#honestly i feel like everyone will hate me for this

[sevsgiirl]

— when i get you alone, it’s so simple.

sevika week 2025: alone with me, day 6.

synopsis: sevika has had it out for you since the start. letting everyone know just how much she hated you and couldn’t stand you, but that didn’t seem to be the case once it’s just you two.

word count: 2.4k

tags: bottom!sevika, top!reader, jealousy, oral sex.

note: happy day 6 of sevika week, y’all !! we’re finally back to some good ‘ol fashion smut. honestly this isn’t my absolute favorite because I currently have a raging headache and wrote this while not feeling my best. but I hope you guys like it regardless <3

sevika can’t stand you.

she can’t stand the sight of you, being in the same room as you - your laugh, your snarky remarks about her age, your impulsiveness in missions. all of it.

a lot of her co-workers like to think she’s just bitter or has a personal vendetta against you that she doesn’t want to disclose when really, the older woman just finds you annoying.

ever since she met you she couldn’t tolerate your egotistical behavior. silco told her to cut you some slack simply because you’re younger, then again she’s worked with people of the same age as you. clearly it’s just your personality that’s the problem.

and honestly, you’ve given up trying to understand why sevika holds a lot of animosity towards you.

at first, it perplexed you because as far as you know, you’ve never done anything to agitate the older woman.

when silco hired you, you just did what you were told. you never talked back to your superiors and you’ve always tried to be as approachable as possible. so really, you don’t get it.

and that’s when it started to get annoying, her blatant hatred towards you. how she doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.

she’s always rolling her eyes at your ideas or walking out of the room whenever you showed up. truth be told, it hurt, because although she was never civilized with you, you at least wanted to get along with her since she was silco’s right hand woman.

she was well respected and feared by many, so getting on her good side would mean a lot - but it’s obvious she never had any intention of letting you get to know her.

so you basically accepted that if she was so hell bent on giving you a hard time, is that you were going to be ten time more insufferable than she was.

and good god, did she hate you for it.

𐙚˙⋆.˚

silco’s had enough.

it was obvious to everyone in the undercity, the last drop and the people that you worked with that the two of you clearly hated each other.

at first, silco didn’t really care just as long as you two got your work done. he had no business interfering with whatever petty squabbles his employees were involved in, but if it meant that it got in the way of your performances, then that’s a whole different story.

it started little by little with you and sevika bickering during meetings, to sending reports to silco’s office saying you didn’t want to be grouped together during assignments, and he dismissed all of it up until one of your fights interfered with one of the missions.

forcing him to sit both of you down like he was scolding a pair of toddlers.

“I only ask is that you focus on your jobs. tear each other’s heads off once you’ve clocked out of your shifts but bringing personal matters at work is simply unprofessional,” he reprimanded.

sevika didn’t dare speak a word as you instantly went into defense mode.

“well, the firelights wouldn’t have destroyed one of the cargos if only she stopped being a know-it-all!” you gestured to sevika who only glared at you “I was told to retrieve the payment but she kept meddling,”

“only because I can’t trust you to get the exact amount right, the last time silco asked you to get it we were short of the actual amount that was needed,”

“by one pound! I told silco to deduct it from my paycheck because it didn’t mean that big of a deal!”

“maybe to you it’s not but it’s little things like this that turn into even bigger problems I have to deal with in the end!”

“oh shut up, you just want an excuse to nag at me because you’re old and bitter!”

“what the fuck did you just say, you little-“

“okay, that’s enough,” silco bellowed as his thunderous voice halted your squabbling.

he rubbed his temples and lets out a groan “I expect both of you to put an end to whatever childish rivalry this is, because if not there will be serious consequences.” he warned, eyes narrowed into slits “understood?”

silence stretched across the room as you nodded your head, meanwhile sevika only huffed before rising from her seat and walked out the room.

causing silco to let out an agitated sigh “and I thought no one can get on her nerves more than jinx,”

𐙚˙⋆.˚

sevika had no intention of waving the white flag, her first resort was to just argue with you less and avoid you like the plague to reduce chances of fights from occurring.

if she were being honest, she didn’t even know why you angered her so much. perhaps the others were right when they said it was the difference in age and experience hence why you two couldn’t get along.

but it’s not like you were actively reckless, sure you had your moments but the only time you let yourself slip was during the payment issue, which was the first and only time you made a mistake yet she hung it over your head constantly.

she could put an end to her vendetta if she wanted to, which was something she debated about while she was lost in thought playing cards at the last drop after silco dismissed the two of you from his office.

trying to stay focused but her mind was elsewhere, specifically you.

it didn’t help when she heard the door open and there you were, strolling in as you signaled thieram to serve you a drink.

her eyes never leaving you as the people in her booth started calling her name “hello? sevika are you there?” which she ignored.

and it stayed on you even until some random girl walked up to you and started chatting you up, making her nerves feel like they were on fire because it’s this. it’s fucking moments like this where she realized she couldn’t stand you.

why she couldn’t stand the sight of you smiling, laughing or having a good time.

and most importantly, why she couldn’t stand the sight of you enjoying the company of somebody else.

god, she couldn’t fucking stand it. how it was so easy for you to approach everyone on your first day except her, and how you had a good word for everyone except her.

how even if she wanted to make amends with you she couldn’t because you act so differently with her.

and she wanted not to care, wanted to let it slide, but the thought of wandering hands sliding down your waist as you let this random chick at the bar chat you up angered her in ways she couldn’t even comprehend.

the next thing she knew, she walked over to you and towered over your smaller frame while you looked up and met her infuriated gaze with a look of confusion.

“sevika, what are you-“

“so it’s like this, huh? after silco told us off and gave us a warning, you’d rather slack off?” she said indignantly as your eyes widened.

you scoffed “well, it’s not like I’m the only one standing here, aren’t? from what I can tell you were playing cards just now.”

“at least I’m not chatting random people up and getting shit faced, aren’t I?”

you were confused at the sudden jab she made at the girl you were talking to, who had basically ran off to god knows where after seeing sevika.

you gawked at her, wondering where the hell all of this was coming from “you can’t be serious. silco told us to get along yet here you are picking another fight with me. seriously, what is your problem? are you so miserable at your job you can’t stand the sight of others having a life outside of theirs?”

“has silco’s missions been too much for you that you can’t go out and have a good time anymore? that’s why you’re taking it out on me?” at this point, you knew you were crossing the line, especially with the way sevika’s jaw ticked and her nostrils flared, but you continued.

“it is, isn’t it? don’t have much time to go to the gardens anymore?” you smirked “all pissed off because you haven’t had a good fuck recently?”

that’s what did it. sevika didn’t expect you to stoop that low and it caught her off guard for a second, but once she collected her bearings she narrowed her eyes at you, both of her fists clenched on her sides.

“everyone…” her voice traveled through the room like lightning and took everybody aback “out!”

they didn’t need to be told twice, scrambling to get out of their seats as fast as possible until it was just the two of you left in the bar. no possible witnesses, no nothing.

yup, you were definitely dying.

she took a dangerous step towards you, making you squirm “sevika, I was kidding-“

“you don’t know how to shut up, do you? all you ever do is piss me off. either by slacking off, wearing your skimpy clothing to work that practically shows off your ass cheeks, and then you’ll go ahead and flirt with random chicks at the bar as if you’re begging for attention.” she punctuated every word, venom dripping off of her tone.

“you beg for everyone’s attention but can’t have the decency to show me respect. always fucking ignoring me. what’s your issue, huh?” it was like a dam broke loose and she couldn’t be bothered to act civilized anymore, a culmination of all her frustrations with you finally bubbling beneath the surface “you’re so fucking obnoxious. it’s like silco hired you just to get on my nerves.

her chest rose up and down as she finished with her ranting, but what she didn’t expect once she was done was for you to be smirking up at her - a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“… I get it now,” you said, your tone quiet but sly “all this time you’ve been bitching at me and it’s not because you actually hate me… but because you want my attention?”

sevika was at a loss for words, trying her best to make a counter argument but all of it died down when your hand found purchase at the front of her shirt and you pulled her closer.

her face now inches away from yours as you stared into her eyes, an allure to your actions.

“you’re mad at me because I give everyone else attention except you?” you mused, your lips brushing against hers as a shiver ran down her spine.

“well, you got me where you want me.” you whispered, a challenge “now we’re all alone,”

you didn’t even give her a moment to react before you captured her lips with your own, pulling her against you so her strong legs trapped yours against the bar as she kissed you back with as much fervor, not even bothering to lie through her teeth or call your bluff. because deep down, she knew you were right.

a small whine slipped past your lips when her hands squeezed the sides of your hips, her body warm and hard against yours as you felt her pelvis grind slightly against your clothed crotch.

you pulled away, all shallow breathing and heavy lidded eyes as you stepped down from the bar stool and kneeled down in front of her.

she stumbled a bit and looked down at you, not quite believing what she was seeing when your nimble fingers started trailing up her muscular legs until it reached her belt loop.

but you stopped, throwing her a doubtful stare and she swore she almost melted.

“I’m not doing this unless it’s something you really want,” you said, and she lets out a shuddering breath before she took the initiative herself and started undoing the leather fastened around her waist.

she unzipped her pants and you were quick to replace her hands with your own, seeing the wet patch that stained her tight boxers as your mouth watered at the sight.

“oh baby…” you purred with a cheeky grin “could’ve just told me all this time this is what you wanted all along.”

you didn’t even give her time to respond, as you pulled down both her pants and her underwear to be greeted by the sight of her brown, puffy folds glistening with her arousal.

she tried to maintain her balance by leaning against the bar, arms clutching the edge until her knuckles turned white as you drew a finger down her slit.

“such a slut for me, sev.” you muttered before you took her pussy into your warm mouth.

her hips bucked as the sensation of your tongue dipping into the tight clutch of her needy hole sent her into a spiral, clutching the edge of the bar for stability but it was no use as she started grinding down onto your tongue in desperate little circles.

the ends of your lips curling up at her needy behavior as you slurped her up, the sounds of her wetness dripping down from your nose to your chin, filling the quiet atmosphere of the bar. her breathy whimpers getting higher in pitch as she began riding your face in earnest.

so desperate for her release as you spread her lips apart and began lapping at her dripping cunt.

“that’s my girl…” you slurred, so pussy drunk as sevika continued using your mouth to get off “just needed to be alone with me so I could fuck the attitude out of you, huh?.”

with that, you slipped your tongue to prod at her clenching hole and her movements stuttered as you clutched the meat of her ass in a tight grip, encouraging her to bounce on your face while you hummed in satisfaction as her slick poured into your mouth like honey.

you brought your hand up and rubbed tight circles around her clit and just like that, she fell apart.

the coil in her stomach instantly snapping as she came with her back arching off the counter, letting out the most obscene moans as your licking and sucking never once faltered, and she rode it out until she began to feel overstimulated.

you pulled away, the bottom half of your face coated with her cum and your pupils so dilated you looked almost animalistic - yet when sevika stared down at you, she couldn’t help but to think to herself how she hasn’t seen anything more infuriating but beautiful at the same time.

“well,” you let out a breathy chuckle, a smirk teasing at the corners of your mouth as you licked your lips “good news for silco is we finally got along, didn’t we?”

[cxvii666]

my man's a dirty talker

more burnout college student bf! hanta sero x reader

mdni 😴

“did you want me to leave these in the fridge? or d’you wanna eat ’em now?”

hanta’s already in the kitchen, arms elbow-deep in a tote bag crammed with leftovers from that bbq. someone denki knew, or maybe someone’s friend’s housemate’s cousin. didn’t matter. denki had screamed free booze through hanta’s phone until he caved, dragging you along while you were still trying to fix your eyeliner.

you’d had fun. more than you expected, honestly. one of those long, stupid chill nights where the speakers are duct-taped to a lawn chair, the firepit’s too hot, the beer’s warm, and it somehow still feels like the best night of the semester. the kind of vibe where everyone’s skin smells like smoke and coconut sunscreen, and hanta had his hand on your back the whole time, always. even when you weren’t standing close.

the crowd was decent. familiar faces from lecture halls and group chats, people whose names you knew in context only. hanta had talked to most of them, the way he always does, easy and effortless and a little too charming for his own good. and still, every time you caught his eye from across the backyard, he smiled like he only cared if you were having a good time.

you dropped denki off an hour ago, the car still stinking of watermelon vape and the awful soundcloud mix he insists on playing when he’s high. hanta didn’t even argue tonight. he just gave you the aux and told denki to shut up and crawl in the back.

he always does small shit like that.

quiet, subtle things that make your chest ache a little. stuff like making his boys jump in the backseat if you're also in the car, always walking street side, always passing you your drink first, giving you a hoodie before you can even say you're cold. a lighter before you’ve even touched your pocket.

he surprised you in the car. pulled out the tupperware with the leftover lamb skewers—the ones you liked. two cans of that weird canned mojito that everyone hated except you. it was dumb. it made your throat feel tight.

now you’re just standing in the doorway, watching him move around your half-clean kitchen, all slow and loose. he’s got one hand in the fridge, the other holding two drinks, and his shirt’s all wrinkled and tugged up at the back. bare feet on tile. hair flopping over his eyes, still smelling like firewood and cheap weed.

“baby?”

his voice drags you out of your staring, low and soft and a little hoarse. you blink. your eyes had been fixed on his hands—how they held the bottle, the easy grip, the carefulness.

his hands. those fucking hands.

hands that have held your face while you cried. hands that rubbed your back through the worst hangover of your life. hands that carried your tote bag all day like it was nothing.

his knuckles tap against the counter, sharp, and you flinch.

“you feeling okay, sweets?”

he turns to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded, bloodshot and lazy from the tail end of a blunt you’d both shared in someone’s weird-ass hammock earlier. his hair’s a mess. his mouth is pink and soft, a little chapped. he looks tired—in that warm, sunburnt, overstimulated way—but still so stupidly pretty it hurts.

you take the water when he offers it. your fingers brush. he watches you closely.

then he smirks. not big. not loud. just enough to twist something inside your ribs.

you don’t answer.

and he knows.

“oh… i see,” he hums, and it’s so smug, so unbearably cocky, like he just caught your hand in your pants.

your back hits the wall as he steps in. still not touching. his arms hang low, sleeves bunched at his elbows, the shape of his body all angles and slouch and sleepy menace. head tilted. that knowing look in his eyes like he already knows what you’re about to say, and he’s just waiting for you to beg it out.

he doesn’t move.

you’re about to combust.

“are we gonna stand here all night?” he murmurs, voice just above a whisper. “thought you wanted to watch that new episode of—”

you cut him off with your mouth. drag him down by the front of his shirt and kiss him like you’ve got something to prove.

he laughs into it, all low and breathless, one of his hands dragging lazy up your spine. the other finds your waist, then your thighs. he palms the soft curve of them like he’s holding something precious. like it’s not the hundredth time. like it’s still a thrill.

you bite his neck and he makes this sound, this soft, breathy groan that makes your stomach drop.

“what, no words, sweet thing?” he teases into your ear. “that party wore you out that bad?”

you shake your head, breath hitching as his thumb grazes under your shirt, warm and calloused and maddeningly slow.

“y’know,” he mumbles, lips brushing your jaw, “i’m not really into the choking thing.”

“s'fine,” you gasp, pressing your hips up into his. “just want your—your—”

he raises a brow, his grin going sharp.

“my hands?” he says, like he’s mocking you. his other hand’s trailing slow, pointless circles above your collarbone. “that what you want, baby?”

you nod fast, swallow thick. he pouts, faux-sweet, teasing.

“you gonna ask nicely?”

“hanta,” you whimper.

“hanta,” he repeats in a high-pitched voice that doesn’t even sound like yours, laughing as you twist his ear between your teeth.

and then—

his finger brushes your bottom lip.

you freeze.

his eyes narrow. you part your mouth. he slides two fingers in—pointer and middle—without saying anything else, and you take them. immediately. like instinct.

his breath catches. his pupils blow wide.

“fuck,” he mutters. “my girl’s so nasty. look at you. fuckin’—fuck.”

his fingers play with your tongue. your lips wrap around them, slow, messy. he watches like he’s trying to memorize it. you grind your hips against him, desperate now, soaked through your underwear and buzzing from the way he’s just looking at you like this.

his other hand finally slips beneath your waistband, slow and smooth and deliberate.

you whine when his knuckles brush against your heat, when he swears under his breath like he’s not expecting you to be this wet.

“jesus,” he mutters. “you been like this all night?”

you nod around his fingers.

“for me?” he breathes.

you nod harder.

“goddamn,” he grins, curling those thick fingers inside you, slow at first, then meaner when you shudder against the wall. “so fuckin’ perfect. my girl’s so pretty when she’s needy like this.”

you try to talk, try to do something, but he hushes you with his fingers still in your mouth.

“nah. don’t speak. just feel me, yeah?”

and he’s knuckle-deep now, his thumb working soft circles over your clit, his fingers dragging against that spot that makes your knees shake.

your back arches. your jaw goes slack. spit leaks past the corners of your mouth and he moans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“so good for me, always,” he mutters, thumb pressing down harder. “can’t even wait ‘til the bed, huh? gotta fuck you right here. in the kitchen. s’that what you wanted?”

you let out a broken noise, a half-nod, half-plea.

his fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop. you barely get a breath in before he’s lifting you onto the counter, dragging your shorts off like they offended him.

he kneels.

and then he says, all sweet and cocky, looking up at you with that smug grin:

“be a good girl and hold on, yeah? lemme show you how much i missed you tonight.”

you barely register the sound of your shorts hitting the floor before he’s kissing the inside of your thigh, all slow and unhurried, his palms keeping your legs spread like it’s nothing. like he owns this. like you’ve always been his to touch like this.

his nose brushes the soft skin right next to where you want him most, and you twitch. his breath is hot. steady.

he grins into your thigh.

“sweet girl’s already shaking,” he murmurs, lazy and fond, his voice way too soft for what he’s doing. “can’t even wait, can you?”

you whine, your fingers already in his hair, tugging like you’re begging without saying a word.

“shhh,” he coos, kissing up, up, almost—and then not. “i got you, baby. i got you. just lemme take care of you.”

and fuck, when his tongue finally hits you, you actually whimper. legs instinctively try to close, but his grip gets firmer, thumbs digging into your skin in that perfect way that says he’s not going anywhere. not until he’s had his fill. not until you’re twitching around his mouth, begging him to stop even though you don’t mean it.

he eats you like he’s missed it. like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all day. licking long, slow, teasing stripes at first, then flattening his tongue and dragging it through you like he’s savoring it.

and the sounds—god, the fucking sounds he makes.

soft, greedy little moans against your pussy. gasping against you when you tug his hair. groaning when you grind your hips against his mouth like you’re losing your mind a little.

he pulls back just long enough to look up at you, his mouth shiny, lips wet, eyes dark and hooded.

“fuckin’ love this pussy,” he breathes, like he’s overwhelmed. “so soft. so sweet. fuck, you taste so sweet, baby. always do.”

your breath stutters. you’re trying to respond, trying to say something, but all that comes out is a gasp when he spits on your cunt and licks it back up with a groan like it’s divine.

“so pretty like this,” he mumbles, right against your clit now, tongue moving faster. “my pretty girl. always so fuckin’ good for me.”

you’re getting close. already. embarrassingly fast. you try to tell him, but your voice breaks and your fingers just tug harder on his hair.

he knows. of course he knows.

“mm, yeah? that close already, baby?” he purrs, tongue flicking faster. “go on, then. come for me. wanna taste you. wanna feel you fall apart just for me.”

and you do.

it crashes over you, sharp and warm and dizzying, your whole body trembling as he moans into your cunt, licking you through it like he’s starved. you try to pull away, too sensitive, but he keeps going until you’re gasping, thighs twitching, mumbling his name like a prayer.

“hanta, hanta, please—fuck, please—”

he finally pulls back, face flushed, lips wet and curved into the filthiest grin.

he kisses your thigh once more, then stands—towering over you again, hair a mess, mouth swollen, breath uneven.

“you okay, baby?” he asks, voice gentler now, his hand brushing your cheek like you didn’t just come all over his face two seconds ago.

you nod, a little dazed.

he kisses you soft, open-mouthed and slow. you taste yourself on his tongue and groan into it.

“still want more?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to search your eyes.

you nod again, this time quicker. more desperate.

“words, baby.”

“want you,” you gasp. “need you inside. right now.”

his eyes go dark again.

he cups your jaw with one hand, the other already sliding his sweats down enough to free himself, and god—he’s hard and flushed, already leaking, already twitching against your thigh. he grinds against you, slow and teasing, dragging the tip through your slick folds until you shudder and nearly sob.

“fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he mutters. “s’like you’re made for me, baby. every time. every single fuckin’ time.”

you try to roll your hips, but his hands pin you down.

