and nothing could ruin the evening; that is, until you looked at the list of award winners. When your eyes drifted down the nominees another name caught your eye. Your stomach twisted as you read it over again. Listed amongst five other businesses nominated for their outstanding contributions to environmental impact was Joel Miller, JM Construction. 

Joel fucking Miller, you thought to yourself. The asshole who broke your best friend's heart almost one year ago was going to be in the same room as you. Not only did he break a girl that you thought was shatter proof, he ruined her chances of getting her law degree here, leaving her with no choice but to move to California. You knew the latter of the argument was dramatic; Kim always imagined herself going to Berkeley, but you missed your best friend and her bubbly, and sweet redheaded ways.

You: Voldemort is nominated for an award Kim: Who? You: I refuse to say his name Kim: LOL you’re so dramatic Kim: Don’t do anything to get you kicked out You: Just some light yelling then? Kim: He’s not worth it. I’m fine, and I’ll show him by becoming more successful than him You: You get me all hot when you talk like that! Miss you. Kim: Miss you too, facetime date soon? I gotta go, just getting to the office.

Kim didn’t not say that you couldn’t say anything, so technically you weren’t going against girl code by ripping Joel a new one - lightly, of course. Truthfully, even if she had forbidden it, it’s not in your nature to not defend your friends or family. Growing up you were always encouraged to speak your mind, and tomorrow night was going to be no different; you just have to get Laren to point Joel out to you. 

The next afternoon you meet your mom at the most expensive spa in downtown Austin. This is the aforementioned self indulgent part; your father giving you and your mom his black AMEX and letting you pamper yourselves, not to mention the brand new Chanel dress you bought for the event. You lay on the plush spa bed, your freshly exfoliated, waxed, massaged, and lotioned skin wrapped in a white robe that’s softer than anything you’ve ever felt. The room smells like mint and jasmine, the soothing music washing over you as the aesthetician applies all sorts of lotions to your face. For most, this would be a time to wholly relax, and while every muscle in your body feels heavy, your mind is racing with what exactly you want to say to Joel tonight.

‘Joel? You don’t know me, but I know you. How dare you do that to Kim.’

No, you think to yourself as steam hits your face to open your pores. I really gotta give it to him, make him realize what he fucked up. 

‘Are you Joel? How dare you treat the kindest person in the world that way. I curse the day you were born, fuck face.’ 

Whoa, too mean! You say to yourself. Speaking your mind is natural to you, but being outright mean was never your strong suit. Your last ex was outright awful to you, and where you weren’t afraid to tell him to “fuck all the way off” when he told you that breaking up with him was the dumbest thing you could do, you could never find it in you to attack his character. As if a light bulb goes off, it comes to you. Joel needs your company, not the other way around. 

‘Joel? I just wanted to let you know that if you ever speak to one of my maids again, I’ll have you removed as a client. Not that you care, but Kim’s fine, thriving really, no thanks to you. On behalf of her entire friend group, go fuck yourself. You’re a piece of shit.’

You smile to yourself as your facial comes to an end. The stuffy boomers that frequent these events might not appreciate the swearing, you’ll win them over with your smile and charm though if they overhear anything. As you pad down the hall to the hair stylist and makeup artist waiting for you and your mom, you solidify your plans; once Laren points him out, it’s on. Part of you hope’s he has a date with him, all women should know what kind of man he is.  

“Where’s Laren?” You ask as you and your mom sit at the posh white and gold table close to the stage a few hours later. The giant centerpiece composed of white roses, pearls and greenery in the middle is so tall that you can barely see the person sitting across from you, a string quartet plays from the corner of the space. The ballroom of the hotel has muted beige walls adorned with gold sconces that cast warm light upwards. The crystal chandeliers around the room are on, but kept dim. This could easily be someone’s wedding instead of a business gala.

The strap of your fitted midnight blue dress slips down your arm as you sit. Your mom places it back on your shoulder with one hand, the other holding her third glass of champagne since arriving twenty minutes ago, as she responds, “She’s not coming. Her and your aunt are sick.”

You slump back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. This is going to be nearly impossible now. “Sit up straight, kiddo,” your dad says, his voice soft yet stern. 

“I’m almost twenty five,” you state as you straighten and grab your water glass, hoping the cold liquid will extinguish the rush of frustration that courses through you. Without Laren, none of this can happen. You have access to all of Joel Miller's information; his address, phone number, the credit card number the company charges for his cleaning services too. Everything except his identity. Maybe you could ask your dad to point him out? He would have been the one to get him to sign his contract. 