“ah, ah—lemme in first,” he teases, voice wrecked. “i’ll give it to you, don’t worry. just gotta feel you clench around me first.”

and when he pushes in—

fuck.

it’s slow, deliberate, filling. you stretch around him in that perfect, aching way that makes your eyes roll back. he curses under his breath, head falling forward to press into your shoulder.

“shit, baby,” he gasps. “so fuckin’ tight. always so tight for me. how do you do that?”

you can’t answer. not with the way he’s fucking you now—deep and slow and so goddamn good it knocks the air out of your lungs.

“love this,” he mutters into your skin. “love this pussy. love this body. love you.”

his words are spilling now, soft and filthy and so real it makes your heart clench.

“my girl. my sweet, dirty girl. always so good to me. always let me have you like this.”

you’re shaking again. you’re close again.

“you gonna give me another one?” he whispers, biting at your neck. “hmm? can you do that for me, pretty?”

“yes—fuck, yes, hanta—”

his hips snap harder, fingers digging into your waist.

“yeah, that’s it,” he groans. “c’mon, baby. give it to me. wanna feel you fall apart again. wanna feel you cum around my cock, yeah?”

you do.

you break apart on him, mouth open in a silent cry, and he fucks you through it, gasping your name like it’s sacred.

and when he comes—it’s messy. drawn out. his hips stuttering, his voice rough, his body curling around yours as he spills into you.

you both just sit there, clinging. panting. wrecked.

and then he leans in and kisses your forehead like he’s trying to reset your heartbeat.

“jesus,” he whispers. “you’re gonna kill me one day, baby.”

you laugh, breathless and dazed.

he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder.

“worth it,” he adds, smiling like a man absolutely down bad.

[scarletwinterxx]

pull up - hong joshua imagine

i had soooo much fun writing this🥺 like it's sooo joshua coded i hope you get what I mean when you read it, also it's been a while since i wrote a joshua fic. lowkey gatekeeping the fluff bcs he's my bias but also i want everyone to feel what i feel while i was writing this so hope you enjoy🤍

ALSOOOOO while writing this, i had two songs i felt was perfect for this. Kinda helped me with the vision. It's I Really Like You bu Carly Rae Jepsen and goodnight n go by Ariana Grande.

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

for my other svt fics, check them here

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

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You notice him on a Tuesday.

Which is strange, because Tuesdays are usually your most half-hearted gym days. Mondays are for fake enthusiasm. Wednesdays are for convincing yourself you're halfway through the week and therefore invincible. But Tuesdays? Tuesdays are for regretting all your life choices while trudging on a treadmill and pretending not to hate everyone around you.

But then he appears.

Tall. Built like someone who owns multiple foam rollers and actually uses them. His hair is tousled in that “I totally woke up like this but in an expensive shampoo commercial way,” and his eyes—oh God, his eyes—are these wide, soft things, like they were stolen from a Disney deer. If Bambi decided to bulk up and develop a jawline.

You try not to stare. You fail.

He doesn’t look like a brooding gym type. No aggressive grunting. No primal chest thumps. No mirror selfies. Instead, he quietly sets up at the far corner near the free weights, earbuds in, hoodie on despite the heat. Private, maybe. Or shy. Or both.

You spend longer than you'd like to admit trying to figure out if he's intimidating or just doesn’t like people.

There's a difference, you think. Intimidating guys usually flex unnecessarily and wink at you when you’re just trying to do lunges without dying. This guy? He barely makes eye contact with anyone. When someone walks too close to his bench, he politely scoots over without making a fuss.

It's almost disappointing.

Because if he was a jerk, you could just write him off and move on with your life.

But no. Instead, he has the audacity to stretch quietly in the corner with perfect posture and soft eyelashes and forearms that look carved out of daydreams. Who even looks like that at your local gym? This isn’t Hollywood.

And you, meanwhile, are pretending to know how to deadlift properly while sneaking glances like you're trying to memorize the periodic table. You are not slick.

At one point, he catches you mid-glance, and for a brief, painful second, you both hold eye contact.

Your brain short-circuits.

You do the only logical thing and immediately look away like you've just remembered an urgent errand in the opposite direction. Possibly in another country.

You spend the rest of your workout way too aware of his presence. Like he’s gravity and your body is betraying you by orbiting around him.

You leave the gym sweaty, confused, and very annoyed with yourself. You don’t even know his name.

But you’re definitely going to find out.

=

A few days later and you’re at the gym again..

You're not proud of it, but you're here standing in front of a very complicated-looking machine that has too many pulleys and not enough labels. You've never used it before. You don’t even know its name. 

Chest press? Lat pulldown? Mid-life crisis simulator?

Honestly, you just got bored of the StairMaster. Your usual routine suddenly felt repetitive… or maybe it just felt less interesting now that he’s become part of your peripheral gym experience.

And hey, maybe it’s time to switch it up. Be spontaneous. Try new things. Be mysterious and well-rounded.

You immediately regret it.

Because you’ve been standing here for a full minute pretending to “study the mechanics” of this cursed contraption, while mostly just staring at the diagram like it’s written in ancient Sumerian. There are straps. Levers. Pins. Maybe even a hidden booby trap?

You tug at one handle, and it clonks loudly against the frame, echoing across the gym like the sound of your pride imploding.

And then—

“You, uh… planning to fight it or use it?”

The voice is soft, warm—teasing without being mean. Like maple syrup with a smirk.

You freeze. Your brain goes completely silent.

Because it’s him.

And God, he’s even better up close. There’s this effortless softness to him, like he’s not trying to be charming but it just… leaks out of him naturally. Like an accidental flirt. A boy-band heartthrob doing errands.

You laugh, but it comes out weird and high-pitched, like you’ve swallowed helium and regret all your life choices.

“I’m, uh. Studying it. For science.”

He grins, bright and immediate, like you’ve said the most charming thing ever. “Well, if you figure out how to make it time travel, let me know. I think it's supposed to be a row machine. Or a medieval torture device. Could go either way.”

“So,” he continues, still smiling, “want a hand? Or do you prefer to risk dislocating something for the thrill of it?”

You blink. “I mean… I do like to live dangerously.”

He chuckles, then steps closer. “Dangerous is not knowing which pin to pull and just yanking stuff randomly. Let me show you.”

You do your best to stay calm while he casually leans over, adjusting the weights, pulling one of the pins like it’s nothing. His arm brushes yours and it’s electric. Not in a dramatic, soul-bonding way—just enough to make you forget your own name for a second.

“There,” he says. “Now you just sit here, pull this toward your chest. Keep your back straight, don’t yank.”

You nod, fully intending to listen.

You will absolutely not remember a single word of that.

He steps back, giving you space, but that soft smile lingers like a secret between you. “You got this. I’m Joshua, by the way”

You quickly mumble your name back, then look at the equipment again

“Damn,” you say. “Guess I’ll have to actually work out now.”

He starts to walk away, then glances over his shoulder. “If you survive this thing, I’ll be impressed.”

You don’t say anything back. Mostly because your brain still hasn’t rebooted.

But your heart is definitely doing wind sprints.

After the brutal set you tried to finish, you grab your water bottle, stealing one last glance his way. He’s still watching.

You take a long sip of water, trying to ignore the way your pulse is very much not calming down. It’s not the workout. It’s not the row machine. It’s definitely not the totally casual conversation with the gym’s most charming human.

You glance back at him, and that teasing glint is still there, like he’s waiting for a comeback.

So you give him one.

“I’m gonna get you back,” you say, capping your bottle. “Just you wait until you try the StairMaster.”

He snorts. “Is that a threat?”

“Oh, absolutely. That thing humbles even the cockiest of men.”

He groans dramatically, head dropping back against the bench. “Ugh. Not the StairMaster. That thing is evil in mechanical form.”

You gasp, mock offended. “You take that back.”

“I won’t. It’s unnatural. No human should ever climb stairs endlessly to nowhere. It's a trap.”

You grin, arms crossed. “Spoken like someone who’s never reached the top.”

He squints at you suspiciously. “There’s no top. That’s the whole scam. It just keeps going until your legs give out and your soul leaves your body.”

“That’s where the character-building happens.”

“That’s where the near-death experience happens.”

You walk past him toward the water fountain, tossing a smirk over your shoulder. “Someday, Joshua. I’m gonna catch you on it. And when I do, I’ll be right there. Watching.”

He laughs, low and warm. “If that day comes, I expect emotional support. And probably an ambulance.”

“Nope,” you call back. “Only judgment.”

“Brutal.”

You glance at him again as you turn the corner. He’s still looking, shaking his head, that smile spreading slow like he’s already thinking about what he’s going to say next time.

And you? You’re definitely planning what machine to “accidentally” use wrong next.

=

A few days later, you’re back.

Same gym. Same playlist. Same questionable protein shake sloshing around in your stomach.

You’ve already stretched, done your usual warm-up, and for some reason—maybe it’s the memory of a certain pair of bambi-eyes watching you flirt with death on the row machine—you find yourself standing in front of the pull-up bar.

Just staring.

It stares back. Cold. Unforgiving. Judgy.

You’ve never really attempted it. You know you have the upper body strength of a sleepy cat. The last time you even tried, you managed one and a half reps and pulled a muscle in your neck that made it look like you were perpetually trying to dodge an awkward hug.

But today… today you’re thinking about it.

And thinking about it is basically halfway to doing it, right?

You clap your hands like you’re about to do something epic. Then you hop up, grab the handles, and immediately regret all your choices.

You get one. One clean pull-up, arms shaking, face doing things that definitely aren’t attractive.

The second one? You try. God, you try.

Halfway up, your arms begin to betray you. Your legs flail in a pathetic attempt to help. Your body says “absolutely not” and your pride goes down with you. You hang there, a weird little noodle of a human, wondering if there’s a graceful way to descend without collapsing completely.

“Alright,” a voice says behind you, amused. “Now that’s bravery.”

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Don’t,” you groan. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

Joshua’s laugh is warm and merciless. “I wasn’t gonna say anything! Just… observing. You know. For science.”

You drop down from the bar and turn to face him, breathless, cheeks burning, arms already sore.

“You’re stalking me,” you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Hey. You were the one declaring StairMaster vengeance. I came to see if you were plotting.”

“Plotting,” you huff. “Right. Clearly I’m too busy being an upper-body icon.”

“Iconic,” he nods solemnly. “In the way baby goats are iconic for trying to jump and immediately falling over.”

You glare, but it’s only half-hearted. “Wow. First, sarcasm coach. Now personal trainer and comedian.”

“I contain multitudes,” he says, then glances up at the bar. “You almost had that second one though.”

You raise a brow. “You’re lying to make me feel better.”

“I’m lying to make me feel better,” he grins. “Because if you get better at this stuff, you’re gonna be way too powerful.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “Well, if I mysteriously vanish, check under the StairMaster. That’s where I hide all my victims.”

Joshua tilts his head, considering. “Dark. Unexpected. I like it.”

You’re just about to make some kind of witty escape when Joshua says it.

“Come on,” he nods toward the pull-up bar. “I’ll spot you.”

You blink. “You’ll what now?”

He’s already walking over, casual like it’s no big deal, like this isn’t a defining moment in your emotional history.

“Spot you,” he says again, glancing back at you with that stupidly gentle smile. “So you don’t fall to your dramatic death after one and a half pull-ups.”

You try to laugh. It comes out as more of a nervous wheeze.

“Very heroic of you,” you manage, eyeing the bar like it personally wronged you.

He shrugs, standing just under it now, hands flexing like he’s warming them up. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

You stare at him. At the way his shirt clings to his shoulders. At the veins in his arms. At the way he’s looking at you like this is casual. Normal.

It is not normal. You try to be cool. You try to be composed. But your body? Your body has completely abandoned the plan.

Because now you’re walking toward him. Slowly. Automatically. Like some magnetic force is pulling you in.

You step under the bar. He’s standing right behind you now, close but not too close. His hands lift, hovering for a second like he’s giving you a chance to back out.

You don’t.

And then—

His hands land gently on your waist.

It’s a soft, grounding touch, not too firm, but very present. Your breath catches.

This is fine, you tell yourself.

This is so not fine. Your brain screams.

“You good?” he asks, voice quiet now. There’s something softer in his tone, like he knows exactly what he's doing to your internal system and is pretending he doesn’t.

You nod, eyes fixed on the bar above. “Yep. Good. Great.”

“You're gonna pull up, and I’ll just support your hips a little. Let you push through it without dropping.”

You manage a strangled “cool” and grab the handles, arms already shaking from the sheer adrenaline surging through you.

You pull.

It’s not perfect. Not clean. Your arms scream and your legs do a weird little kick at the end. But you make it. Higher than before. Controlled.

His hands steady you the whole way up—and then guide you gently back down.

“See?” he murmurs near your ear. “Told you. You got this.”

You’re pretty sure your heart is doing backflips. Loud, panicked backflips. You let go of the bar, drop to the floor, and immediately step away like physical distance might help your brain reset.

Spoiler: it does not.

Joshua’s grinning again, hands back at his sides, like he didn’t just ruin your ability to form coherent thought.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to sound chill and not like you’re about to collapse into a puddle.

“Anytime,” he says easily. “You let me know when it’s StairMaster Day. I’ll be there.”

You almost say something flirty. You almost say you already are.

But instead, you toss him a half-smile and mumble, “Better start working on your cardio.”

And then you walk away. Quickly. Before you combust right there in front of the pull-up bar.

The second your front door closes behind you, you're already pulling your phone out of your bag with shaking hands. You don’t even kick off your shoes. There are more important matters at hand.

Like the fact that Joshua Hong just touched your waist and told you you got this in a voice that should be illegal in public gyms.

You hit Nayeon’s contact. She picks up before the second ring.

“What.”

You skip hello entirely.

“GUESS WHAT.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “Oh my god. Did you finally throw a dumbbell at that guy who grunts like a mating walrus?”

“What? No—focus. I—Joshua. Joshua was at the gym.”

A dramatic gasp. “Bambi guy?!”

“Yes. And he spotted me. Like, hands-on-me, spotted me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was lying. He offered, I blacked out emotionally, and then I walked toward him like some possessed gym siren. And then—wait for it—his hands were on my waist.”

Nayeon lets out a long, satisfied scream that you have to pull your phone away from your ear for.

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly. “You touched souls and you’re casually calling me like it’s a weather update?! How was it?! What did it feel like?! Did your body leave your spirit plane?!”

You collapse onto your couch, still not fully recovered. “It felt like… like my brain stopped working but in a good way? Like the kind of malfunction where you’re aware something deeply unprofessional is happening to your heart rate?”

“I’m so proud of you. You’ve officially entered RomCom Phase Two: The Accidental Intimate Contact.”

You groan. “It wasn’t even that intimate! It was… I don’t know. Friendly. Gym-friendly.”

“Did he look you in the eyes like he knew you were about to internally combust?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Did he say something in a voice that made you question your ability to speak?”

“...Yes.”

“Then congratulations,” Nayeon says smugly. “That boy is flirting. Lightly. Respectfully. But definitely.”

You flop backward, one hand over your eyes. “I said you better start working on your cardio and then walked away like I didn’t want to collapse in a corner and scream into my towel.”

Nayeon howls. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m putting it in my will.”

You’re quiet for a second, smiling up at your ceiling like it just told you a secret.

“He really is nice,” you murmur.

“I bet he is,” Nayeon says. “But let me know when he touches your waist again. I’ll bring confetti.”

=

You’re half-awake, phone in one hand, tote bag slipping off your shoulder, and every ounce of your remaining energy focused on surviving the Monday morning café line. The air smells like roasted beans and too much cologne, and you’re two seconds from ordering the largest iced americano known to man.

The barista gives you the tiniest smile and asks, “What would you like?”

“Iced americano, please,” you say in a daze, already pulling out your card, head down, ready to tap and shuffle off like every other caffeine-dependent adult.

But then—

A hand slides in next to yours. Card first.

And a voice, soft but teasing: “I got it.”

You freeze. Look up.

Joshua.

In a hoodie and cap pulled low, like he’s trying not to be recognized—but there’s no mistaking him. Not when he’s standing right there, grinning like this is normal. Like this is not the second time he’s absolutely obliterated your nervous system in public.

Your brain short-circuits.

“Wait—what—are you—what are you doing here?”

He tilts his head. “Getting coffee. What are you doing here? Practicing your dramatic gasp?”

You blink. “How did you even—?”

“I saw you through the window,” he says, gesturing casually over his shoulder. “Recognized the tragic posture.Thought, hey, she probably needs caffeine and emotional support.”

“You didn’t have to pay for me.”

Joshua shrugs, already sliding his card back into his wallet. “Consider it a reward. For surviving the pull-up bar. And for not actually passing out while I spotted you.”

You squint at him. “So this is payback.”

“Exactly,” he says, eyes crinkling. “Also, I owed you for the StairMaster threats. This is safer.”

You step aside so the next customer can order, taking your receipt with numb fingers. “You are dangerously charming, you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” he says, walking with you to the pickup counter.

You eye him sideways. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really,” he says, then glances at you. “Maybe I will now.”

And just like that—there it is again. That look.

The light, flirty, annoyingly smooth look that says he’s enjoying this way too much. That he’s already planning his next move.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot. Your name gets called. You grab your drink. He grabs his.

And then he leans in just a little, low enough that you can feel the warmth of his voice when he says, “You still owe me one StairMaster session, by the way.”

You take a long sip of your coffee just to avoid answering.

But the blush creeping up your neck?

Yeah, he definitely sees it.

You both step out of the café, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft ding. The morning air’s brisk but not cold, sunlight just beginning to slip between buildings, painting the street in soft gold.

Joshua falls into step beside you, sipping his coffee like this is some everyday thing. Like the two of you didn’t just share a casual rom-com scene inside a café.

He glances at you. “Heading to work?”

You nod, clutching your cup a little tighter. “Yep. You?”

“Yeah,” he says, then gestures down the opposite sidewalk. “That way.”

You look in the direction he points. Opposite of yours.

Of course.

You both pause on the corner. People stream around you—students in uniforms, office workers, ahjummas with shopping bags—but there’s a strange little pocket of quiet that hovers around you two.

You shift your weight. “So… different directions.”

Joshua nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Tragic.”

You laugh lightly. “Life’s tough.”

“For now,” he says, watching you over the rim of his cup. “But hey, I still owe you cardio humiliation. I’ll find you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Emotionally? No. Physically? Also no. But for you?” He leans in just slightly, eyes sparkling. “I’ll suffer.”

You snort, trying not to let your entire face betray you. “What a romantic.”

He grins. “It’s in my nature.”

The crosswalk signal chirps. You both glance at it, then back at each other.

You step backward slowly, toward your side of the street. “Okay, go be mysterious and productive or whatever it is you do.”

“And you,” he says, pointing with his cup, “go be chaotic and competitive. Just… don’t fall off anything.”

You flash him a final grin, walking backward a few more steps. “No promises.”

=

It’s been a week. Seven full days. Four gym sessions. Not that he’s counting. (He is absolutely counting.)

Joshua had figured maybe you were switching up your schedule. Or taking a break. Or plotting your next slow-burn attack on his cardiovascular endurance. But by day five, when you still hadn’t walked through the gym doors in your usual comfy hoodie and defiant energy, he started to feel… something.

Nothing dramatic. Just… He kind of missed seeing you.

Not in a we should talk about our feelings kind of way. More like a where did the chaos go? way. The gym felt weirdly quiet without your teasing, your grumbling, your almost-impossible pull-ups.

So when he drags himself to the café after his morning run the following week, hoodie damp with sweat and music still playing in one earbud, he’s not expecting much more than caffeine and maybe a bagel if the world is kind.

What he doesn’t expect is to hear the bell chime behind him and your voice.

“Ugh, finally. I swear this place is the only thing getting me out of bed lately.”

He turns before he can even stop himself. There you are—messy bun, oversized sweater, tired eyes, and all. You don’t see him at first, too busy mumbling something to yourself about how oat milk better not be sold out again.

He smiles. And waits.

Then you glance up, catch him standing near the pickup counter, and blink like your brain needs a second to register.

“Oh—hey!”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the girl who ghosted the gym.”

You smirk, stepping into line. “Excuse me. I did not ghost. I was temporarily out of commission.”

He leans an elbow on the counter, coffee in hand, grinning. “So mysterious.”

You sigh dramatically. “Cramps were killing me. Girl things. War zone. You wouldn’t survive.”

Joshua chokes a little on his sip.

You laugh at his expression. “What? You asked.”

“I didn’t ask for that mental image,” he says, shaking his head, amused.

“I gave it anyway,” you say brightly, stepping up to order. “That’s what I do. I give.”

He watches you place your order, then swipes his card before you can reach for your own.

“Again?” you protest.

“Call it a welcome back gift.”

You squint at him. “You’re trying to train me like a puppy. Every time I show up, you give me treats.”

“Is it working?”

You pause. Then grin. “Maybe.”

You both wait for your drinks at the end of the counter, shoulders brushing just slightly in the morning rush.

He tilts his head toward you. “You coming back to the gym this week?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Tomorrow, probably. I’ve got rage to burn and stairs to climb.”

His smile widens. “Music to my ears.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just looks at you over his coffee lid.

“Wouldn’t survive a war zone,” he says. “But yeah. I kinda did.”

You swear you played it cool.

You smiled. You sassed. You walked out of that café with your dignity intact and your coffee in hand like someone who has not been emotionally steamrolled by a boy in a hoodie.

But the second you slid into the booth across from Nayeon at lunch, all bets were off.

You didn’t even wait for her to finish her first bite.

“I’m losing it,” you whisper-shriek, leaning across the table like you’re confessing a federal crime.

Nayeon blinks. “Hi? Good to see you too?”

“No, listen. He was at the café again. Joshua. After his run. Sweaty. Hoodie. Smiling. Paid for my coffee again.”

She gasps, already putting down her chopsticks. “Did he say something flirty?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “He said he missed me.”

Dead silence. Then Nayeon slaps the table so hard the metal chopsticks clatter. “YOU’RE DATING.”

“We are not dating,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “We’re flirting. Lightly. Slowly. Like… like an air fryer setting.”

“Okay, so when’s the wedding?”

You groan, sliding down in your seat. “I panicked. I made a girl-things joke and then elbowed him. Elbowed. Him.”

“I mean, that is your version of affection.”

You cover your face with your hands. “And now? Now I have to go back to the gym. Where I used to look like a sleep-deprived raccoon. And now I have to… I don’t know, try.”

Nayeon grins like the devil. “Oh? Someone’s thinking about their gym fit now?”

You peek through your fingers. “I literally bought new leggings this morning. I googled cute-but-functional ponytail styles.”

She clutches her heart. “You’re in deep.”

You nod solemnly. “Drowning.”

“You know what this means, right?” she says, sipping her soda. “You’re officially entering RomCom Phase Three.”

You raise a brow. “Which is?”

She smirks. “The ‘oh no, I actually care how I look around him’ phase. It's fatal.”

You sigh dramatically and stab a piece of kimchi. “Send flowers to the old me. She didn’t contour for cardio.”

Nayeon lifts her glass in salute. “To gym crushes and unexpected motivation.”

You clink her glass with yours, already plotting tomorrow’s playlist and wondering if there’s a subtle way to make “accidentally” run into Joshua without… you know… trying.

=

You walk into the gym like it’s just another day. Just another normal, totally-not-overthought, not-at-all-strategically-timed workout.

You’ve got your hair up in a ponytail that took two tries, a matching set you absolutely didn’t panic-buy during a midnight scroll, and your face set in what you hope is a calm, effortless expression.

Internally? Screaming.

You head over to the mats to warm up, muttering to yourself like you always do. It’s kind of your thing. Mostly because talking through your workouts distracts you from the sheer indignity of physical effort.

"Okay. Back. Finally. Time to prove I can still do a crunch without crying. Just twenty reps. Or ten. Or like... four. Let’s not be ambitious."

You drop into a stretch, huffing as your hamstrings scream at you.

"See, this is what happens when you let your uterus bench you for a week—your body turns into string cheese."

Then a voice behind you, smooth and slightly smug. 

“String cheese, huh? That’s a new one.”

Your soul leaves your body. You whip around, nearly falling sideways out of your stretch.

Joshua is there. Hoodie slung over his shoulder. Hair a little damp. Sweaty in the way that looks criminally good on him. And smiling, like he’s been standing there for longer than you’d like to think about.

You blink at him. “How long have you been there.”

“Long enough to hear your motivational speech,” he says, stepping onto the mat next to you.

You groan, covering your face with your towel. “God. I was doing bits. I was mid-rant. You can’t sneak up on a person during that.”

He chuckles, sitting down to stretch beside you like this is routine. “You talk to yourself a lot when you work out?”

“Only when I’m trying not to die.”

“Well,” he says, reaching forward with ease that makes you regret your whole existence, “it’s entertaining. I’ve missed the commentary.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Don’t make me regret coming back.”

“You regret it already,” he says, nudging you gently with his knee. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You try to scoff, but it comes out as a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Tell that to your string cheese arms.”

Then Joshua stretches, stands up, and says it so casually you almost miss it.

“Come on. I’ll spot you.”

Just like that. Like he didn’t just turn your heart into a meteorite. Like it’s normal to say things like that with his hair all messy and his shirt clinging to his back like a sin.

You pause, blinking up at him from your sad little mat. “Spot me where?”

He nods his head toward the weights section. “Pull-ups.”

You immediately shake your head. “Nooooi. No, no, no. We’re not doing that. My arms are still in recovery. Mentally.”

He grins, totally unfazed. “One rep. I’ll help.”

“You say that like I won’t dramatically collapse and cause a gym-wide scene.”

“I say that,” he replies, holding a hand out to you, “because I want to see if string cheese can fight gravity.”

You squint at him. “You really like testing your luck, huh?”

He just wiggles his fingers. Still waiting. You groan, roll your eyes, and slap your hand into his like you’ve just signed a very bad contract with a very cute devil.

“Fine. But when I fall, I’m haunting you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

He leads the way, and you follow grumbling the whole time, of course. Loud enough that a few people glance over, but you’re too focused on not combusting to care.

And when you reach the bar, he steps behind you, hands automatically ready at your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate. Just one second. Long enough to register how close he is. How warm his hands are. How your brain is already trying to malfunction.

Then you huff, grab the bar, and mutter, “This is bullying disguised as fitness.”

And he, as expected, laughs. “Welcome back.”

You take a breath.

Hands on the bar. Shoulders tense. Joshua standing behind you, hands already hovering at your waist, warm and steady and—God. Focus.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low near your ear.

“No,” you answer flatly.

“Perfect. That’s the spirit.”

You suppress a groan and pull. Immediately, your arms are like, absolutely not, but then his hands are there—gently guiding, lifting just enough for you to move, your body rising in a way that’s technically assisted but still feels monumental.

Halfway up, your brain forgets how to form thoughts. Mostly because his hands are still on your waist and you are 98% sure he’s smiling. You can't see it, but you can feel it. That smug little smirk of his radiating off his face like heat.

You grunt. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate physics.”

Joshua chuckles. “You’re doing great.”

You manage a shaky pull, then drop with a dramatic gasp, limbs jelly.

He steadies you as you land, laughing. “That was almost one and a half.”

“I demand a trophy. And an ice pack. And maybe a wheelchair.”

“I’ll start a GoFundMe.”

You turn to him, still breathless, hair sticking to your forehead, and jab a finger at his chest. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I really am,” he admits without shame.

You both stand there for a second, grinning like idiots, way too close for two people pretending this is just a casual gym friendship.

Then he adds, softer this time, “I meant it though. You did good.”

You glance up at him. He’s not teasing now. Not entirely. Just watching you with those warm eyes, a little out of breath himself.

And okay. Fine. You definitely need to leave before your knees give out for reasons unrelated to exercise.

“I’m going to the treadmill,” you say, turning abruptly.

Joshua calls after you. “What happened to hating cardio?”

“I hate being perceived more!”

You climb onto the treadmill with the grace of someone who just survived emotional warfare. You press a few random buttons, pretending to focus, when really you’re just trying to calm your entire nervous system.

And of course. Of course he follows you.

You glance to your side, and there he is, casually stepping onto the treadmill next to yours like he’s not the reason your soul left your body fifteen minutes ago.

“Please. Let me breathe.”

“I would, but I’m trying to flirt with you.”

Your feet nearly miss the belt.

You turn slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Trying?”

He shrugs, smirking. “Well, not very hard. You’re kinda doing all the work just existing.”

You make a noise—half choke, half laugh—as your brain trips over itself.

“That’s the line you’re going with?” you say, mock-scandalized.

“I didn’t plan it,” he says, grinning. “But I stand by it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip, heart pounding in your ears more than your feet on the treadmill.

“You know you’re not supposed to flirt while I’m exercising. I’m vulnerable. My dignity’s compromised.”

Joshua taps the speed up on your treadmill by 0.2 just to be annoying. “Dangerous territory. Anything could happen.”

You gasp. “Are you trying to get me to trip?”

“Trying to impress you with my multitasking.”

“Impress me by not getting kicked out for harassment.”

He raises a brow. “So flirting with you is harassment now?”

You glance at him, cheeks flushed, heartbeat wild, but your mouth still knows exactly what to say.

“Only because it’s working.”

He stares at you for a second. A beat. Then he grins wider, a tiny laugh slipping out as he looks back at the front of his treadmill.

And that silence between you? Buzzing. Effortless. Dangerous.

A few minutes pass. You’re both running now, side by side, music low, heart rates up, bodies warming into that steady, breathy rhythm. Joshua’s quiet for a while, eyes forward, jaw sharp in profile, the kind of focused that should not look as attractive as it does.

And then—casually, almost like he’s commenting on the weather—he says, 

“So… no boyfriend, or…?”

You glance at him, startled but amused, nearly tripping over your own feet again. The treadmill beeps angrily as you stabilize.

You huff out a laugh. “Wow. Smooth.”

“I thought so,” he says, lips twitching.

You shake your head. “Nope. No boyfriend.”

He raises a brow, like he’s waiting for the follow-up.

“I think my very tragic, very bold attempts at flirting should be proof enough that I’ve been single for a while.”

Joshua laughs, genuinely, the sound slipping out between breaths. “That bad, huh?”

“I elbowed you, Hong. That was one of my first moves.”

“Hey, I kind of liked that. Very… assertive.”

You snort. “If elbowing is the bar, your standards worry me.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, tapping up his speed just slightly. “I’m not looking for a black belt. Just someone who talks to herself and calls her arms string cheese.”

You let out a loud, delighted laugh, nearly doubling over on the belt before catching yourself.

“God, you're lucky I’m too out of breath to roast you right now.”

He glances at you, smiling. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You slow your treadmill just a little, You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re dangerous,” you say, almost offhand, but not really.

Joshua arches a brow. “Yeah?”

You nod, swallowing back a grin. “You make me laugh.”

He turns fully toward you now, still jogging, like he doesn’t even feel the effort. “And?”

“And then my mind goes completely blank the next second,” you admit, mock dramatic. “It's inconvenient. Hazardous, even.”

He chuckles, tilting his head. “So I’m a health risk now?”

“Absolutely. Emotional distraction. Should come with a warning label.”

“Funny. You’re the one running next to me looking like an ad for gym crushes.”

You nearly stumble again. “Okay, sir—”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, all smug and unbothered, “if anyone’s dangerous here, it’s you. With your string cheese arms and motivational mumbling.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re smiling too hard to commit to the bit.

He leans slightly closer, not enough to break form, just enough for you to feel the heat off his skin. “Blank mind, huh?”

You blink up at him.

“Right now?” he adds, voice a little lower, just teasing enough.

Your brain promptly does exactly what he said: goes blank. You open your mouth. Nothing.

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He grins, then slows down too, finally stepping off and grabbing his water bottle. For a second, it’s just the low hum of the gym around you, the distant clank of weights, your own heartbeat in your ears.

You swipe your phone from the cubby, pretending not to glance his way. Pretending like your entire body isn’t aware of his body standing just a little too close beside you.

He clears his throat. You look up.

He’s watching you, towel around his neck, a tiny flicker of nervousness in his eyes. It’s subtle, but it’s there—just enough to make your breath catch.

“So,” he starts, “are you doing anything Saturday?”

You blink.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish but still somehow maddeningly composed. “I figured since we’ve got this... ongoing string cheese banter thing, maybe we upgrade to real food. No treadmills. No pull-ups. Just—you know. A proper hangout.”

You stare at him.

Then blink again.

“Wait, are you asking me out?”

He smiles, boyish and warm. “Trying to.”

You feel your face flush. Completely. No saving it now.

“Okay, wow. Um. Yeah. Yes. I mean, if you're willing to risk spending time with me outside of a fluorescent-lit torture room.”

Joshua’s eyes crinkle. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Cool,” you say, suddenly hyper-aware of how sweaty and ridiculous you look. “So. Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he echoes.

You start walking toward the locker rooms, heart in your throat, smile you can’t hide, and just as you’re about to turn the corner, he calls out—

“Oh, and hey?”

You glance back.

He’s leaning against the wall now, casually, towel slung over his shoulder, smirking like he already knows what he’s done to you tonight.

“I like the ponytail.”

You're pretty sure you black out for a second.

And yeah, you definitely almost walk into a water fountain.

=

Saturday evening.

You’ve changed outfits no less than eight times. Jeans? Too casual. Skirt? Too short. White top? Too risky. That one jumpsuit you swore made you look expensive? Suddenly feels like a Halloween costume.

Nayeon is lying belly-down on your bed, scrolling through her phone with the kind of serenity only someone not going on a date can possess.

“You’ve tried on enough outfits to walk a runway twice,” she says, not even looking up. “Just wear the pink one. The flowy dress. You looked cute.”

You groan from the floor. “I don’t want to look cute. I want to look like… I don’t know. Dateable. Like, someone who won’t say ‘string cheese’ in conversation.”

“Too late for that,” she mutters.

You glare. “Traitor.”

But fifteen minutes and a mini breakdown later, you're standing in front of the mirror in that exact pink summer dress, hair soft and just messy enough to look effortless, cheeks lightly flushed from the nerves. You turn to Nayeon.

“Be honest. Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“You look like someone’s about to fall in love with you.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew.”

She just grins. “Text me when you’re home or I’m calling the cops.”

Your phone buzzes.

Joshua: I’m downstairs :)

Cue heart skipping a beat. You grab your purse, whisper-scream into it for good measure, then fly down the stairs like your life depends on it.

The front door opens to a soft summer breeze. And Joshua—standing there by a black car, in a white linen shirt and jeans that somehow make your brain short-circuit—holding a small bouquet of pink tulips.

You freeze.

He blinks, eyes raking over you once, slowly. Then a smile spreads across his face, that gentle kind that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“These…” He holds out the bouquet. “These match your dress. I swear it wasn’t planned. I didn’t even know what you were wearing. But—” He tilts his head. “I’m not mad about it.”

You reach for the flowers, trying to play it cool even as your fingers brush his. “Wow. So now you’re dangerous and lucky.”

Joshua laughs. “Let’s call it fate. Shall we?”

And with that, he opens the car door for you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is just the beginning.

You slide into the passenger seat, bouquet clutched in your hands, cheeks already burning. 

Breathe, you tell yourself. Be normal. Be chill. Be a functioning adult woman who is not immediately reduced to mush by a man in linen and a watch.

Joshua climbs in, starts the car with one smooth twist of his wrist, and you catch a glimpse of the watch on his arm—sleek, minimal, silver. The kind of thing that shouldn't be so attractive but somehow is. It hugs his wrist perfectly, gleaming in the evening light, making his whole presence feel like a very curated attack on your willpower.

“You look really pretty,” he says, glancing over at you.

You smile, teeth and all, like an idiot. “Thank you. You, uh…” You gesture vaguely at him. “You’re doing a lot. With your existence.”

He grins. “That’s the plan.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your face says otherwise. He shifts into reverse, turning in his seat—and that’s when it happens.

That move.

Hand casually reaching behind your seat for support as he backs out of the spot, arm stretched out behind you, the other on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. And you—sitting there—trying not to make a sound because wow.

Your brain short circuits. Every rom-com you’ve ever watched flashes before your eyes. You hate how effective it is. You hate that you notice. You really hate that the veins in his forearm are doing some kind of ancient magic on your heart.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

You clear your throat, gaze locked out the window. “Yeah. Just, uh. You know. Processing.”

“Processing?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Me backing out of a parking spot?”

“Yep. Very intense. Emotionally charged moment for me.”

He laughs, head tilting toward you. “You’re not very good at pretending you’re unimpressed.”

“And you’re not very good at pretending you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

He raises a brow. “Touché.”

You’re still trying to recover from the parking maneuver thing when Joshua pulls onto the main road, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift like he's not out here causing emotional chaos.

You steal a glance at him, then look away just as quickly. Your cheeks are still flaming. Your pulse? Racing. Your entire internal system? Malfunctioning.

“You sure you’ll survive tonight?”

You scoff, crossing your arms with the tulips still in hand. “Wow. Cocky and observant.”

He chuckles. “It’s a genuine question. I’ve seen, like, six flustered expressions in the past ten minutes. That’s a record.”

“I’m just—” You gesture vaguely at the air between you. “Adjusting. You’re very… composed for a man who brought flowers and wore a thirst trap on his wrist.”

Joshua raises an eyebrow. “Thirst trap?”

You point at his watch. “That.”

He glances down, then smirks. “So that’s what’s doing it?”

You narrow your eyes. “That and the parking move. Don’t play dumb.”

He laughs, actually laughs, and it’s that soft, warm sound again—like he can’t help it, like it’s just you who gets this version of him.

“You’re fun,” he says simply.

“That’s it? No sarcasm? No comeback?”

“Nope.” He glances over at you, smile still playing at his lips. “Just letting you have the moment.”

You make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a dying noise. “Okay, you need to stop with the sincerity. My brain is short-circuiting.”

Joshua glances over, takes his time, then says in a tone so casual it might as well be criminal,

“You really do look beautiful tonight.”

He tilts his head, that gentle smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Why? Can’t handle a compliment?”

“No, I can, just—” You gesture vaguely. “Not when you say it like that. With your whole… face.”

“You mean, my face that you were just staring at for two straight minutes?”

Your jaw drops. “I was not—”

“You were. I timed it.”

“I was—strategizing.”

“Oh? About what?”

“About how not to combust before we even get to dinner.”

He hums, turning the wheel with one hand as he takes the next turn. “I like that you spiral. It’s cute.”

You glare at the dashboard. “Okay, wow. New level unlocked: professional menace.”

“You’re going to be a mess by dessert, aren’t you?”

Your mouth drops open again, and he laughs, that warm, smug, boyish laugh like he already knows he’s won.

You whip your head toward him. “Are you trying to kill me?”

He shrugs, far too pleased with himself. “Just saying. If you’re already like this now…” He glances at you, slow and deliberate. “I should warn you—I get worse.”

Your lungs fail. Your brain turns to soup. You want to fling yourself out the window in the most ladylike way possible.

You step out of the car and immediately stop in your tracks.

You were expecting a restaurant—like, a normal place with chairs and walls and menus laminated within an inch of their lives.

What you’re not expecting is this.

String lights drape like golden vines overhead, hanging between soft, leafy canopies and curved archways made of blooming roses and ivy. Candle-lit tables are scattered like little secrets across a stone path, with delicate place settings and linen napkins that scream “yes, this fork has three siblings and a trust fund.”

The view? A clear shot of the river, glistening under the dying blush of sunset.

You blink. “Is this… real?”

Joshua rounds the car, comes to stand beside you, hands casually in his pockets like he hasn’t just walked you into a scene from a K-drama finale.

“You like it?” he asks, with a glint in his eye he knows will wreck you.

You glance at him, wide-eyed. “I thought we were doing food. Not walking into a proposal.”

He just smirks, leading you towards the entrance. The host greets him by name.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being suspiciously smooth tonight.”

He pulls out your chair. “I’m always smooth.”

You sit down slowly, tilting your head at him. “You wore the watch and chose a place with fairy lights. Who told you my entire aesthetic?”

“I pay attention.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight.”

“I stand by it.”

The server comes by, and Joshua lets you order first, doesn’t even look at the menu, just says, “I’ll have whatever she’s having,” with a flash of a grin.

You eye him. “Careful, I panic-order.”

He smirks. “Exactly. It’s more fun that way.”

When the server leaves, you rest your chin on your hand. “So. This is your idea of a casual first date?”

Joshua shrugs, eyes dancing. “I told you. I get worse.”

You raise a brow. “You’re lucky I find that incredibly hot.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You think I wore the watch for me?”

You choke on your laugh, nearly knocking over your water. He just grins again, leaning back with that maddening ease, the lights catching in his hair like he’s made to be part of this setting. 

And for a second, the world around you blurs. Just you, him, and the slow burn of something very, very real.

The night drips by like honey.

Joshua’s leaned back in his chair now, elbow resting against the armrest, fingers lazily twirling his wine glass. He says something—dry, sarcastic, just a bit ridiculous—and you burst out laughing.

“Okay, wait,” you say, breathless, wiping at your eyes. “That’s not even a real story. You’re making that up.”

He grins like it’s a secret between you two. “Maybe. But you laughed. That’s a win.”

“Barely!” you say, even though you're still giggling.

He watches you, and it’s not in a way that makes you feel self-conscious—it’s the opposite. It’s warm. Attentive. Like you’re the only thing in the room worth looking at. And that’s what really does it.

You sip your wine to distract yourself. “Do you practice your charm? Like, in the mirror? Or were you just born annoying and heart-melting?”

Joshua tilts his head. “A little of both. But I do study.”

“Oh yeah?”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table now, voice dipping just enough to make you sit straighter.