Your dad settles in the chair on the other side of your mom as you pull out your phone to try to google Joel again. Just as you open your web browser, your dad leans forward, his hand touches your wrist before he speaks. 

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” He says, smiling as your eyes meet his. You force a closed lipped smile back. 

And that right there is why asking your dad is out of the question - always a kid. Even though your business degree hangs on the wall of your office, your dad still sees you as that little girl who cried when he dropped you off at your first ballet lesson. You’ve been working for your dad for about eight years. He hired you at seventeen as a maid, and you’ve worked your way up to where you are now, leading the hiring and training departments, as well as coordinating schedules when clients need added services or maids fall sick. Recently, you took on supervising the procurement department, as well. You’re grateful for every promotion and extra task you’ve been given, but what you really want is to help with the client side of things, to start learning how to be your dad, you just aren’t sure he feels the same way.

You spend dinner glancing around the room, hoping to be able to figure out who Joel is. Truthfully, he could be anyone, this whole space is full of wealthy, handsome older men. You press your full, red stained lips together and excuse yourself from the table. Your nude Prada heels click along the floor as you make your way to the bathroom, and you strain your ears as you pass every table for any mention of Joel. After washing your hands you look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the loose curls of your dark brunette hair that stop just below your shoulders. Your signature winged eyeliner could not have come out more perfect tonight, nor could your staple matte red lip. The clapping of the crowd has you hurrying back to your seat.

You sit on pins and needles as the awards begin, they’re intensified when pictures of each nominee light up the large screen at the back of the stage; win or lose, you’ll know exactly who Joel is now. Butterflies erupt in your stomach when Joel’s category is announced. Pictures of each of the nominees splash across the screen, but when JM Construction is announced it’s just their logo and when Joel doesn’t win you are right back at square one. You down a glass of champagne to wash down the acidic taste of disappointment that lines your mouth. You don’t think you’ve been this dispirited since Santa Claus didn’t bring you the Mia St Clair American Doll in 2008.

Your father presents the award to your mom, and after she dabs at fake tears with her napkin, she hauls you up on stage with her. You feel a cool breeze on the back of your thighs as you climb the stairs, the slit up the back of your pin skirt parting with each step up that you take. Unlike most people, you actually enjoy being in front of groups of people, and the depraved thought that you may have just shown almost all of Austin's most wealthy your ass on your way up the stairs has you fighting a devious smile.

As the awards end, the party begins. You don’t feel like drinking the free wine or champagne, so you head towards the bar. A group of four women meander ahead of you and the urge to push past them is tamed only by the mention of the one name you’ve been trying to catch all evening.

“Yes, same Joel Miller,” the one woman says quietly. “Her husband played poker with him. I heard they had topless waitresses!”

“Clubs like that don’t exist,” says another woman. 

You smile to yourself. You were one of those topless servers, and you know clubs like that definitely exist. You’re devastated for Kim, but so very jealous of what she got to experience at JMKink.

“I’d be divorcing him too, that’s disgusting.” That statement comes from a woman with yellow blonde hair and a cross necklace, you recognize her from an obscenely large family photo that used to hang in one of the homes you used to clean. You also remember her from that time you walked in one time on her and her husband having a threeway with the pool boy. 

The first woman speaks again, “Heathens. I don’t know how that’s legal! And worse, he’s here and getting nominated for awards.”

The fourth woman, who has been surprisingly quiet the entire time finally pipes up. “He is kind of handsome though.”

Her friends look at her like she just said she was going to marry Ted Bundy or something. “What?” She says defensively, “Obviously what he’s doing is gross, but he is a handsome man. I can see the appeal for young, impressionable women.”

“Trash doesn’t mix with class,” the yellow blonde woman, who was being taken to Paris when you walked in on them says.

You outright scoff at their insinuation that Kim was impressionable when really, women like them are the problem. Prudes and hypocrites 

The blonde woman spins to face you. “Do you have a problem?”

“Nope,” you smile at her as her eyes widen in recognition. “Feel like pointing out who this ‘trash’ is, or should I start pointing out ‘trash’, too?” You use air quotes around the word trash, never taking your eyes off her.

It's her turn to scoff now, rolling her eyes. You raise an eyebrow and cock your head at her, silently challenging her. You might not be quick with insults, but you have no issues calling her out, especially since she tried to get you fired, claiming she caught you with the pool boy. Thank god your dad saw right through that and she ended her contract at Maid Discreetly. The few heartbeats of heated silence are broken when she jerks her head towards the corner of the room. 