“Like… I noticed you blush when I compliment you. But only if it’s quiet. Just between us.”

Your lips part slightly. “I—No, I don’t.”

“Sure.” He smiles like he’s absolutely sure. “And you smile bigger when you’re trying not to. Like right now.”

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to grin.

“And,” he continues, “you’re trying really hard to look unimpressed, but I caught you staring at me while I was talking about that ridiculous high school band story. Twice.”

You drop your head onto the table with a groan. “You’re unbearable.”

He laughs, soft and low. “But you like me anyway.”

You peek up at him, cheeks warm, heartbeat wrecked. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He tilts his head. “Let me walk you out later and I just might.”

You know you should say something smart, witty—anything—but you’re gone. Gone in the way that makes your chest ache with excitement and dread, both.

Because you know this kind of thing doesn’t come around often. Not the fancy lights, not the food, not even the compliments. But the way he looks at you. The way he listens. The way he talks to you like he’s always known how to.

You’d kick yourself if you let this go.

So, you sit up straighter, meet his gaze across the candlelight, and smile—soft and certain.

“Okay,” you say, lifting your glass. “Let’s see how charming you really are.”

After that night—the fairy lights, the river view, that maddening smirk—you knew you were done for.

But what you didn’t know was that Joshua Hong would treat this whole thing like a personal mission.

Not to impress you. No. To ruin you. Softly. Deliberately. One blush, one laugh, one lingering glance at a time.

The first date? A glowing success.

The second? A late-night bookshop crawl followed by hotteok from a street cart, where he brushed a crumb off your cheek and you nearly forgot how to speak.

The third? Rainy-day coffees and pressed knees in a tiny corner booth, and the way he said your name when you laughed—like it meant something.

Fourth? He taught you how to play pool. You lost. On purpose. (Okay, not really. But the way he leaned over to show you how to hold the cue stick? Yeah. You didn’t mind losing.)

By the time your fifth official date rolls around—some rooftop dinner he somehow made feel private and cozy in the middle of Seoul—you’re barely holding it together. The city lights glitter below. The food is untouched. Your wine’s going warm.

You’re talking about something—you don’t even remember what—when he tilts his head and says it:

“You’re driving me a little crazy, you know that?”

You stop breathing for a beat too long “I am?”

“Mm-hmm. And I’m being very patient.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass. “Are you saying I’m testing your willpower, Hong?”

He grins, slow and devastating. “I’m saying, if this keeps up, I might kiss you before dessert.”

The air shifts. You’re aware of everything—the hum of the rooftop heater, the buzz of the city below, the way your pulse is loud enough to hear in your ears.

You set your glass down. Very carefully. “Would that be a problem?”

He leans in slightly, elbows on the table. “For who?”

You lick your lips, heartbeat now fully sprinting. “For the cheesecake you ordered.”

Joshua laughs, but there’s tension under it. Electricity.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs again.

You smile, sweet and shaken. “Takes one to know one.”

After dinner, neither of you said anything about leaving. You just stood up, your hands brushed, and somehow—without planning, without speaking—they laced together like they'd been doing it forever.

No one commented. No one let go.

Now you’re walking through the quiet streets of the city, the kind that still shimmer with soft light, where the buildings are lower, the night quieter. A gentle breeze wraps around your bare arms, and his thumb brushes along your knuckles every few steps.

He swings your hands a little, like he’s not aware of the fact that every single nerve in your body is alert and buzzing. “So,” he says casually, “fifth date.”

You side-eye him, smiling. “Who's counting?”

He smirks. “I am. I keep a very detailed record. For science.”

You roll your eyes. “Let me guess—charts, graphs, infographics?”

He nods. “There's even a bar graph for the amount of times I’ve caught you staring at me.”

Your jaw drops in offense. “I do not—”

Joshua stops walking. You almost take another step before you notice, but he holds your hand just tight enough that you pause too, blinking up at him.

He’s looking at you. But not in the teasing, boyish way you’re used to. It’s softer now. Serious.

“You do,” he says gently. “But it’s okay. I stare too.”

You can’t find your voice for a second. It’s stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

The breeze moves your hair. He tucks a strand behind your ear like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was gonna wait. Be smooth. You know, the gentleman thing.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid it might echo in the stillness.

“But you look at me like that,” he murmurs, “and I kind of forget how to pretend.”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

He steps closer. Just enough that you feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne and something clean and crisp like fresh laundry and summer air. He’s still holding your hand.

He tilts his head, slow, careful. “Can I?”

And you whisper—because it’s all you can manage—“Please.”

The kiss is soft. Barely there at first. His hand cups your cheek like he’s afraid you might vanish, and you lean in like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since the beginning of time.

It’s gentle. Tender. But it’s not hesitant.

Because when his other hand settles on your waist, when he deepens the kiss just slightly, when you move closer without even thinking—it’s clear that every step, every look, every smile, led here.

And when you pull apart, just an inch, still close enough to breathe each other in, he doesn’t say anything right away.

He just rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “Yep. Definitely a sixth date.”

You laugh, quiet and breathless, standing on your tiptoes so your noses are still brushing, your hands curling lightly into the front of his shirt without even thinking.

His eyes crinkle as he watches you, his forehead still pressed gently to yours. You’re so close you can see the curl of his lashes, the shine in his pupils that makes your stomach flip like it’s never known peace.

Then he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “What’s the look for, pretty girl?”

Your smile wobbles just a little because he says it like he means it. Like you’re not just pretty, you’re his pretty girl. And you don’t even think he realizes how much that nickname already has you unraveling.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “You’re just…”

You trail off, shaking your head a little, and he pulls back just enough to look at you fully, still smiling, still curious. 

“Just what?”

You lift your brows like really? “You kissed me under fairy lights, brought me flowers, opened my car door, made me laugh so hard I choked on water, and looked at me like I hung the stars—and now you’re asking what the look is for?”

Joshua grins, the kind that starts at his lips but ends in his eyes—so warm, so soft it’s almost unbearable. “So I’m doing okay, then?”

“You’re so lucky you’re cute.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Mm,” you hum, pretending to think, still pressed close to him. “You also smell nice.”

He laughs, tilting his head back just a little, and it vibrates through his chest where your hands still rest.

He brings one hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear again and lets his fingers linger just behind your jaw. “You’re making it really hard not to kiss you again.”

You shrug, leaning in even closer. “Who said you had to stop?”

And you kiss him this time. His hands find your waist again, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress as he kisses you like he has nowhere else to be, like the city around you doesn’t exist, like this sidewalk is the only place in the world.

When you finally pull away—barely—you’re both smiling. Staring. A little stunned, maybe.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you say, laughing into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you then, pulling you in, your feet slightly off the ground for just a second as he murmurs into your hair, “It’s real. All of it. You. Me.”

You nestle closer, your smile pressed to his shoulder. “You’re the best kind of trouble, Hong.”

He chuckles. “You’ve got no idea.”

=

Another day, another gym session, and naturally—you’re swearing under your breath at the cable machine like it personally insulted your ancestors.

“Why,” you mutter, wrestling with the pin, “do you exist—”

“You okay there?” a voice cuts in.

You look up, blinking.

He’s tall. Friendly smile. The kind of guy who probably means well but is leaning just a little too close to be casual.

You smile politely. “Oh, yeah. Just… negotiating with this death trap.”

He chuckles, clearly taking it as an invitation. “First time trying that machine?”

You nod, tugging your towel over your shoulder. “Yeah. I usually avoid anything that might require actual upper body strength.”

He laughs again, inching closer. “Well, I could show you how to—”

“I have a boyfriend,” you blurt out.

He freezes.

So do you.

You don’t know why you said it. It just… slipped out. Pure panic. Your fight-or-flight response has a third setting now: fake boyfriend defense.

The guy straightens, brows raised slightly. “Oh. Cool, cool. Just being friendly.”

Before you can awkwardly backtrack, you hear him.

“Everything good here?”

Joshua. He appears behind you like magic, towel slung over one shoulder, hair damp and sticking adorably to his forehead, shirt clinging in all the distracting places.

You glance at him like please go with it, and he slides in next to you, one hand gently resting at the small of your back. You lean into him without hesitation.

The guy eyes Joshua, clocking the very real heat in the space between you two, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Got it. My bad. See you around.”

Once he’s gone, Joshua doesn’t say anything at first. Just lifts a brow and leans in, murmuring near your ear, “Boyfriend, huh?”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “I panicked.”

Joshua smirks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Didn’t seem like panic. Seemed… natural.”

You scoff. “What are you, pleased about it?”

He shrugs. “A little flattered, not gonna lie.”

“You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet… you called me your boyfriend.”

You jab him lightly in the ribs with your elbow. “Shut up.”

He doesn't even give you a second to recover.

Just flashes that maddeningly smug grin, rests a hand on your back like it's the most natural thing in the world, and says, “Okay, let’s go, girlfriend. Time to do pull-ups.”

You blink.

“You—what—excuse me?”

Joshua shrugs like it’s nothing. “You said it, not me. I'm just respecting the title.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “That’s… not how this works.”

“Oh no?” He glances over his shoulder, leading you toward the pull-up bar. “So I don’t get boyfriend privileges now?”

You gape. “What privileges?”

“Well for starters, teasing rights. Unlimited. Spotting privileges—obviously. And I think there’s something in the fine print about post-gym smoothies. My treat, of course.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm, your heart racing like he just kissed you again.

He stops in front of the pull-up bar and turns to face you, offering his hands to help you up like he’s done this a hundred times. “Come on, girlfriend. You’ve got this.”

You squint at him. “You’re gonna milk this forever, aren’t you?”

He tilts his head, smile boyish, eyes soft. “Only if you let me.”

You stare at him a beat longer. Then sigh dramatically as you step forward, placing your hands on the bar. “Fine. But if I fall on my face, I’m blaming my fake boyfriend.”

Joshua’s hands find your waist—confident, gentle. “Correction. You said I am your boyfriend. I’m just honoring your truth.”

You groan. “I’m never living this down.”

“Not a chance,” he says, grinning. “But don’t worry, girlfriend. I’ve got you.”

Later you two are in his car, in the parking lot of the smoothie place that has now become part of the routine. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, legs tucked under you, sipping your mango smoothie through a bright yellow straw. 

Joshua’s smoothie is already half gone, sitting in his cup holder while he taps the steering wheel lightly with his fingers.

You’re both quiet. Not in a weird way. Just that post-gym, smoothie-in-hand, everything-is-good kind of quiet.

Until he breaks it.

“So…” he says, glancing over at you with that unmistakable spark in his eyes, “how long have we been dating?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

You turn to him, eyes wide. “What?”

Joshua shrugs like he’s asking about the weather. “I just think it’s important to know. Like… are we new-new? Or established couple? Do I get to call you babe yet? Do we have matching outfits in our future? Are we meeting the parents? You know, just the basics.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He leans his head against the headrest, grinning over at you. “I’m ridiculous? You’re the one out here declaring relationships under pressure.”

“It was a reflex!”

“So was kissing you under fairy lights,” he counters smoothly. “But I don’t regret it.”

Your cheeks burn immediately. “That was different.”

“Was it?” he teases, voice soft now. “Felt pretty real to me.”

You try to focus on your smoothie again, the straw suddenly too interesting. But then his hand reaches over, fingers curling around your wrist gently, guiding the cup away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and your eyes lift to meet his.

It’s not as teasing now. Still warm. Still boyish. But there’s something else behind it, too. Something softer.

“I’m not making fun of you, you know,” he says. “You could’ve said anything back there. But you said boyfriend. And… I liked it.”

Your breath catches. He watches your face carefully, fingers still brushing lightly against your wrist.

You swallow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A small pause. “And if it ever stops being a reflex and starts being real—I'd be really, really okay with that.”

Your heart is thudding so hard you’re surprised the smoothie cup doesn’t crack in your hand.

So you do the only thing that makes sense. You lean over the console, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and kiss him.

No hesitation this time. No fairy lights or shy glances. Just you and him and the quiet of his car and the electricity that seems to spark to life the second your lips meet.

He kisses you back immediately—like he’s been waiting, like he’s memorized the rhythm of your laugh just to get here. His hand slides into your hair, other one anchoring at your waist as you shift slightly, leaning into him more. The center console is a pain, but neither of you seem to care.

It’s soft, at first. And then it’s not.

There’s something heady about it like all the teasing and tension and almost-kisses are finally catching up to you in a rush of heat and breath and fingertips that linger just a second longer than they should.

When you finally pull away, your noses still brushing, both of you a little dazed, he grins.

“Okay,” he breathes, “so I’m definitely calling you babe now.”

You laugh, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. “I knew you were going to say that.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, lips warm and slow. “Get used to it, girlfriend.”

=

It’s been a couple of months now.

You’re officially, undeniably, Joshua Hong’s girlfriend—which still feels slightly unreal whenever he smiles at you across a gym mirror like you hung the stars yourself.

Today, he’s in full personal trainer mode Which should be illegal, honestly.

The sleeveless shirt. The backwards cap. The little encouraging claps. The smirk he tries to hide when you’re clearly avoiding the workout he set up for you.

You eye the bench like it just threatened your family.

“Okay,” he says brightly, standing next to it, arms crossed and grinning, “three sets of twelve. You’ve got this.”

You hold your water bottle like a shield. “Can’t we just… not?”

“Baby.”

You pout instantly. “Josh.”

He walks over, lowers his voice into that dangerous territory of sweet and smug. “You said you wanted to work on your arms.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean today.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You say that every time.”

You take a dramatic step back. “Because every time you try to kill me.”

“It’s literally three sets.”

“Three sets too many!”

“Come on,” he coaxes, reaching for your hand. “I’ll do them with you.”

“You’ll make it look effortless.”

“I’ll pretend to struggle.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s worse.”

He chuckles, catching you by the waist and pulling you toward him. “Baby, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek, voice low and sinful. “You’ll look so good doing them.”

You groan, weak to the way he says it. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re stalling.” He grins, presses a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go. I’ll spot you. We’ll flirt between sets. It’ll be romantic.”

You look up at him, trying to stay strong, but the boyish grin, the arms, the literal audacity of him being this supportive and attractive—it’s too much.

You sigh in surrender. “Fine. But if I start crying, I want bubble tea after.”

He winks. “Deal. But only if you flex for me when we’re done.”

“Joshua!”

“Babe.”

You grab the dumbbells, grumbling under your breath. He’s already standing behind the bench like your biggest fan, hyping you up with a proud grin.

And honestly? He makes it hard to say no.

He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there which, apparently, it does now. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the late evening breeze, your gym bag tucked in the backseat along with your pride.

You're slouched dramatically in the passenger seat, arms crossed, head turned toward the window. “I’m never going to the gym with you again.”

Joshua chuckles under his breath, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You say that every time.”

You whip your head toward him, scandalized. “Because every time you make me do something that feels like some part of my body will fall off afterwards”

He just grins, full of sunshine and mischief. “And yet, you keep showing up. Interesting.”

“I was sore for three days last week. Three. I couldn’t even reach for my lip balm without my arm threatening to fall off.”

Joshua laughs outright this time, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your thigh. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic. I almost saw my ancestors mid shoulder press.”

He’s still laughing when he pulls up to a red light, finally turning to face you fully, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Darling,” he says, voice low and teasing, “you flirted with me at the gym the moment we met.”

You gape at him. “I did not.”

He raises a brow. “You called me ‘Bambi eyes’ to your bestfriend”

Your jaw drops. “That doesn’t count!”

“Oh, it counts.”

“You were wearing that stupid tight shirt!”

He smirks, turning back to the road as the light goes green. “So you were looking.”

You slap his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles again, sliding his hand back up to lace your fingers with his. “And yet, here you are. In my car. Post-workout. Holding my hand.”

He squeezes your hand, voice softer now. “And you love it.”

You sigh, leaning your head back with a little grin. “Ugh. Unfortunately.”

He glances over at you, and even with just streetlight shadows flickering through the windshield, his smile is pure trouble. “Good. Because I love you right back, sore arms and all.”

=

It’s way too early for anything.

The sun isn’t even fully up, just a soft hint of light peeking through the curtains. The room is still cloaked in that hazy warmth of sleep, all tangled sheets and the familiar scent of him lingering in the air. You’re curled deep into the blanket, refusing to move.

Joshua, however, is shirtless and awake—stretching by the window like it’s normal to be up at this ungodly hour. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, hair a fluffy, sleep-tousled mess, and he’s doing this thing where he rolls his shoulders like he doesn’t know what it does to you.

Menace.

Absolute menace.

You squint at him from your cozy cocoon. “If this is your way of seducing me into jogging, I’m still not going.”

He grins, walking over to your side of the bed with slow, obnoxiously confident steps. “It’s not seduction, babe. It’s encouragement.”

“Encouragement should not involve looking like that while I’m still horizontal and emotionally vulnerable.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Come run with me. Just fifteen minutes.”

You groan, clutching the blanket tighter. “If my legs weren’t sore from yesterday, I’d consider it.”

Joshua chuckles, voice deep and warm against your skin. “Whose fault is that?”

Your eyes snap open. “Yours. You and your ‘just one more set, babe, you got this’ nonsense. I did not have that.”

“Pretty sure you liked it.”

“Pretty sure you’re single if you don’t let me sleep.”

He laughs again, reaching for your blanket—but you swat his hand away with a sleepy glare. “Don’t you dare.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go suffer by myself. All alone. With no company. No moral support. No—”

“I’ll give you a back massage when you get home,” you mumble, cutting him off.

Silence. You peek one eye open to find him blinking down at you, stunned.

“Full massage,” you add. “Oil and everything. No complaints.”

Joshua narrows his eyes. “You’re bribing me.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m winning.”

He sighs again, much more theatrically this time, and drops back into bed beside you. “Fine. Morning run postponed. I expect thirty minutes, minimum.”

You grin, rolling over to bury your face in his neck. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Hong.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, voice low and satisfied. “I’m still getting that massage though.”

You hum sleepily. “Mmhm. Only if you promise to stop being hot before 7 a.m.”

Joshua laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around you like he has nowhere else to be. “No promises.”

And just like that, the room slips back into that quiet stillness, you tucked safely against his chest, both of you tangled in each other and the kind of love that makes even the early mornings feel like magic.

[kenyummy]

I totally get where you’re coming from, but when you’ve got readers that love your work and are willing to wait days for updates, don’t you think you should deliver with at least some effort? I get what you’re doing with the commas but sometimes it’s just too much. There are some parts where your goal is clearly to make it dramatic, but the execution of the comma just makes it cringe in the end. It honestly just ruins the experience.

sorry, this is getting kind of ridiculous and this pissed me off to the point i think this warrants a reply. what do you mean deliver with at least some effort? i get it if you dont enjoy my writing style, everyone has their preferences. but to say I don't put effort into my writing is one: quite frankly rude, and two: completely wrong.

im not too sure if you're a writer or not, but if you are, then you'll understand it when I mean you have good and bad days. sometimes i can barely get out a sentence without hating it, and other days, I can write 4k words in 2 hours with no issue. sometimes i vent my feelings into my work without really thinking about punctuation and wording: ergo, commas.

god forbid i overuse a writing tool... like... what 😭 this is genuinely such a stupid thing to say and the fact that u feel entitled enough to say that I'm OBLIGED to put "effort" into my work because people on the internet want it is ABSOLUTELY INSANE to me.

again, i do this for FUN. I don't want to pursue writing professionally. I don't want to be a full time writer, so I don't need critiscm. I don't take requests because I only write when I want to, and get things out when I feel like it. readers like you who act like they deserve a new chapter of a fic i only do because i want a break from everyday life sometimes genuinely make me dread going through my inbox/comments sometimes.

I know you're probably only trying to be supportive, but this is absolutely the wrong way to go about it. if my work bothers you this much just read another fic. i don't want/need your criticism, it's very unnecessary.

in fact, I have plenty of writers stashed up for you that use NO commas! how about that? 😍. bet that'll be a nice break from the INFLUX of those stupid, pesky writing tools.

if u think my writing is cringe... well... I have an INSANE suggestion okay... don't read it... I know. crazy, right? nobody is entitled to a new chapter of a fucking tumblr fanfiction and you absolutely have no place to criticise my writing on ANONYMOUS. 😭😭 pm me if u have an issue then we will talk like actual adults thanks

(people on tumblr r so much more entitled than anywhere else, and I've been on four different fanfiction sites over the past 5 years. only ever got complaints about my writing on tumblr. insane.)

[wingedhallows]

— REDEMPTION IS NO EASY FEAT—

CHAPTER FIVE - the last part

— ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina; 5.5k words — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy.Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim? — ₊˚⊹♡ AUTHORS NOTE okay, so - this is the last part of labyrinth love and i'm so sad it's over but i feel like this is a good end. I hope u like it :)

♡ navigation ♡

¸.*☆*.¸ CHAPTER INDEX ¸.*☆*.¸

The days bleed into each other in a slow, aching kind of blur. You can hardly tell them apart anymore — one heavy, half-lit afternoon tumbling into the next.

Most of the time, you end up crumpled on your bed, half-buried under blankets, rewatching Grey’s Anatomy for what must be the fourth time.

Margot starts dialing back her time with Ellie, even though you’ve told her — more than once — that it’s unnecessary.

You don’t want your broken heart spilling over and sabotaging something good, something whole. But Margot — saint that she is — had just shaken her head and refused you with that steady kind of stubbornness she does best.

"You’re hurting, love — doesn’t matter if Ellie wants to smooch my face off," she had said, her voice filled with such gentle humor you almost cried from the kindness of it.

And honestly, you're grateful. You don't say it out loud — not yet — but you are.

Flint, for his part, has made it his personal mission to escort you everywhere without being asked. Not that you’re going anywhere worth guarding — ballet practice, grocery runs, the occasional walk when the walls of your bedroom press too close — but he sticks to you like a second shadow. Big brother mode fully engaged. You don't have the heart to argue.

Now, sprawled across your bed, Margot sits beside you, one hand slowly carding through your hair while your bleary eyes stay glued to the laptop. On screen, Meredith is pleading with McDreamy — choose me, love me, pick me — and the whole thing makes your stomach twist painfully.

With a frustrated groan, you slam the laptop shut and toss it to the foot of the bed.

"I hate this," you whisper, voice scratchy and raw at the edges.

Margot’s hand never falters in your hair. Her eyes soften, warm and heartbreakingly patient, as she tucks a stray strand behind your ear. "I know, sweetheart."

You lean into her touch, craving it, but closing your eyes is a mistake — because all it does is bring it back. The moment everything shattered. The words you can't stop replaying. The heavy, hollow ache that’s taken up permanent residence in your chest.

Margot feels the shift in you — the way your body tenses, the way your breathing gets just a little tighter. Her hand drifts from your hair down the curve of your back, light and careful.

"How about a spa day?" she suggests, voice low and coaxing, like she’s luring you out of the darkness inch by inch. "I’ll braid your hair and we’ll put on matching face masks. Maybe watch a trashy movie where everyone ends up happy."

There’s a ghost of a laugh in your throat, but it’s too broken to fully form. Still, you nod, blinking against the sting in your eyes.

"I’d like that," you whisper.

Slowly — so slowly it almost hurts — you push yourself upright. Everything feels heavier these days. Your body. Your heart. Even your skin. But you manage it, and when you do, Margot is there, holding out her hand with the softest little smile.

No pressure. No pity. Just... here.

You slip your fingers into hers, and she squeezes — firm and steady — like she’s promising that you don’t have to climb out of this alone.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you feel a tiny flicker of warmth at the edge of all the cold.

It’s not much.

But it’s something.

Meanwhile, Vi is trying — and failing — to get a hold of you. She’s tried calling, texting, anything short of showing up at your front door with flowers and a guilt-ridden mixtape. But it’s useless. Your phone’s been off for days, and Margot — ever the knight in bloodstained armor — had sent Vi a single, scathing middle finger emoji. It said more than any long, furious paragraph ever could.

"Stop pacing, dumbass," Abby mutters from where she’s sprawled across the battered couch in their dorm room, lazily dragging on a cigarette. She blows out a curl of smoke and tilts her head, watching Vi with half-lidded eyes.

Vi ignores her, phone clutched tightly in one hand, hair a chaotic pink mess, face tight with stress and the dull ache of a hangover.

"You can’t even blame her," Ellie throws in, not looking up from her spot at the desk, where she’s idly scrolling through her phone. "You did kiss your ex."

"I didn’t kiss her!" Vi snaps, the words punching out of her louder than she means. She scrubs a hand through her hair, visibly unraveling. "She kissed me! Cait knew — she knew she was watching — and I just —" her voice cracks, throat raw with the effort of holding it together. "Fuck, she probably hates me."

Abby lets out a low, unimpressed scoff past her cigarette. "Jesus, no need to yell our ears off."

Ellie sighs dramatically, thumb tapping rhythmically against her phone. After a beat, she glances up, a small glint of something — sympathy, maybe — softening her usual snark.

"Margot says she has practice at four," Ellie says casually, like she’s talking about the weather.

Vi’s head snaps up so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t give herself whiplash. "Practice?" she echoes, breathless, clinging to the word like a lifeline.

Ellie nods slowly, one brow arching. "Four o’clock sharp. But Margot also said — and I quote — if you upset her, she’s gonna personally fling you out the nearest window."

For half a second, Vi doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

But it doesn’t matter. Because even if it’s a sliver of a chance — an itsy bitsy, microscopic shred of hope — it’s something. And she’s not going to waste it. Not this time.

The locker room smells faintly of sweat and detergent and something sharper — like disappointment baked into the cracked tiles. Your ballet bag is slung over one shoulder, digging into your skin, but you barely feel it.

You’re already late for practice. You just want to get out, get away, find some quiet corner where the world can’t touch you for a little while.

But the second you round the corner toward the exit, she’s there.

Vi.

Pink hair messy like she’s been tugging at it, hoodie wrinkled and clinging like a second skin. She looks... wrecked. Not the cocky, sharp-edged Vi you’re used to.

This version of her stands with both hands shoved deep into her pockets, shoulders curled in like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Like she knows she doesn’t have the right to take up your space anymore.

You falter, just for a second — just long enough for your heart to remember how it used to leap at the sight of her — and then you fix your eyes on the floor and keep walking.

"Wait —" Her voice cracks, rough and desperate, slicing through the thick, sterile air.

You don’t stop.

You can hear her footsteps scrambling after you, quick and unsteady. "Please," she says again, closer now, so close you can feel the ghost of her presence hovering at your side. "Just — talk to me. Just for a second."

You tighten your grip on your bag, nails digging into the worn strap. It takes everything in you not to turn around. Not to give her the satisfaction of seeing how badly you’re shaking.

"Listen," Vi huffs, rushing to keep pace with you, stumbling over her words like they’re too heavy to carry. "It wasn’t — it wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t kiss her, I didn’t even — she kissed me, and I — I just stood there like a fucking idiot and—"

You reach the door and shove it open so hard it slams against the wall, making both of you flinch.

"I swear," Vi says, lower now, voice breaking at the edges. "I didn’t want her. I don’t want her. I just—" She breaks off, breathing ragged. "I just want you."

The hallway outside yawns open, bright and endless, but for a heartbeat you hesitate in the doorway.

It would be so easy. To turn. To listen. To let her tug you back into her orbit like she always used to.

But then you remember it — the gut-punch flash of betrayal, the way it felt like your heart had been carved out with a dull knife. The way the world had gone silent except for the roar of your own hurt.

You square your shoulders.

And you walk away.

Vi calls your name once — soft, broken — but she doesn’t follow you this time.

Maybe because she knows chasing won’t change anything. Maybe because she knows some mistakes can’t be outrun.

You don’t look back. If you did, you might see her standing there, hands curled uselessly into fists at her sides, watching you leave like she’s watching the last good thing in her life disappear down a long, cold hallway.

You can’t risk looking back.

You’re already bleeding enough without letting her see it.

The sun's barely started to set by the time Vi drags herself into her dorm room, feeling like she’s carrying the weight of a thousand worlds on her shoulders.

She just pushes the door open with the side of her fist and slumps inside, collapsing face-first onto the worn-out beanbag by the window.

Abby’s stretched out lazily across the couch, boots kicked up on the armrest, thumbing through some magazine she probably doesn’t even care about. Ellie’s perched at the tiny desk, earbuds dangling around her neck, half-watching something stupid on her laptop.

Flint leans against the wall, arms crossed, sizing Vi up like he’s not sure if he wants to punch her or pat her on the back.

Margot’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, braiding a piece of her own hair absentmindedly, eyes flickering up to meet Vi’s as she walks in.

The room falls into a heavy silence, thick and uncomfortable.

Vi stays facedown for a moment longer, just breathing, trying to stitch her stupid, broken heart back together enough to speak.

When she finally lifts her head, her voice comes out raw and worn-down.

"I fucked up," she says simply. "And I don’t — I don’t know how to fix it."

Margot lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yeah. No shit, Sherlock."

Vi huffs out a breath, half a laugh, half a sob. She scrubs her palms down her jeans like she’s trying to wipe the guilt off her skin.

"I didn’t kiss Cait," she says. She looks at Margot first, then Flint, then the others, needing them to understand. "She kissed me. And yeah, I froze like a fucking idiot, but —" her voice cracks, and she pushes through it — "but it’s never been about Cait. It’s only ever been about her."

The room goes still.

"I love her," Vi says, and she hates how shaky the words sound, how exposed they make her feel. "I love her so much it scares the shit out of me. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but —" she swallows, voice thinning to a whisper — "I want to try. I have to try."

For a long, aching moment, nobody moves.

Then Flint sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You’re a dumbass," he says gruffly. "But you’re our dumbass."

Margot clicks her tongue, tossing the loose braid over her shoulder. "You’re lucky she’s a better person than you deserve," she says, but there’s no real venom behind it.

Vi sits up a little straighter, hope sparking cautiously in her chest. "So you’ll help me?" she asks, almost not daring to believe it.

Margot exhales loudly, like she’s already regretting her life choices. "Depends. What stupid idea do you have brewing in that sad little brain of yours?"

Vi hesitates, cheeks burning. She glances around the room, lowering her voice like she’s about to confess a crime.

"I want to ask her to prom," she says. "Properly."

Ellie’s head snaps up from her phone, a wicked grin curling across her face. "Like a promposal? Are you kidding me?"

Abby cackles, stubbing out her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. "Oh my god. This is gonna be hilarious."

Vi buries her face in her hands. "Not hilarious. Like — like sweet. Thoughtful. I want her to know I mean it."

Margot exchanges a long, considering look with Flint. Then she sighs again — big, dramatic — and claps her hands once.

"Alright, you lovesick gremlin," she says. "Let’s make some fucking magic happen."

Vi looks up, wide-eyed. "Really?"

Margot shrugs, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. "You screw this up again and I’m legally obligated to drown you in the nearest fountain. But yeah. We’ll help."

Flint pushes off the wall with a grunt. "You’re gonna owe us, though. Big time."

Vi feels the smallest, brightest flicker of hope unfurling in her chest.

Maybe — just maybe — it’s not too late.

Maybe she can still find her way back to you.

And this time? She’s not letting you slip through her fingers again.

The plan — if it can even be called that — starts to take shape sometime after sunset, when everyone’s crammed into Margot’s dorm room, half-heartedly eating lukewarm takeout and pretending not to be worried about Vi.

Vi sits on the floor, cross-legged and jittery, the end of a pen jammed between her teeth. She can’t stop moving — tapping her knee, picking at a loose thread on her jeans, chewing her lip raw. Her mind spins faster than she can keep up with. Don't screw this up. Don’t screw this up.

Margot lounges on the bed, twisting a braid into her hair without looking, eyes flickering toward Vi every few seconds. Abby’s slouched in the recliner, boots kicked up, cigarette dangling lazily from her fingers. Flint leans against the window, arms crossed, studying Vi like he’s trying to decide if she’s a lost cause.

Ellie’s perched at the tiny desk, typing furiously on her laptop, her knee bouncing with manic energy.

"Alright," Ellie says, dragging the word out. "Option one: flash mob. Right in the middle of ballet practice. Bold. Very Step Up 2."

Vi chokes on her drink, coughing into the sleeve of her hoodie. "You’re out of your goddamn mind."

Abby snorts without looking up from her phone. "You'd get drop-kicked across the gym."

Flint shrugs, grinning. "Option two: skywriting. Go big or go home."

Margot groans, flopping backwards on the bed. "Yeah, Vi, just pull a few thousand dollars out of your ass for that. No problem."

Vi buries her face in her hands, the edges of panic gnawing at her. "Can we be, like, normal for five minutes?" she mumbles. "I want it to be good, not get me arrested."

"You're no fun when you’re lovesick," Abby says, flicking ash into a tray.

Ellie snaps her fingers. "Personal," she says. "It should be something personal." She leans back, watching Vi with a little more gentleness. "Something that’s actually...you."

Vi lifts her head, frowning. "Me?"

Margot sits up, tossing a pillow at Vi’s shoulder. "Yeah, dumbass. Messy but real. That’s your brand."

Vi thinks about it — really thinks — about the way your laugh echoes down the halls after practice, the way you move, all soft limbs and hidden smiles.  

"I could leave notes," she says, the idea tumbling out of her in a rush. "Like...a trail. Leading somewhere. Something stupid and cheesy."

Margot perks up a little. "That's actually not the worst thing you’ve ever said."

Flint taps the window frame, nodding along. "Romantic without requiring bail money. I like it."

Ellie starts brainstorming, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Abby, predictably, contributes nothing but brutal commentary every time someone pitches a line that’s too sappy.

Vi scribbles down scraps of sentences, her heart hammering against her ribs the entire time. She wants this to be perfect. Not because it has to be flashy. Because it has to be real. Because you deserve real.

In the middle of the chaos, Margot crouches down beside her, one eyebrow raised.

"You sure about this, Casanova?" she asks, voice just a little softer.

Vi meets her eyes, chest tight with something that almost feels like hope.

"I’m sure," she says. "She’s the only thing I’m sure about."

Margot rolls her eyes but her mouth twitches into the smallest, proudest little smile. She tosses a crumpled sticky note at Vi’s head and stands back up.

"Alright, then," she says. "Let’s make some magic happen."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Vi lets herself believe maybe — maybe — she hasn’t lost you yet.

The next day crawls by with agonizing slowness, every hour dragging its heels like it knows Vi’s waiting for something big. She fidgets through her classes, tapping her pencil against her notebook until Ellie threatens to break it in half.

By the time practice ends, the sky outside is a heavy, syrupy kind of gold, melting into dusky purples around the edges. The campus feels slower somehow, softer — like the whole world is holding its breath for her.

Vi shrugs on her hoodie and meets Margot by the gym doors. Flint and Abby trail after, arguing loudly about the best hiding spots.

"You’re gonna chicken out," Abby says, smirking as she blows a gum bubble. "I can feel it."

"Shut up," Vi grumbles, heart hammering so loudly it almost drowns her out.

She’s spent the entire afternoon writing the notes — crumpling up a dozen drafts until her dorm floor looked like a paper graveyard. She finally landed on it, though: simple, messy, honest little scraps of herself, leading to one final moment.

Margot reads over the first note again, then gives Vi a look. "It’s good. It’s you. She’ll get it."

Vi swallows hard and nods, even though her hands are shaking. "Okay," she breathes out. "Let’s do it."

They scatter like a team of badly-behaved elves.

The first note gets taped carefully to your locker — a simple scrap of white lined paper, written in Vi’s messy scrawl:

“I know I don’t deserve your time right now... but if you’ll give me a little more, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

Margot sticks it there with a small heart sticker Flint stole from Ellie’s planner. Vi watches it for a second, her heart thudding so loud she’s sure someone can hear it.

The next note goes near the ballet studio entrance — tucked underneath the spare barre you always stretch by.

“If you’re still willing to listen, meet me by the gym.”

Vi forces herself to keep moving, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pockets to keep from grabbing the notes back and bolting. Be brave, dumbass.

By the time the third note is placed — taped carefully to the vending machine you always raid for cherry sodas after practice — Vi feels like she might actually throw up.

“One last stop. If you’re tired of chasing me, I don’t blame you. But I’ll be waiting, either way.”

The words make her chest ache. They’re stupid and messy and too much — just like her.

Margot claps her on the shoulder once everything’s in place. "All set, lover girl."

"God," Vi mutters, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the vending machine. "This was a mistake. She’s not gonna come."

"She’ll come," Flint says confidently, even as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "You’re a disaster, but you’re her disaster."

Abby blows a new bubble and pops it loudly. "You owe me twenty bucks if she doesn’t, though."

"Not helping," Vi groans.

They scatter after that, giving Vi space — or maybe because none of them want to watch her completely unravel in real time.

Vi sits down on the low brick wall outside the practice building, fiddling with the frayed edges of her sleeves, trying not to bounce her leg clean off her body. She watches the sun sink lower behind the trees, watches the soft blue shadows stretch out over the pavement, and tries to breathe.

And then —

Footsteps.

Vi’s head snaps up so fast her neck twinges. There you are — hair a little messy from practice, ballet bag slung over your shoulder, a faint crease between your brows as you glance down at the last note clutched in your hand.

Her heart stutters.

You’re here. You came.

You look up, and for a second, it’s just you and her, everything else fading into a soft, distant hum.

Vi pushes off the wall, nerves surging up her throat, but she manages a crooked smile.

"Hey," she says, voice rough and shaky around the edges. "Thanks for...following the breadcrumbs."

You just stare at her, expression unreadable, and Vi swears the ground tilts underneath her. Say something, she pleads silently. Please.

When you finally speak, your voice is so soft she almost misses it.

"You’re an idiot," you say.

Vi lets out a weak, broken laugh. "Yeah," she says. "I know."

And then — miraculously, painfully — you take a small step closer. And Vi feels like she can finally breathe again.

Vi's palms are slick with sweat as you step closer, crumpling the last note tighter in your fist. She sees it — the hesitation written across your face, the guarded way you hold yourself — and it guts her more than any fight she's ever lost.

She pushes a hand through her already-messy hair, breath shaking a little when she forces herself to speak.

"I know you hate me right now," she says, voice low, rough. "And honestly, you should. I screwed up. I let her kiss me and... I didn’t stop it fast enough. And you—" she stops, swallows hard. "You saw it. You saw the worst version of me."

You bite your bottom lip, looking down, the hurt flickering so clear across your face it makes her chest physically ache.

"I swear to God, it meant nothing," Vi says quickly, almost stumbling over herself to get the words out before you can turn away. "I don’t want Cait. I haven’t wanted Cait for a long time. I just..."

She huffs out a broken, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm a fucking idiot, and I thought — I don’t know, I thought I had more time to tell you how I felt before something went wrong."

You look up at her then — really look — and she sees the tiniest crack start to form in your wall. A sliver of something like hope, like the part of you that still wants to believe her.

Vi steps closer, heart hammering, feeling like she’s moving through quicksand.

"I like you," she says, voice almost breaking on the words. "I mean, like — really like you. Not in the dumb, casual way everyone thinks I do with people. Not like how I was with Cait or any of them."

She takes a shaky breath, trying to find the words.

"You're different," she says, softer now. "You're...you. And that scares the shit out of me because you're the only person who’s ever made me want to be better than whatever this is." She gestures vaguely at herself, a crooked half-smile tugging at her mouth. "The cocky idiot with a basketball and no clue what she’s doing."

Your hands loosen a little around the note, and Vi feels something uncurl painfully in her chest — something small and fragile and full of hope.

"And," Vi adds, laughing nervously, "not to be super cliché, but... I wanted to ask you something."

She fumbles behind her back, pulls out the last thing she'd been hiding — a folded-up piece of paper, a little crumpled but still clearly marked in thick sharpie: “Will you go to prom with me?” and underneath, in smaller messy handwriting: “(Only if you want to, obviously. No pressure. I’ll still probably pine dramatically either way.)”

Vi holds it out between them, her hand visibly trembling now.

"I just... I wanted you to know," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "That it’s you. It’s always been you."

Silence stretches out between you. Vi feels it in every part of her body — the horrible, trembling, naked kind of silence.

And then —

You take the note from her hand, fingers brushing, and Vi's breath catches in her throat. You stare at it for a second. And then you finally, finally look up at her, your mouth twitching like you’re fighting a smile.

"You’re such an idiot," you murmur.

Vi lets out a wet, choked-off laugh, half-sobbing, half-relieved. "Yeah," she agrees hoarsely. "But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me."

And before she can lose her nerve — before she can spiral again — you reach out, fisting your hand gently in the front of her hoodie, and pull her down just enough to press a kiss to her cheek.

Soft. Quick. But enough to make Vi completely forget how to breathe.

When you pull back, your eyes are shining, your cheeks pink. Vi’s sure she looks even worse — blushing so hard she probably looks like a tomato.

You tuck the promposal paper into your ballet bag and glance up at her through your lashes. "I’ll think about it," you tease, voice lighter than it’s been in days. But your smile — that small, real, for her smile — tells her everything she needs to know.

And Vi stands there in the soft, fading light, heart pounding out of her chest, feeling like maybe — just maybe — she hasn’t lost her shot after all.

The afternoon hums with quiet excitement, soft golden light pooling through Margot’s windows, catching dust motes and lazy breezes like something out of a movie. You sit cross-legged on her bed, nerves a heavy flutter in your chest, while Margot and Flint bustle around you like a storm you can’t quite stop.

"This one," Margot says, pulling a silky lavender dress from her closet and holding it up against you with a critical eye. "You’ll look like an actual angel. She’s gonna lose her mind."

You bury your face in your hands, feeling your cheeks burn. "Stop."