“Black suit and bowtie, leaning against the doorframe,” she says through gritted teeth.

You follow her gaze, eyes landing on Joel. Without another word you spin towards him and start to walk away from the women. This is it, your moment to tell Joel exactly how you feel. You hate that as you get closer you can see exactly why Kim fell in love with him. Tall and broad, with dark hair and eyes; you’re surprised to see she’d fall for a man with a mustache that full, but he pulls it off in the same way cowboys or Tom Selleck does.

You steel your face, repeating your pre-determined lecture in your mind over and over. The click of your heels draws Joel’s attention, and his eyes burn a trail from your toes to your eyes; him checking you out only pisses you off more. You stop in front of him, despising that even in three inch heels you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. This man looks like the type that can show you a good time, really talk you through it, but before he can get a chance to try to charm you, you poke a perfectly manicured finger into his chest and speak.

“Joel? I just wanted to let you know that if ever speak to one of my maids again, I’ll have you removed as a client. Not that you care, but Kim’s fine, thriving really, no thanks to you. On behalf of her entire friend group, go fuck yourself. You’re a piece of shit.”

His hazel brown eyes dance around your face before he smirks.

This motherfucker!

Tommy

Tommy didn’t want to be here, so much so that he stood on the balcony sipping his bourbon as the awards were called. He only stepped inside when he heard the category Joel was nominated in being announced, and when someone else won he let out a relieved whoosh of air, spun around and went back outside. Every person in his room was just trying to prove who was wealthiest; Tommy probably wasn’t even in the top fifty in this room, where Joel easily would have been top five. That nagging voice in his head kept reminding him that he’ll always be in his older brother's shadow.

The awards wrapped up, and after waving down one of the girls handing out champagne and convincing her to bring him another bourbon, he leaned against the column by the door that led to the balcony. He was calculating his exit, as soon as the crowd around the bar cleared he was high tailing the fuck out of here. 

Before he even knew what was happening, a sharp fingernail jabbed into his sternum as he was getting yelled at. Now he really didn't want to be here, but fuck was this scrappy brunette in front of him pretty. So pretty that he blocked out most of the words that tumbled from her lips as he watched the flush spread across her cheeks and down her long, soft neck. He stopped himself from thinking just how low that blush went down her chest, even though the sweetheart neckline of her dress was like a beacon to her perky breasts. 

He likes a girl with a little fight in her, a girl with confidence and who is unafraid to be herself. This girl, who is currently telling him to go fuck himself, is all of that. Plus, she looks like she walked right out of a 1950’s film; almond shaped green eyes that slowly turn amber as they reach the pupils, full lips painted red, and her pin up style dress that bunches around her curves perfectly. The only thing bringing her into this decade is the slender gold septum ring that sits tight to her slightly upturned nose. 

He can’t help himself but to smirk when you finish chewing him out.

“You got the wrong guy,” he says, lowering his voice to a deep timber before adding a mischievous, “Sweetheart.”

 You step back and he immediately misses the warmth of your body close to his. “Oh…”

He should stop there, let her apologize and get out of here like he planned. Instead, he steps into your space, dropping his face close to yours and whispering. “I’m his brother,” before turning on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking outside.

You shock the hell out of him when you say, “Well you can fuck yourself by proxy then!”

Again, he should stop, let it go, but goddamn he wants to see you all riled up and flustered. He turns back to you, his long legs eating up the distance he created in two strides. His dick revels in the little gasp that passes your lips at his sudden movements.

“You know, sweetheart,” his eyes stay locked with yours, “Your little tantrum would be a lot more believable if you weren’t undressing me with your eyes.” 

He watches as your jaw goes slack and your cheeks flush an adorable crimson. Were you actually just thinking about him naked, or did he just cross a line? Just in case it’s the latter, he prepares himself for the slap he rightfully deserves.

“What? I wasn’t…how do,” you sputter, trying to form a comeback. “You’re disgusting.”

He smiles again before he watches you spin on the balls of your feet. Perfectly manicured toes showing in the peep toe opening of your heels. The angel on his shoulder begs him to stop, but the devil on the other side tracks the way the slit on the back of your dress flashes the back of your olive tone upper thighs, already sun kissed by the exceptionally warm June Austin has been experiencing. 

He clears his throat and then calls after you, “I’m at table twelve if you want to see the real thing.”  

He watches the stutter in your step, hoping that you’ll come back and yell again. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued to your ass as you disappear into the crowd. Not until he can no longer see you does he turn around and go back outside.