"Never," Margot grins, tossing the dress onto the bed beside you before rifling through a tangled jewelry box. "You’re gonna look so hot she’s gonna pass out before you even get through the door."

Flint snorts from where he's sitting on the floor, attempting to polish your scuffed-up ballet flats with a sleeve of his hoodie. "She's already obsessed, dude. You could show up in a trash bag and she’d still look at you like you invented oxygen."

"Flint!" you yelp, throwing a pillow at him.

He just laughs, dodging easily, and goes back to his hopeless polishing.

You pick up the lavender dress carefully — it’s soft and weightless between your fingers, the kind of thing that feels like it should be worn under fairy lights and slow songs. The nervous flutter in your chest sharpens a little, sweet and sharp all at once.

Margot crouches down in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees. "Hey," she says, softer now. "You don't have to be scared."

You look at her, biting the inside of your cheek. "What if...what if it's weird? What if this ruins everything?"

Flint looks up, his expression gentler than usual. "It won’t," he says simply. "You guys already survived the worst part. Now you just get to... be happy."

Margot smiles and taps your forehead lightly with one manicured finger. "Besides, you deserve this, dummy. Someone who looks at you like you hung the goddamn moon."

Your throat feels tight with emotion, but you manage a watery laugh. "You guys are so embarrassing."

"Yeah, yeah," Margot waves you off, standing and tossing a handful of bobby pins onto the bed. "Now shut up and get pretty. She’s picking you up at seven and you’re gonna make her suffer a little when she sees you."

You slip into the dress carefully, the silky fabric sliding cool over your skin. Margot helps zip it up with steady hands, adjusting the shoulders, smoothing it down over your hips with practiced ease.

Flint whistles low when you turn around. "Damn," he says, grinning. "Vi's toast."

You catch your reflection in Margot’s full-length mirror — and for a second, you don’t even recognize yourself. There’s still the usual tilt of your smile, the familiar curve of your nose, but there’s something else too — something brighter, softer. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe you could be someone's dream too.

Margot stands behind you, resting her chin lightly on your shoulder. "You look beautiful," she says simply. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you actually believe her.

You turn, smoothing your hands down the front of the dress one more time, heart pounding against your ribs.

"Okay," you breathe out, looking at both of them — your friends, your ridiculous, wonderful family. "I’m ready."

Margot offers you a small smile—warm, gentle, the kind that settles your nerves just a little. “Alright, I think Vi’s—”

But she doesn’t get to finish. The doorbell cuts through the room like a starting bell.

You inhale slowly, trying to calm the flutter in your chest. One last glance in the mirror—your hair feels stiff with product, too many hands fussing over it—but you tuck a stray strand behind your ear anyway. With hesitant steps, you head toward the door.

It creaks open.

Vi stands on the other side, framed by the soft light of the porch. She's in a sharp black suit and tie, her hair slicked back, and a bouquet of roses clutched in one hand. She looks like a dream dressed in noir.

Her eyes find yours instantly—and in that split second, you both forget how to breathe.

Her mouth opens—once, then again—as if searching for words she can’t quite form. Like a fish pulled out of water. You give her a small, nervous smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hi.”

What else can you say when she looks like sin wrapped in velvet?

“Jesus Christ,” Vi murmurs, gaze sweeping over you. The silky fabric of your dress skims your figure like a secret, and you can see it in her eyes—she’s absolutely floored.

“You look handsome,” you say softly, tilting your head just a little. It earns you a shaky laugh.

She rubs a hand down her face. “I... I mean, thanks. Fuck. You look beautiful.”

She holds the bouquet out to you with a lopsided, almost boyish smile, and you can’t help the quiet laugh that slips past your lips.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the roses, your fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment. It feels like a spark—small, but impossible to ignore.

The school gym is chaos—glitter-drenched, bass-thumping, neon-lit chaos. And right in the center of it all is Abby.

Vi leads you inside with one arm bent at the elbow, offering it like a proper gentlewoman. You loop your hand through hers, grateful for the steady anchor in the sea of noise.

“Holy hell,” Vi mutters under her breath as her eyes sweep across the room.

Abby is already drunk—despite the strict no-alcohol rule—and is screaming along to a Katy Perry song like it’s her national anthem. A few guys from the team are doing their best to keep her upright, though one looks like he's about to give up and let gravity win.

Off to the far right, Ellie is practically devouring Margot in her lap, the two of them making out with the intensity of a scene from Fifty Shades.

You blink. “Well... this is something.”

Vi huffs a laugh and steers you gently toward the self-serve snack table, which is tragically underwhelming. A sad bowl of chips, a scattering of gummy worms, some rubbery-looking bread bites, and a bowl of punch that definitely looks... compromised.

You pour yourself a cup anyway. Vi declines with a shake of her head.

“Gotta drive you home after, pretty girl.”

The nickname slides over your skin like warm honey, unexpected and impossible to ignore. Something flickers low in your stomach—nerves, anticipation, maybe something a little more dangerous.

You lift the cup to your lips, hoping the definitely-spiked punch will drown the flutter in your chest.

You sip the punch, feeling it burn just a little too sweet on the way down, and try to ignore the warmth still lingering from Vi’s words.

The music shifts—Katy Perry fades out, replaced by something slower. Softer. One of those cliché prom songs meant for swaying in dim lighting and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Vi glances toward the dance floor, then back at you. “Wanna?” she asks, holding out a hand. Her voice is quiet now, almost hesitant, like she’s offering more than just a dance.

You nod before you can second-guess it, slipping your hand into hers. Her fingers are warm and sure as she leads you into the mess of couples already finding their rhythm.

She pulls you close—close enough that you can smell her cologne, faintly sharp and familiar, like pine and something deeper. Her hands settle gently at your waist, and yours loop around her shoulders. The two of you sway together in the hazy glow of string lights and cheap disco balls.

It’s awkward for half a second. Then it isn’t. Then it feels easy. Natural. Like your bodies knew how to find each other long before your hearts figured it out.

Vi looks down at you, and you can see her throat bob as she swallows hard. “You really do look beautiful tonight.”

Your cheeks heat, but you don’t look away. “So do you. I mean—” you laugh, flustered. “You look… unfairly good in a suit. I think you might’ve broken my brain a little.”

Vi laughs softly, forehead dipping to rest against yours. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while,” she says, voice barely a whisper. “And I didn’t know how to say it until now.”

The music hums low around you, but everything else falls away. Just you, and her, and the space between you growing impossibly small.

You smile, soft and real. “You just did.”

And then you lean in, brushing your lips against hers like a promise. Gentle. Certain.

The world can be glittery and chaotic. But this? This is quiet.

And it feels a lot like home.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

( @foralltheprettygirls ; @sawaagyapong ; @jivimatcha ; @majuia ; @uhmidkmuch ; @savedforlaterr ; @baylegend6 ; @elle-girlylesbian @dazevi @paymeinkash , @jupitism , @lostsouls-mxli ; @xseraphine ; @tdawg2012 ; @norwayromanoff ; @caffeine-pup ; @tuliptu ; @killuomi ; @lin-elizabeth ; @sillyloafff ; @hitmehardmommy ; @cloudy-fay ; @powpowjinxlife ; @antobooh ; @horde9 ; @mikellie @caitvisthird44 ; @halle5s ; @strawb4kdior ; @daughterofthemoons-stuff ; @paankhaleyaaar ; @corpsebride25 ; @wosokirby ; @klallx ; @dollyfawn22 )

[neo-exploded]

my collection of various and frankly very random vat7k headcanons/ideas yay!!!!

(note: orange color is for other characters)

team radical duo names first

varian + hugo = alchemy bros/varigo (take your pick)

varian + nuru = spacerocks (im sticking with that ok)

varian + yong = gunpowder (because its a chemical that, when added into a substance in chemistry, will detonate)

yong + nuru = supernova (GET IT GET IT???? ITS CUZ WHEN A STAR EXPLODES *nudging you with elbow as i wink*)

yong + hugo = hotpockets

nuru + hugo = royaltravesty (i came up with this on the spot, dont kill me)(also they remind me of cass n eugene and cassandra called eugene “royal travesty” once so ohhhhhkay)

ok hc time

Hugo grew up in a lower class, and thus was given no middle or last name. Rottewange was Donella's last name which she gave to Hugo when she took him in (age 5).

Yong is the animal master. He speaks to squirrels, rabbits, badgers, horses, ect. throughout the journey. if Ruddiger isn’t with Varian, he’s on Yong’s shoulders.

^^ Hugo is the opposite of this. Ruddiger only tolerates him if he gets apples in the end and Prometheus just dgaf (nonchalant king) and every other animal just hates his ass.

Nuru was actually aware of Varian’s criminal past as “The Alchemist” because, as a royal, she was informed by kingdom gossip about a dangerous criminal and oh no!!!! anyway when Varian’s past was revealed she was kind of like “oh damn” and “ok cool” because really she can’t see this man as a treasonist anymore when he speaks alchemical equations in his sleep

^^ Varian was actually really scared what everyone else would think of him when they discovered his past, but Nuru was calm, Yong was honestly a little too excited, and Hugo was stunned (bringing back my Hugo being a fanboy of The Alchemist when it was fresh news)

^^ Hugo spent an entire night after contemplating everything realizing that the figure he crushed on a few years ago is VARIAN.

^^ Last one: Donella actually was pretty close to wanting to recruit The Alchemist, but when she did a bit more digging and found out he's Ulla's boy, she gave it up instantly.

Varian talks to Ruddiger and Prometheus like they’re people. Hugo thinks it’s kind of sad and funny at the same time.

Nuru is lactose intolerant.

Hugo is really good at sketching. He sketches blueprints for Olivia and pictures of Varian in a small pocket journal

Yong can do a really good bird impression. That’s it.

Don’t kill me for this, but Nuru didn’t crush on Amber at first sight. It took about a couple of meetings post-VAT7K for her to finally start realizing her feelings (events being Varian’s and/or Hugo's birthday, Rapunzel’s coronation, Varigo wedding 👀, reunions, holidays, and library grand opening)

When Varian and Hugo did get married (28 and 29 respectively) it was so incredibly similar to Rapunzel and Eugene's wedding, what with Ruddiger and Olivia being the ring-barers who disappeared halfway through the ceremony and came back covered in mud. The only difference with this wedding was that it only had friends and family and not the entire fucking kingdom. (also this was inspired by JJGGRT's art i saw on pinterest)

I know this is generally accepted by the VAT7K fandom, but Hugo did drop a piano on Eugene’s head during a job when he was like 12. Neither have forgotten and Eugene still hangs it over Hugo’s head when he starts living in the castle. For revenge, Eugene would probably just keep dumping items on Hugo’s head (apples, books, CHAIRS, whatever)

Yong kicks and snores in his sleep, Varian sleep-talks and occasionally walks, Nuru snores but not as loud as Yong, and Hugo is the lightest sleeper of them all (suffering)

Each of them have relatively good voices when it comes to singing, which leads to most nights camping on the road to an improv karaoke night with a guitar Varian brought.

^^ Varian plays guitar and piano, Yong likes the tamborine, Nuru plays the violin, and Hugo plays flute

Yong learns new curse words every time the group has an argument (namely Hugo and Varian, Nuru tries to prevent Yong from hearing them but it doesn’t work)

Varian left his binder on the floor once and Hugo screamed because "cooties" then started complaining because "could you pick up your shit from the floor?? Other people use this caravan too, dumbass".

Nuru is AMAZING at debate. Like, Hugo can bargain and all that, but Nuru will go in complete detail and go on lengthy debates with someone if given the chance, and often about the smallest topic.

Nuru was the hairstylist of the team. That was how she kept Hugo's undercut the same and Varian's hair the same length. She tried to keep Yong's hair clean and un-messed, but his explosions never helped and he liked it blown back, so she let him be, onlly trimming his hair every few months.

^^ Nuru’s hair changes every day, the only time it’s the same is during the trials.

Varian bakes for the team. He absolutely cannot cook but Hugo can. Nuru was never allowed to make her own food in the castle and Yong only knows few recipes.

Some days, Varian will wake up first with the brightest, happy-go-lucky attitude ever known (thanks rapunzel) and then other days he won’t wake up until the moment they’re about to leave, groaning and dragging his body around like a zombie

The team lowkey forgot about their birthdays on the road, so when Rapunzel found out about this she dropped EVERYTHING and planned the most spontaneous and biggest birthday party for four people.

Yong keeps rocks from every kingdom and trial they visit.

Team Radical stayed in Corona’s castle for a week after the events at the Eternal Library to recover, then were sent home.

^^ Yong and Nuru actually became ambassadors and librarians of the Eternal Library, just from far away. Hugo stayed with Varian in the castle tho.

For maybe the first month, or longer, Hugo struggled with adapting to palace life and Varian’s forgiveness. It took multiple late night talks, awkward conversations, and kidnappings to a storage closet for Hugo to realize Varian will not dump him to the curb. ever.

Yong and Nuru almost wept tears of sorrow when they realized that leaving Corona meant saying goodbye to Attila's cupcakes. Now everytime they reunite every few months, they go to get cupcakes and sit in a garden to yap.

Varian taught Hugo the Coronian style of dance (aka: the dances you see in the movie and such) and now everytime Corona has their spontaneous dances, Varian has to drag Hugo into them. Eugene and Rapunzel experience deja vu.

Hugo and Varian go to Ingvarr often to say hi to Donella :) Hugo likes to bug her every now and then, and really likes sending useless scrolls that would say shit like “I need toilet paper” or “tell cyrus he stinks” idk

^^ Varian also did something similar along the journey. He'd write letters back to his father and the rest back in Corona every week (if he didn't, Eugene and Rapunzel threatened search parties instantly). Anyways, he sent normal updates to his dad, but the ones to the castle said really stupid stuff to troll Eugene and Lance mostly. "Look behind you, Eugene." and "DO NOT TOUCH MY LAB, LANCE. I SEE YOU" (extra: "hi raps i hope youre having a good time :) i miss you <3")

^^ In retaliation, Varian was sent letters that contained crude, horribly drawn images by Eugene or Lance or Angry and Catalina. Most of the time it was Eugene complaining with a small scratchy figure of Angry in the corner doing the middle finger. Varian keeps every one. Once he was sent an entire rat tail.

Nuru is still the diplomatic, navigator, and probably the most mature of the group, but she has her silly moments like yapping about her astronomy knowledge to Varian, collecting every candle she comes across in the markets, and having a celebrity crush on the famous vigilante of the Seven Kingdoms (Cassandra)

When or if they ever ran into The Spire along their journey, Hugo was most likely to commit a murder.

Hugo is the type to put on a brave face around Varian Post-VAT7K when it comes to “romancing”. He’ll act all flirtatious and confident but will instantly lose it when Varian responds with his own flirting. Hugo will not be able to speak for a good ten minutes after, reduced to incoherent sentences.

Varian is unarguably the strongest of the group, having grown up on a farm and spent a year in prison, so he tends to effortlessly lift logs, supplies, and Yong, Nuru, and Hugo whenever. Varian would only lift others if he finds them asleep in odd places, which is often.

Nuru also brought tons of coins with her when she joined the party, so the group didn’t have to worry about food or supplies after her. Perks of royalty on your team.

When Hugo and Varian were revealed to be dating in the castle, Hugo was BOMBARDED WITH THREATS AND SHOVELTALK FOR DAYS. Mainly from Eugene because he holds the biggest grudge against him, Rapunzel was mostly polite about it, Cassandra was scary, BUT QUIRIN WAS TERRIFYING. HE PROBABLY DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING HE JUST GAVE HUGO THE DEADLIEST STARE EVER AND HE HAD TO SAY "Yyyyes sir........." WITHOUT SOBBING

^^ This was similar for Varian when it came to Donella, who threatened to "ambush him, slit his throat, chop up his body, and throw every piece into bags in the ocean where you will remain if you dare break his heart". Um.

In the end, both boys are less scared to death and more annoyed than anything else so they hide in the (now shared) laboratory until everything dies down.

Post-VAT7K, Hugo and Nuru are more like siblings than ever before but neither would admit that.

Varian has an intense sweet tooth, Hugo likes salt. A lot. Nuru and Yong love spice. Because of this, dinners are a constant battle for what flavor or kind of food to make.

Yong, Hugo and Varian would keep getting arrested at nearly every city, town or kingdom they enter for their criminal actions (Yong is an arsonist. okay.) and Nuru has to constantly intervene saying "Actually, I'm the Kotoian Princess, and these are my........ assistants. They are simpletons, but knowledgeable in the outside world, do forgive them." "okya then why do they look like the guys we've been hearing about in the area?" "dunno."

Weapon choice

Varian’s weapon of choice: Alchemy staff + bombs

Hugo’s weapon of choice: Double daggers and alchemy bombs

Nuru’s weapon of choice: Fencing sword, but she gets an actual sword after they reach the Dark Kingdom (Thank you, Adira)

Yong’s weapon of choice: Firecrackers, fireworks, dynamite, bombs, wtvr

"Episode" ideas

At one point, Team Radical finds the Hook Brothers while they’re on tour, so they get a break and cool singing/dance montage yay!

They accidentially find Cassandra too. She almost attacks them until she noticed Varian and yay reunion!! (The rest are panicking in the background because who the hell is this woman who jumped out of the trees with a horse and owl)

Mandatory Andrew + Saporians run-in, Yong blows them up.

I do think the Baron or Anthony would try to yank Varian away because of his old criminal status (whether it be for his intelligence or something else, you choose) but really nobody is having that and it’s stopped easily.

There are some points in battles (against whoever really, Donella’s men most of the time) where Team Radical would have to lock in and when I say lock in, I MEAN IT. THEY CAN BE REALLY FUCKING TERRIFYING IF THEY ARE PUSHED TO THAT LIMIT. but rlly theyre staying silly most of the time. but still……………….

Varian gets to know his Mother’s side of the family more, he formally meets his aunt and uncles in the Dark Kingdom, has the biggest reunion with his family when they return to Corona, and none of the team can comphrehend how big this family is.

^^ Hugo was also really fucking spooked when he saw Quirin. He still is.

MY MOST FAVORITE IDEA PLEASE LISTEN TO IT OHMYGOD: so Team Radical somehow transports themselves back in time by like 3-4 years. This makes them encounter Rapunzel and Co. during Season 2, aka, when they still think Varian was a murderous traitor, and that was a whole experience they had to fix before returning back to the present.

^^ I REALLY REALLY REALLY WANT AN EPISODE WHERE the wand of oblivium returns and Varian’s memory was erased to the point where he’s 14 and out for blood and Team Radical has to experience the wrath of a boy who wants his father back. It’s fixed in the end.

Yong runaway episode. He feels like a burden to the others and leaves the party to “help”. Varian and Yong bonding in the end :)

I know this is a really far stretch, but the House of Yesterday’s Tomorrow episode. I don’t want to explain this just plaese HEAR ME OUTTTT

Ruddiger speaking. He and olivia get a voice for like. a day.

^^ ACTUALLY BETTER IDEA: Ruddiger, Prometheus and Olivia as human and Varian, Hugo, Yong, and Nuru as animals for an episode. The animals-turned-humans have to find a cure before the humans-turned-animals turn FULL ANIMAL (can you tell I was inspired by the bird episode from S2)

A BODY SWAP EPISODE??? LMAOAOOA LIKE Nuru > Hugo / Hugo > Yong / Yong > Varian / Varian > Nuru

Moon powers Varian. That's it, that's the idea.

dude when one of the cities the team stops in, Nuru gets a full on break from everything and chills the entire time; spa, massage, sauna, everything. Meanwhile, the boys are.... probably suffering elsewhere I haven't decided yet

Team Radical stopped at a beach for like two days and at least one person almost drowned, whoever that may be is up to you.

Nuru introduces coffee to the group when she joins, then Varian and Hugo get ADDICTED and she and Yong have to pry their disgusting hands from the coffee. It's thrown out maybe two weeks later, being replaced by tea and hot cocoa.

Full name + age headcanons

Varian Elias Ruddiger - 18 years (19 at the end of VAT7K)

Hugo Rottewange - 19 years (turned 20 maybe a month after VAT7K)

Yong Hwan Beifong - 13 years (Turned 14 in the Dark Kingdom)

Princess Nuru Grace Astraea - 16 1/2 years (Turned 17 after the Earth Trial)

BONUS!!! Hugo's nicknames for every member lmao

Varian: Goggles, Hairstripe, Freckles, Raccoon Whisperer, Sweetcheeks, Sir Dorkington, Variety, Varitas, Moonbeam.

Yong: Firecracker, Young, Kiddo, Sparky, "you Child of Flames", Firefly.

Nuru: Princess, Sparkles, Starlight, Lady Annoyance, Queen Grumpy, Twinkle Toes.

Lil extra: Varian's nicknames for Hugo: Beanpole, Greenbean, Asshole, Glasses, Love, Sweetheart, Sunshine, My Dream, Honey, My Everything, Darling, Pookie, Snookums, Squeaky, Rat Man, "A complete piece of shit", and Hu-Bug (from Rapunzel).

(guys please feel free to add any of your ideas or headcanons!! id love to hear ur guys' thoughts :D)

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns Part 8

@crowleythesexydemon

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 9

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.6K Words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky knew something was wrong the moment Bob walked into the gym with a clipboard.

Not a weapon. Not an energy drink. A clipboard.

“Uh-oh,” John muttered, ducking into the hallway like he could sense it too.

You, meanwhile, were upside down on a mat, mid-stretch, and waved. “Hey, Bob. What’s up?”

“I have prepared a schedule,” Bob announced. “For Bucky’s courtship initiative.”

Bucky dropped his dumbbells mid-rep.

You blinked. “Wait. What now?”

Bob beamed. “I’ve been doing research. Love is a very specific chemical cocktail involving serotonin, oxytocin, and sometimes pancakes. I’ve created a multi-day plan to help Bucky seduce- no, woo you properly!”

“Bob,” Bucky hissed, red-faced. “What the hell-”

“I even made themed days,” Bob continued proudly, flipping the clipboard to reveal a chaotic chart with glitter stickers. “Today is Compliment Blitz Tuesday. Tomorrow is Proximity and Eye Contact Wednesday. Friday is tentatively titled Emotional Vulnerability & Muffins.”

You looked like you were trying very hard not to laugh. “This is… a lot.”

“It’s science,” Bob said solemnly.

Yelena, walking past the gym with a smoothie, peered at the clipboard. “You missed Subtlety and Dignity Day.”

“I moved that to next month.”

Hours later, Bucky was still simmering with embarrassment, crouched behind a case of gear to avoid further romantic sabotage. You popped your head around the corner, grinning.

“Hey.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re gonna laugh at me again.”

“Nope. I promise.” He squinted at you. “Okay, I might laugh again, but with love.”

He gave you a look. “Bob told the entire base I was trying to woo you. With pancakes.”

You leaned a shoulder against the wall beside him. “Honestly? It was kinda sweet.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, startled.

“Yeah. I mean, chaotic and absolutely deranged. But sweet.”

He looked at you then, really looked - eyes bright with amusement, arms crossed, completely comfortable in his space. He still didn’t know how he was supposed to talk to you without falling further in love.

“So,” you said casually. “Which day is today again?”

“Compliment Blitz Tuesday,” he muttered.

You waited, tilting your head. “Well?”

He sighed. “You’re the smartest, kindest, funniest person I’ve ever met. You’re stupidly good at your job. And… your laugh makes me forget all the awful things I’ve seen.”

You blinked.

He immediately panicked. “That was too much. That was too much. Forget it-”

“No,” you interrupted gently. “That was… perfect.”

And he forgot how to breathe.

On the observation deck, Alexei stood beside Bob, overlooking the city. “You are reckless and emotionally unstable,” he said.

“Thank you,” Bob replied.

“But I will admit… that plan sort of worked.”

Bob smiled. “We’re getting closer.”

“To what?”

Bob pointed dramatically. “To love.”

Bucky walked in like a man going to war.

Bob’s clipboard was missing (mercifully), but everyone knew what day it was. Ava had smirked the moment he walked in. John made a show of stretching like he was prepping for a very intense eye contact session.

And you? You were curled on the couch in one of Yelena’s hoodies, reading a book and drinking tea, looking so cozy and unbothered that Bucky’s entire internal monologue short-circuited.

He sat down on the couch beside you. Close. Not too close. Just close enough to fulfill Bob’s mission parameters for Proximity Day.

You looked up. “Hey, stranger.”

His heart did that thing again - the one where it tried to climb out of his chest and swan dive into traffic. “Hey.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed. “You?”

You smiled. “Getting through this book. Might need backup on chapter 10. Feels cursed.”

“I’ll be here.”

You grinned. “My proximity hero.”

He laughed before he could stop himself. Progress.

Bob passed by with a tray of snacks and whispered, “You’re doing great,” like a football coach mid-game.

Then tripped and almost face-planted into a plant, causing Alexei to shout, “COMMIT TO THE ROLE, BOB!” from the hallway.

You didn’t look up from your book. “Should I be worried about whatever weird cult the team is running now?”

Bucky blinked. “Only if they try to bring out the muffins.”

You chuckled. “You’re different lately.”

“Different how?”

“You seem more… I don’t know. Present. Calmer.”

He thought about that. “Maybe I’ve got better reasons to be.”

You tilted your head at him, thoughtful. “That sounds like the next step. Eye contact.”

He stiffened. You met his eyes, warm and curious and completely unaware of the internal free-fall happening behind his blank expression.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

Yelena, Ava, and you were partnered up for drills. Bob was running the session, which meant it had turned into more of a dance class meets improv theater. Alexei had inexplicably brought out an accordion.

Bucky stood to the side, pretending to check equipment, but really just watching you. The way you moved. The way you laughed with Ava. The way you stuck your tongue out at John when he shouted unsolicited notes from across the room. You were magic.

Absolute chaos in a hoodie and combat boots. And Bob’s dumb mission? It wasn’t even about proximity or eye contact. It was about watching you live - really live - and realizing how much he wanted to be part of that.

To be someone you chose.

That night, he found you alone again, looking out over the city.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him with your elbow when he joined you. “We survived another day of whatever this week is.”

He nodded. “You make it survivable.”

You smiled. Quiet. Soft. You stood like that for a long time, close but not touching, the kind of silence that spoke more than any plan Bob could draw. Bucky didn’t need proximity to know how far he’d fallen. But standing next to you?

He really, really hoped you might one day fall with him.

Val’s orders had been clear: in and out, no fireworks, no attention.

Bucky had paired with you without argument - mostly because you’d wordlessly slid the mission file across the table to him before Val even finished reading off the details.

And now, beneath the cover of darkness, the two of you were crouched outside an abandoned safehouse with faulty comms and a growing sense that something was off.

Bucky scanned the perimeter. “Movement. Inside, second floor.”

You nodded, adjusting your gear. “I’ll take the rear. You breach.”

He paused, eyes on yours for a moment longer than needed. “Be careful.”

You smirked. “I always am.”

It was supposed to be abandoned. But as soon as Bucky stepped through the crumbling hallway, he knew you weren’t alone. Footsteps. Heat signatures. Wrong ones. His instincts kicked in just as the first shot cracked past his shoulder.

“Ambush!” he shouted into the comm. “Fall back-”

Your voice came back, breathless and sharp. “Negative. I’m pinned. East stairwell. Two armed-no, three.”

His stomach dropped. He could hear you breathing. Fast. But steady. You were holding your own.

Bucky crashed through the corridor, taking out one of the gunmen with a brutal blow from his vibranium arm. Another was downed by a precise shot from his pistol.

And then - he saw you. Back to the wall, blood at your temple, eyes on fire. But alive.

You ducked as Bucky sent the last guy through a table, and before he could even breathe, you were grabbing him.

“Are you okay?” you gasped. “You were out of range- I didn’t-”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked. “You-your head-”

“It’s nothing.” But your hand was shaking.

And then a beam overhead creaked, dislodged by the earlier fight, and came crashing down toward you - too fast, too heavy, too-

You shoved him hard to the side. It missed him. But it clipped your shoulder, and you went down hard. His voice ripped out of him like something primal.

He’d carried you the last block to the rendezvous point. You weren't unconscious. Just exhausted, banged up, and hurting.

“You’re an idiot,” you rasped.

“You threw yourself in front of a steel beam.”

“Because you weren’t looking up, Barnes.”

“I never look up,” he muttered, trying to keep pressure off your shoulder. “That’s why you’re usually next to me.”

Your eyes fluttered, blurry and half-focused on him. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Liar.”

“I’m…” He trailed off. Swallowed. “I’m scared.” That made you go still. “I’ve been scared since I met you,” he added quietly. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

Your lips parted.

Then Bob’s voice came over comms: “Extraction team inbound. Is Bucky crying? Should I bring tissues?”

You snorted, pained but amused.

The next day in the med bay, you were patched up and teasing him again by afternoon.

The others came and went - Yelena brought snacks, John complained about the mission logs, Ava threatened anyone who interrupted her nap on the spare cot. Alexei brought a bear-shaped balloon. Bob made a chart called “Times Sunshine Has Saved Bucky’s Life” and pinned it above your bed.

But it wasn’t until everyone else cleared out that Bucky sat beside you again, quiet, fingers fiddling with a cold pack he wasn’t using. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you replied. “We make a good team.”

He looked at you then. And it hit him again.

Not a crush. Not a passing thing. But love. Big and terrible and aching.

And after this mission, after the way your voice had sounded when you yelled his name-

He wasn’t going to keep pretending it wasn’t real.

[jadewithaj]

Seeing some fans saying that Carlos was lowkey rude today because he said he can’t beat Jannik forever and Jannik will win later is honestly baffling to me. Because he said what he could say in his position.

Acknowledged that Jannik is improving and that their h2h will not stay this way forever is true! And in a way, recognizing the work Jannik and his team had put into this!

If we want to mirror a response, Jannik said almost the same thing about Zverev. And it was diplomatic and graceful, because truly as a champion, what else can you say to make things better? Because things are not better for the other person regardless.

I hate to be viewed as a hater bc truly I feel for Jannik, and everyone is coming down from an emotional time. But maybe that’s why we should wait to comment on things?

And also saying that he was rude for celebrating points…I’m sorry but did we watch the same match? Because first of all, I want to point out that they’re both doing it. Second of all, if you’re down two sets and start to come back, you too would celebrate the points! Sometimes that’s the beauty of tennis, create your own momentum and be the biggest cheerleader of yourself. Getting the crowd to follow is a widely used tactic that almost every players wants to employ in their games.

I understand that when you’re rooting for the other player, this can be seen as annoying. But no he’s not rude! Trust me when a player is rude, everyone can see it as clear as day!

Usually I’m not one to spoiled the mood but I feel like this has to be said, because Carlos was anything but rude today. He did what he has to, to win; and gives his opponent credit where credit is due.

[herebutbarely44]

TMA RELISTENING UPDATE SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1 AHEAD!!!

ok I just fucking locked for 3 days and now I'm done season 1. My thoughts:

1 omg its so much fun assigning fears to the early statement ahhhhh, I understand now omg!

2 didn't fuckin realize how much Gerry is mentioned in statements. Bro got sent to work by gertrude jesus. No breaks for him I guess

3 I think some of it was probably unintentionally but they really set the lore early. There are so many references and things Bros really thought this out

4 forgot how fucking brutal Jon is to martin lol. There's a line in like season 5 we're martin says they wouldn't have been compatible had all this trauma not happened and, yeah. Jon fucking hates him it's honestly funny.

5 they sound like slightly different then the later seasons cause obviously everyone is still trying to find the characters voices, but particularly Sasha and the first time we hear Elise through me off. Sasha specifically doesn't get much voice lines before she dies so it's a lot more obvious later when we hear her though the tapes how much the voice actor(I'm so sorry I forgot her name) figured out and got comfortable in the role later given more time (and I mean the tapes of real Sasha I know she sounds different cos it's a different person, u understand ajsnnsk)

6 forgot how the worm attack happens in only like 3 eps really. Felt like a much bigger thing the first listen but after now knowing what's coming it feels so trivial lol.

anyway those are my thoughts. I'm having so much fun being able to pick up on the stuff I missed and it's always a treat hearing the soggy wet cat again as he becomes paranoid lol

[reveryfics]

I'm creeping in to get that extra plate, teehee. I was rewatching TFAWS, and Thunderbolts, and just. Awkward John. From the scene where he's getting ready to go on and present himself as Captain America, to attempting to nerd out about guns to Yelena and Ava, and then the "the- the hat? You like it?" 😭😭 MY SHAYLA.

Like obviously this is not a common side of him, but I was thinking of some sort of domestic scene with John and Reader (transman or male reader, whatever you're more preferable with don't wanna bombard you with trans reader x john) and he just let's that awkward little side slip for a moment and reader just absolutely swoons. Like "Oh my god I got the dumbest cockiest dude in the world I love him. If he was a chicken he'd have the biggest puffed out chest and attack everyone and then mistake little grains of gravel for seed I need to kiss him"

(Like OF COURSE John is very smart and observant, and that sentence was not at all meane to undermine or infantilise him in anyway at all. 💔)

Maybe reader is making coffee, or they're in the kitchen for some other reason, and then John gets Awkward John ™️ and it's a long silence of John just possibly beating himself up followed by reader staring at him as if the words "I need to kiss you" are painted all over their face in the same desperate tone of that one audio that goes "wait! I need to draw you. You're why cavemen painted on walls."

Idk I just thought this idea was way too cute to NOT run by you for second thoughts (but ofc if you dont wanna write the same character twice I totally get that don't feel pressured to do this at all :3 make sure you've eaten today and don't force yourself to do what you don't wanna.)

Me shyly sliding back into your requests for the second time in a 4 day timespan

Awkward

John Walker x Male Reader

Summary: Around you, John's usual tough exterior has begun to soften, now he can't stop himself from rambling, and honestly, you just want to kiss him every time he does.

A/N: I was patiently waiting for you to return like a desperate ex waiting for a phone call. Your single handedly helping with writers block, and this idea is absolutely adorable. It can also be read as both FtM and Male reader since it's not exactly specified. I really tried to stay on request with this, but my brain wasn't working at the speed it needed to.

TW: Fluff - Domestic fluff

You'd be the first to admit it: your initial relationship with John was anything but amicable. It certainly wasn't built on the foundations of trust, respect, or mutual feelings. In fact, it was a volatile storm of constant conflict. Every second you were together, you were at each other's throats, a simmering rage perpetually bubbling beneath the surface. Accusations flew freely, each of you quick to assign blame when even the slightest thing went awry, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that you had both been victims of cruel manipulation. The sheer audacity of his existence was enough to fuel your animosity, and the feeling, you knew, was entirely mutual. You hated him with every fiber of your being, and he returned that sentiment with equal fervor.

Then, a shift, subtle at first, began to occur. Circumstance, rather than desire, forced you into a working partnership. You had to collaborate, not because you wanted to, but because the alternative was simply unthinkable. Yet, in the crucible of necessity, something unexpected began to forge. John, despite his outward disdain, started to rely on you. And, as much as you loathed the admission, you found yourself relying on him too. It was a grudging dependency, born of shared peril and common goals, but it was a reliance nonetheless. From that fragile, unspoken understanding, your relationship began to evolve. It wasn't a sudden blossoming, but a slow, arduous climb towards something that, for all its worth, was built on trust, respect, and mutual feelings.

The support you offered each other began with the seemingly insignificant. It was in the small, almost imperceptible ways that you started to show up for John, and he for you. Initially, this manifested in the professional sphere: seamless assistance on missions, a quiet understanding of each other's capabilities and weaknesses. Then, it seeped into your personal lives, subtle gestures that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. Staying up late together, even if the silence hung heavy between you, became a strange comfort. There were the knowing glances, moments of shared understanding when one of you was clearly struggling but too proud to ask for help. These small acts of unspoken care began to escalate.

Soon, it wasn't even a question when John would find you asleep on his couch, having crashed there after a particularly grueling day or late-night debrief. He wouldn't even bat an eye, simply letting you be. And you, in turn, didn't hesitate when he’d awkwardly extend an invitation for dinner, a crack in his hardened exterior slowly revealing itself around you. You saw how he'd fumble for words, seeking your opinion on something trivial with the earnestness of a nervous child, and it endeared him to you in ways you never thought possible. The true turning point, however, arrived when he began to trust you around his son. It was an unspoken seal of approval, a profound gesture that solidified your place in his life. The spare key he later gave you wasn’t just a key; it was an acknowledgment of your integral role, a silent invitation into the sanctity of his private world.

It hadn't even crossed your mind how many walls had been brought down between the two of you. The sheer magnitude of the transformation was staggering. You began to actively anticipate those rare, precious breaks in his gruff demeanor—the moments when he’d let his guard down and talk about something he was genuinely proud of or deeply fond of.

In those instances, John would speak with a genuine smile gracing his lips, his eyes alight, as if only you were privy to this softer, more vulnerable side of him. Then, as the realization of his transparency would sink in, he'd completely go slack-jawed and awkward, clearly embarrassed that he’d let so much of himself slip. And in those very moments, all you could think about, with a fierce ache in your chest, was how desperately you wanted to kiss him like your life depended on it. And gods, sometimes you did. In the quiet solitude of his living room, enveloped by the darkness, after he'd done exactly that—spoken from the heart, then visibly recoiled in embarrassment. There had never been a label for what you and John were; it was an unspoken understanding, a connection that defied definition. But in those clandestine kisses, you didn't care about labels. All you saw was the dumbest, cockiest man you knew, standing vulnerable before you, and all you wanted was your lips on his.

This early morning was no different from the countless others that had become your new normal. You had crashed at his place the night before, narrowly missing his ex-wife as she came to pick up their son. John, it seemed, had grown accustomed to your presence in his home, even in its most unconventional forms. He didn't even question why you were half-naked on his couch, passed out while some children's show still played softly on the TV when he woke up in the middle of the night to grab something from the kitchen. Hell, he didn't even question why he had practically dragged you into bed with him in his sleepy haze, and neither did you. It was simply… what happened. It was your shared, unspoken life, built on the foundations of a tumultuous past, now undeniably intertwined.

You blinked, the soft morning light filtering through John's blinds a gentle assault on your senses. For a moment, you simply lay there, luxuriating in the unfamiliar comfort of his bed, the lingering warmth of his body a comforting weight beside you. A subtle shift, and you realized you were still partially tangled in his embrace. Carefully, you began to disentangle yourself, a slow, deliberate process as you slipped from his grasp, trying not to disturb his peaceful sleep.

With a soft sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on your skin. You sat for a minute, staring down at your bare feet planted firmly on the plush carpet. Your gaze drifted across the room, taking in the familiar landscape of John’s bedroom. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor – a discarded pair of jeans here, a half-peeled-off t-shirt there – a chaotic testament to his usual rushed mornings. It was a familiar scene, one that had become surprisingly comforting in its consistency.

Pushing yourself up, you padded silently across the room. Your eyes landed on a chair, draped with one of John’s plain t-shirts. Without a second thought, you reached for it, pulling the soft cotton over your bare chest. It was a simple, dark grey, yet it swallowed you whole, the fabric falling well past your hips. It was just a shirt, but it felt like a hug, imbued with the faint scent of him. You smirked to yourself; it was probably because he was a super soldier, a fact he’d reenerated to you late one night, eyes wide and earnest, before the self-consciousness kicked in and he’d awkwardly shut down, his usual walls snapping back into place. You shook your head, a fond smile playing on your lips. Even after all this time, the man was still an enigma, a puzzle you were slowly, piece by piece, beginning to solve.

Wrapped in the soft, oversized comfort of John's shirt, you ambled into the kitchen, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you. The familiar clatter of mugs and the gentle gurgle of the coffee maker were a comforting soundtrack to the early morning. You moved on autopilot, half-asleep, scooping coffee grounds and pouring water, the rich aroma slowly beginning to fill the air.

You were just reaching for the sugar when you felt it—a warm presence behind you. Then, a pair of hands, heavy with sleep, lazily settled on your hips, pulling you gently back against a solid chest. A low, gravelly mumble vibrated through you. "Is that my shirt you're wearing?" John's voice, thick with slumber, was barely above a whisper.

You turned your head to look at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. He was a glorious mess, his dark hair a tangled explosion, eyes barely slits against the kitchen light. His shirt was riding up, revealing a toned abdomen, and his pajama pants hung low on his hips, threatening to slip even further. Gods, you thought, a delicious warmth spreading through you, you could definitely get used to this. You simply nodded, a silent affirmation, and turned back to the two mugs you'd set out, the promise of coffee hanging sweet in the air.

You eventually handed John his coffee, the two of you settling into the chairs at his dining room table. The quiet hum of the refrigerator filled the space as you both became absorbed in the digital worlds on your phones – news feeds, emails, the mundane beginnings of another day. The early morning light softened the edges of the room, painting it in gentle hues.

It wasn't until you felt it, a subtle shift in the air, that you looked up from your screen. John’s face, which had been slack with sleep just moments before, now held that familiar, tell-tale expression. The sleepiness had vanished, replaced by a genuine smile that curved his lips, and a certain light in his eyes—the same look he got just before he was about to say something that would crack through his carefully constructed, gruff exterior. You met his gaze, a small, knowing smile already playing on your own lips, even before he began to speak.

You'd be lying if you said you were truly listening to a single word he said. You weren't, not really. Bits and pieces of his monologue drifted into your consciousness, but your mind was consumed by a singular thought: you wanted to kiss him, just like all those other times. And then, inevitably, it happened. The long, awkward silence descended as John suddenly realized what he was doing, what he was revealing, and that you were staring at him with that particular look of utter fascination. He looked down, clearing his throat, and took a deep, fortifying sip of his coffee.

All you could see in that moment was the absolute dork of a man sitting across from you. This was the John you'd grown to know, even if these unguarded moments weren't his typical mode of operation. He was like some overly confident rooster, crowing about the amazing bugs he’d uncovered for his hens, only for them to turn out to be nothing more than a few shiny pebbles. And gods, did you love it. You wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his lips on yours, just like those other times, in the quiet darkness of his living room.

You set your coffee cup down next to your phone, the clink echoing in the quiet kitchen. Without a word, you walked the few feet from your chair to his and leaned down. "I didn't understand a word you just said," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "But there's nothing I enjoy more than when you get this way." You didn't give him time to answer, didn't give him a chance to retreat. Before he could even process your words, your lips were on his in a kiss.

His initial surprise, a brief stiffening of his body, melted almost instantly. John's lips, still soft from sleep, responded to yours with a familiar eagerness, a deep hum rumbling in his chest. His hands, which had been resting on his coffee cup, now found purchase on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss deepened, a slow, tender exploration that tasted of morning coffee and unspoken desires. It wasn't rushed or frantic, but a quiet reaffirmation of the connection that had bloomed between you.

You felt the lingering sleepiness drain from your limbs, replaced by a warmth that spread through your entire being. Your fingers threaded into the soft disarray of his hair, deepening the kiss, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment. In this intimate space, surrounded by the quiet hum of his home, the gruff exterior that John so often presented to the world crumbled away, leaving only the man you had come to know, the one who awkwardly revealed his passions and then blushed at his own transparency.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, a silent understanding passing between your softened gazes. John's eyes, no longer half-closed with sleep, were wide and surprisingly vulnerable, a flush creeping up his neck. He still looked like the dork you’d affectionately dubbed him, but in this moment, he was undeniably yours.

He cleared his throat again, a nervous habit, but a small smile, less self-conscious this time, played on his lips. He didn't need to say anything, and neither did you. The lingering taste of his lips, the gentle pressure of his hands still on your waist, and the quiet comfort of his presence in the early morning light spoke volumes.

You leaned your head against his, a contented sigh escaping your lips. The world outside the kitchen, with its missions and manipulations, felt distant and unimportant. For now, there was only the quiet intimacy of this shared morning, a routine that had slowly, unexpectedly, become the bedrock of your lives.

"More coffee?" you murmured, your voice a little husky.

John chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against you. "Please." He tightened his grip on your waist, a silent invitation to stay right where you were. And you did, basking in the quiet promise of a day that had started in the most perfectly imperfect way.

[castiel-myblue-eyedangel]

So I'm gonna post this here just fr the sake to take things off mind and to educate the bullies who are supporting Jared into bullying Misha.

People/ fans esp Jared / J2 fans may think Jared and Jensen were a good pair and than Misha came and ruined their duo. But Darling, that's not it.

Have youll ever thought, that how Jared was pranking Misha and Jensen was part of it. Yea, it started as a prank game by Jared, (which Jensen thought were harmless) until it started getting serious.

Jared's pranks are:

Pieing Misha, or whatever, till nose bleeds, eyes burnt.

Holding broom at his crotch when he is being delivering lines.

Squeezing his genitals till he screams.

Chugging finger inside his ear cannel when they are acting a scene.

Asking his fans to hold Misha's d*ck at photo ops.

Oh and my personal fav, filming Misha when he was in toilet on the airplane.

And the list goes on.

Does any of this seems harmless prank to you?

He can go blind, he can get chocked and lose his life. He can lose his reproductive organs, he can become deaf. And this is NOT harmless. This is on purpose.

According to Jared, i feel like, Misha came and seperated him and Jensen. And if he eliminates Misha (by harming him or whatever evil he has in his mind to harm Misha), jared feels he will get Jensen back all to himself, just like old days, so he can act like a manchild to get attention and suggest Jensen to change his diapers on the stage.

But What he doesn't think or his fans doesn't realise is, that Jensen stopped supporting Jared after noticing that the pranks are NOT harmless, but dangerous and Jared is reckless. He lost Jensen coz of his own stupidity.

Jensen is a group up man, so is Jared. And being an adult, whatever be his relationship with Misha, friends or romantic, Jensen has right to live his own life, be with person he loves and definately NOT BABY SIT JARED all the time.

Jared thinks he is being adorable and cute and a baby who needs to be pampered all the time by Jensen, fans, and everyone but honestly he is just a Immature possesive narccistic manchild.

I get that he suffered from depression and yes it's real. I like his AKF mission. But WHAT I DON'T LIKE IS, he uses the AKF mission as an excuse to act as manchild, bully Misha and play self victimization.

And fans who are supporting him are equally part of this. Like you'll go for photo ops with him n Misha, and he asks you'll to hold Misha's balls or chock Misha, (which is actually a sexual assault) some of you'll dumba** actually do it and think it's funny, and think that jared will love you'll coz you'll listened to him.

But in real you'll are equally as f-cked up as jared, and equally part of the bullying and sexually assaulting someone. My question is, will you'll be pleased if someone kicked your crotch just for fun? No. You'll riot and file complaint against whoever did that to you.

And what an a-- of an example he must be giving to his kids, like it's all over internet, and someday they will turn into teenagers and see what their father does and they will do it to kids at school and say it's coz their father did it. 😒

You'll should be grateful that Misha isn't filing against Jared or sueing him out of goodness of his heart. And this isn't just Misha anymore. Jared even have posted death threats to others too, publicly on Twitter.

And trust me if you'll continue to support that little manchild jared, the day will come when Jared will turn your little fandom into a joke by getting criminally charged.

So please, Jared fans, be respectful to Misha. If jared asks you'll to do anything to Misha just fr fun, say NO. straight answer. If he asks why, tell him it's BULLYING and SEXUAL ASSAULT. And ask him to f-cking grow up.

That's all. Now I know many of you'll post and repost and comment hate on here so yeah, I don't care, bullying is bullying, SA is SA. just coz you love Jared doesn't mean I'll let it pass. No means no.

And those who are saying "oh in real life J2M are best friends" like honey PLEASE, see how uncomfy Misha feels around Jared and ofc they all pretend to be bffs infront of camera fr the sake of their "job" and ofc, the possesive fans. They don't want people (J2M Fans) attacking them like how you'll are attacking me. You have no idea how rough PR can get. So please don't come at me saying they r bffs. Maybe they r friends fr the sake but definitely not BFFS.

P.D. I'm not trying to post hate for Jared or his fandom. I was a jared fan until i realised his nonsense are not childish but are harmful and can cause serious damage to someone.

[celestie0]

sorry, i wanted to make this a separate post

thank you everyone, i’ve read all your messages of support and i really appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart, n they make me feel better n validated n i am so thankful. i won’t be responding to them because i just want to lay it to rest, also it seems the more discourse there is about it, the more hate i am receiving so 😅 i’m going to leave it at that, but 🥺 i seriously am so thankful n agree w everything n am touched by the love

i’m just the kind of person where i freak the fuck out, and then i move the fuck on ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i promise i’m doing just fine, i understand this is just a little digital land where nothing truly matters and no one can actually hurt me lol, so i’m just prepared to lay kickoff to rest n move on

anywho, so much love 💕 seriously, for people to take time out of their day to send me sweet messages really means a lot 🥺💕 i’m not going to quit writing because ik how many ppl actually support me, n quite honestly i just rlly wanna shag gojo so like the show must go on i guess

i’ll get around to regularly scheduled interaction soon!! tysm for the love on ihm ch10 ❤️ xoxo

[fractalspaces]

@centaurianthropology: Fun! A prompt if it interests you: Gurathin’s augments malfunction.

HELLO :3!! DID IT!! I loved working on this one~ Apologies for the wait, my family loves monopolizing me on weekend afternoons |DDD Have 400 words of angst (?)

------

Gurathin would've loved to have a moment to himself. Just him, washing his face at the restrooms, checking out the damage SecUnit had most likely left on his neck. He'd had excellent reasons to wait until everyone else was busy packing, dammit.

The universe was against him. From one blink to the next, there it was: His proof on the mirror, swifter than a heart attack. He barely had a second to rearrange the collar of his shirt and close the tap as a means to gather his wits. For a couple extra, he buried his face on the microfiber towel and breathed; in and out, ignoring the bursts behind his eyes — Stygian blue, stinging hard.

"Can I help you?"

Like hell he was turning around for this talk. A reflection would suffice: He'd more than earned the right to be pissed off and show it. Honestly, he wished anyone was commenting on his restraint, on keeping a level voice and a semblance of politeness.

"Dr. Gurathin", SecUnit stated. "You need to go to MedBay."

… What.

It must've sensed his incoming denial. Because then it pressed on, no mercy: "Your balance is compromised. Some of the wiring in your augments must've come loose."

The flash of red, that was his temper.

"When you slammed me against the wall?", Gurathin snapped, turning around— way too hastily. SecUnit caught him by the shoulder, steadying him against the sink while he waited for his stupidly unstable middle ear to come back. Plus half his sight.

Wasn't this construct supposed to hate eye contact? Fuck, he hated eye contact.

"I was careful", it said, severe. "But everything the company makes is shitty. You know this."

It was, and no amount of upkeep changed the fact his augments hadn't seen original replacements in six years. They were, and SecUnit had probably felt them shorting through SecSystem the second it happened.

"Dr. Mensah made me promise", it added. Devastating like carved marble, and just as willing to cede terrain.

Gurathin hated it was right.

He hated it was the most worried anyone had been about him in weeks.

"Noted", he muttered, and pushed it away. Walking out with whatever dignity he had left was easier said than done. With half of his sight, he saw it wiping its hand on the side of its armor.

He had no idea of why it made him feel worse.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Alrighty. I hate saying this, but. I'm probably going to delete the ship discourse asks in my inbox. Too many in there now and my mind is too clear to want to answer them

I think we've all been harsh with each other recently. Shouldn't have had to sleep on that, shouldn't have taken me longer than a few minutes to realize that, but idk. I went to bed last night and woke up this morning and... remembered how old I am and that I have better things to care about lol. But seriously, this recent update has really gotten to people's heads, mine included unfortunately, so I think we all need to take a step back and reevaluate ourselves

To try to explain (not excuse) myself personally. I, my friends and acquaintances, and our little fan community have gotten so much harassment for so long that now that the story is sort of tipping in our favor, I felt... vindicated. TOO vindicated this time around lol. For years and years now we have all been viciously mocked, shunned, called misogynists, called abuse apologists, we've been told to kill ourselves, we've been told bad things should happen to our loved ones. I couldn't help but feel smug when episodes 7 and 8 dropped, and then episodes 9 and 10 pushed me into being legitimately petty and mean. Like, all of this harassment was already pointless, now it's even more pointless because BxA is canon. Sore winner, "they hated Jesus because he told the truth" type shit lol

But... That's dumb. All of this is dumb. They're just video game characters. I'm an adult with adult responsibilities lol. None of this is worth getting bent out of shape about, on any side. Nothing wrong with respectful conversation and debate, but it hasn't really been that this time around. It's been gloating. Teabagging. And that's not cool. So I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone with anything I've said. I'm happy about Eternalberry but I've gotten TOO happy haha. I've regained mental clarity and thus the realization that I've started becoming part of the problem. I'm genuinely sorry for that. I want to go back to regular dork levels. Being spiteful and petty sucks, even if it's "justified"

Since I feel bad for leaving those asks awaiting deletion, A) mea culpa mea maxima culpa to those who sent them, nothing against any of you I just want to put the discourse to rest, and B) they all more or less say the same things so I'll just go ahead and bullet point my responses:

TikTok is perhaps the worst social media app ever created, it is an actual blight on society to almost biblical proportions, you are a fool if you listen to anything anyone has to say on there, your first mistake was going there in the first place, Tiktok Delenda Est

Twitter is definitely the worst social media app ever created, it is a blight on society that John meant to record in the Book of Revelation but didn't know how to describe it properly because the internet didn't exist 2000-ish years ago, you are a fool if you listen to anything anyone has to say on there, your first mistake was going there in the first place, Twitter Delenda Est, let's all point and laugh at the Trump-Musk divorce instead

Hero/villain ships are as old as human civilization and fandom nerds today have gotten really uptight about them, it's dumb and honestly really bizarre considering how prevalent it is in almost every piece of media, if someone doesn't like the trope that's perfectly fine it's not for everyone it does get pretty dark but a lot of people seem to put on gestapo uniforms when they're brought up now and it's a waste of time and energy. No one is holding a gun to your heads you guys, you don't need to do it to anyone yourselves

It's nice that I've apparently managed to convince some people to be more open-minded about BxA and hero/villain shipping as a whole, welcome to the club glad to have you, I'm sorry you've had to see some of us do our "obnoxious clown" routine recently, don't worry I'm washing my makeup off rn

I'm disappointed but unsurprised that BxA fans have been getting death threats in places, unfortunately that's how it's always been and it will continue to be that way even if all 5 pairs marry and have sex onscreen. No amount of canonizing in the narrative will change some people's minds. No amount of reasoning or olive branches will make them realize how ridiculous they are. Just have to accept it and ignore them

Cookie Run Kingdom is Baby's First Fandom for a lot of people, and a lot of them are actual, literal children, so all the black and white thinking and lack of understanding and respect makes sense, sadly. This is why I put my age in my blog description haha

Rule of thumb for me personally is to just block people who post hate in ship tags tbh. Spare us both the trouble. I've only responded to one post ever, and it was because the person was asking an honest question in a reasonable way so I thought it was fine to engage. I'd rather not engage people who want to attack and not actually talk. Blocking does us both a favor, I don't have to see meaningless hate on my dash and in tags I follow and they don't have to see content about ships they don't like from me. Win-win

Now, with all that said, I want to say some things I've said before, but would like to reiterate loudly and clearly one more time:

You do not have to like Beast x Ancient. It's perfectly fine and reasonable if you don't. It's not for everyone. Whatever your reasons are, I believe and accept them. I post about them a lot because I love them a lot, and I like talking about things I like. I do my best to tag properly so my weirdo babble is easier to filter out. My posts are more or less just preaching to the choir, I think lol. It's fine if you don't like that, it's fine if you don't like BurningCheese or Eternalberry, it's fine if you don't like Beast x Ancient. I am not your mortal enemy if you don't like them. I'm happy to talk to and be friends with people who don't. I already do so often haha

Furthermore, I want you all to know that no matter what I say about ships I don't like, I don't care if you do like them. I am not out to get you for liking things I don't. Which dolls you decide you like to make kiss is not my problem. I am not your mother, I am not your dictator, I am not God. My opinions are just that, no one is obligated to listen to me or take anything I say to heart. Yes, there are ships I legitimately hate with a passion, but I do not hate the people who like them. Not at all. That's a stupid thing to dislike someone for. I talk to and am friends with lots of people who like things I don't, both on here and irl. The world gets really lonely really fast if you refuse to engage with people who don't march lockstep with you. Especially with regards to fucking Cookie Run lol

Let's all give this nonsense a rest now. This is dumb. I'm dumb. We're all dumb. Let's stop being dumb. I'm happy to coexist peacefully with others. We'll all live happier lives focusing more on things we love than things we hate

[the-sockbeans]

cw: internalized transphobia

damijon (young) // 629 words // general audiences

it's their little hideout. their little corner of the world, away from the pressing responsibilities resting on yet-too-narrow shoulders.

jon frowns at the mirror.

"i hate it," he whispers, then louder, so he's certain his father can hear: "i hate it."

"i do as well," damian agrees, shocking jon somewhat into turning to look at the other, upset crossing his face.

damian walked the few steps closer to jon to reach up and brush his fingers through the freshly shorn locks, no longer wild and free like jonathan but tight, controlled, contained. more like his father's.

"you're supposed to help me feel better," jon mutters sourly.

"and lying to you is meant to accomplish that? your haircut is terrible. it doesn't suit you in the slightest."

jon's lip quivered, and he buried his face in his hands. "i can't go to school like this!"

damian clicked his tongue. "don't be dramatic. it's passable. it just isn't you."

damian's hand continues to stroke through jon's hair, feeling the harshly cut edges. jon lowers his hands, but doesn't meet damian's eyes, face a little pink.

"dad said i looked like a girl, so i had to cut it."

damian pauses, and he looks at jon appraisingly for a moment. there was something deeper in jon's words he couldn't quite puzzle out.

"that's ridiculous," damian says. "anyone could look at you and know you were a boy."

those words didn't produce damian's desired effect. instead jon just seemed to be more reluctant to meet damian's eye.

"dami... how did you know you were a boy?"

damian drops his hand to his side. this was not something they talked about, this was not something to discuss, this elephant was strictly an unremarked upon centerpiece discovered by jon's attempt to humiliate damian through childish use of x ray vision. damian turns with a bristling harshness.

"dami, i'm not making fun of you, i'm asking!" jon pleaded. "because sometimes i..." jon didn't finish his sentence, squirming. what if his dad was listening? "you don't need to be embarrassed. not with me."

"it is an embarrassment," damian snapped coldly, his hands tensing restlessly at his sides. "i am a lesser man because of it. i must work twice - thrice as hard to make up for my biological failings."

jon stood in silent shock for a moment, staring at damian. to hear the other speak with such abject self hatred... jon pushed his own hurt aside. "you don't really think that, do you?" jon asked in a whisper.

damian was tense, and in that silence jon knew that yes, damian did not mean it, but no, that did not mean he didn't feel it. they were words that had been fed to him - intentionally, or harvested from his upbringing - and now they were his only bone to gnaw on.

"damian, i don't think you're a failure at all. i think you're better than everyone i know," jon said honestly, taking a small step toward the other, wanting to offer comfort, but knowing how damian hissed and spat at a gentle touch. damian stiffened, then relaxed. now it was his turn to look in the mirror and frown.

"..alfred keeps my hair too long. he doesn't do it short how i like. do you think he..."

damian's voice sounds so small in that moment it makes jon's heart ache. he steps forward to look at damian's reflection with him, cocking his head slightly.

"..do you want me to cut it for you?" jon asked softly. damian met his eyes in the mirror.

------

later, sitting among locks of hair sizzled neatly away with laser vision, damian digs up and presses an old barrette into jon's sweaty palm, and jon clutches it so tight the metal bites into his flesh.

[nenoname]

Curious, what are your thoughts on the writing of female characters in the show? Some felt they are rather dismal since also often the named female characters ended up in a love interest plot at some point (Mabel and her friends in NMM, and the Dipper and Candy subplot in Roadside Attraction).

I somewhat also believe a part of the Mabel hate also stems from their criticism of how Mabel is written. Because of how she's based on his sisters, so Hirsch's more light on her especially when it comes the show's 'lessons'. Also why fans have an issue with her. Hirsch keeps punching Dipper down because he wasn't afraid of making fun himself. That doesn't happen nearly as often with Mabel, and even if it does, it feels a lot less harsh or brushed away. Like why did the puppet guy in Sock Oprea have to be creep at the end? It's like she ruined her puppet show to help Dipper, but also dogged a bullet.

And another issue with Wendy: the writers also fear to crack her that they shot down any story idea that would have developed her. Alex keeps saying he has ideas for Wendy, but I'm honestly having a hard time believing him, since she keeps being barely involved in any new material. And whenever she does, it's often with regard to Dipper's crush. I also explored a bit of it in my essay: https://www.tumblr.com/the-orion-scribe/758682657983971328/a-nitpick-on-the-book-of-bill?source=share

So, what are your thoughts?

it's super annoying that candy and grenda only really got attention for meh love plots.... my girls deserve more than that.... (and people better quit ignoring that they beat bill's ass!!!!)

alex is more comfortable with being more harsh on dipper but even still a lot of the plots where he has to "sacrifice" something tends to get softened up too, like how in the pool ep wendy also immediately gets fired and the time travel ep immediately has waddles humiliating robbie in front of everyone (and also a lot of people + dipper himself just ignore that what dipper was doing wouldn't stop robbie from asking wendy out, it's only delaying it at most and that's definitely not worth ruining mabel's happiness that she only lost because she helped dipper out and he refused to find a way where they both "won")

it's been like ten years since the show ended, and he says he has so many stan o war stories in his head so i genuinely do think alex actually has some idea on what to do with wendy but like. him doing one line with her at most in tbob is so disappointing and it makes me wince when it feels like pacifica comes off as a replacement (and when mabel's only relationship with her former rival is just to wingman her and her bro >:///// booooooooo it's like her shipping candy and dipper all over again but this time constantly in supplementary materials like a jumpscare)

you've mentioned that a likely reason for the focus on pacifica is the angst potential and honestly i feel like alex can easily dig into wendy's struggles with her own dad (and how that can bounce off with the daddy issues duo of stan and soos) + it's.... more easy to relate to that than having comically evil obscenely rich parents??? idk man

OH ACTUALLY DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE WHOLE PAZ HAVING MORE OF A CONNECTION WITH WENDY'S ANCESTOR THAN WENDY DOES--