#i had plans to do i hate it here and I still do

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Nadezh' Interview

Summary: After Nadezh previous identity as the Firebreather, notorious Supervillain, was revealed, she thought she’d lose everything. She’s never been so happy to be wrong.

You can read Nadezh' first story (HERE)

--------------------------.

It’s decided that Nadezh will work in the finance department of Hero Force. She hates to leave her civilian job and her coworkers seeing the success of her budget fully bloom, but the other option is wearing the power suppressors 24/7, and their power frequency vibrates through her engagement ring in a way that reminds her of a bee buzzing, and she won’t take the ring off so.

The interview is a formality but they make her do it anyway. She prepares for it over the course of seven days, making Gannon rehearse every hypothetical question with her until the last minute.

Until the last minute meaning on the drive to Hero Force for the interview.

“There is a discrepancy in the packaging budget,” Gannon reads. He’s used to her driving and doesn’t flinch when she merges too quickly, and a chorus of Chicago drivers chastise her loudly. “There is a flat rate for three different sizes of package. According to the average order value and average product mix, packaging should be $3.5k—Nadezh, Hero Force doesn’t have a commerce division, I don’t think this is necessary.”

Nadezh knows the rest of this question. What steps would you take to reconcile actual and planned? “Of course, there’s the option to conduct a forensic audit, however—”

“We do have a forensic finance department,” Gannon concedes, “but that’s not—”

“—first would be to observe the whole packaging process. While there is a flat rate for all three package sizes that doesn’t mean all orders are being packaged for efficiency—”

Gannon reaches for her knee, thinks better of it, considering her foot on the gas pedal, and diverts to her shoulder. He squeezes, and all of the tension in her back magically eases. “Babe. You’re already overqualified. You’re going to do great.”

They’ve already had this argument, so Nadezh doesn’t say Overqualified? It’s amazing they’re even letting me into a Hero Force building, I could be the President and I still wouldn’t be qualified considering my past. Instead, she says, “Right. Right, thanks. You’re right. Right.”

“Right,” Gannon says seriously.

“Right,” she says and takes the next exit.

“Riiiiiiight.”

By the time they pull into the parking garage, Nadezh is laughing at the increasingly bizarre ways Gannon says the word right. The word barely has meaning anymore, and she’s fairly certain that if anyone else heard Hero Zone sounding so goat-like, they’d send him to psych for an evaluation.

Nadezh gets out of the car first, hurrying before he can say anything else that will set her off.

“Go save the day,” she says. Her face hurts from smiling. She tosses him the keys over the roof of the car after she closes the door. “I can get the train back.”

Gannon rounds the bumper and presses them back into her hand. He kisses her forehead. “No public transport from HQ.”

She blinks, the spot his lips touched tingling. “Is that a rule?”

“Our house rule,” Gannon says. He smiles reassuringly at her. “Just a precaution. I know too many people who get made getting followed out of HQ.”

Gannon always explains himself even though she never asks. Her heart is racing at our house rules. They have house rules. They’re engaged. They’re going to get married. She lifts her chin for a kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you.” He kisses her.

Kissing Gannon is the closest she feels to her powers these days. The warmth that runs through her, the heat in her cheeks, the pounding of her heart – actually she takes it back. It’s not like her power at all. It’s better than her power.

“Break it up!” a man calls from across the parking garage.

Electricity shoots through Nadezh. She didn’t hear him come up behind her. She tries to pull away from Gannon, to turn and protect them, but his hands on her shoulders stop her. Her brain catches up a moment later. Gannon is relaxed, warm brown eyes still happy. The voice is familiar.

“It’s not goodbye yet,” another voice says grumpily. This time Nadezh recognizes the speaker. When her tension eases, Gannon lifts his hands long enough for her to turn and greet Flare. He drapes his arms over Nadezh’s shoulders. Flare’s eye twitches. “There’s, like, a whole elevator ride to go.”

“There’s cameras in the elevator,” Gannon says.

Nadezh still doesn’t know what to make of Gannon’s Hero team. Omit – the leader of the team – is decent. Fast, sound decisions on the field, always knows when to retreat, which is important when your team is made of B and C-rank heroes.  His power – to eliminate an object from the enemy’s perception during battle – makes her uneasy. Despite his openness with her, she can’t erase the suspicion that he’s using his powers on her from her mind.

She likes Flare. The woman is bright and bubbly, almost six inches shorter than Nadezh, with all the energy of a hummingbird. Though she’s stationed on Gannon’s team, she’s in high demand across the city. There aren’t many fliers out there, and although her dragonfly wings aren’t exactly subtle, she’s fast enough and strong enough to conduct recon across Lake Michigan. Flare keeps Gannon safe when he’s out saving the world. Nobody sneaks up on them with her around.

Mostly.

“Us singles are feeling left out,” Omit says and tries to drape an arm over Flare’s shoulders.

Flare flits away. “Interview today?” she asks Nadezh.

“Right,” Nadezh says.

Gannon’s burst of surprised laughter lasts all the way to Nadezh’s floor where he waves goodbye breathlessly.

Even with his mask obstructing the crow’s feet she loves, Nadezh savors the memory of his joy all the way to her interview.

----.

Agent Briston isn’t like any other agent Nadezh has ever seen. He’s in his sixties, round, bald, and wearing a sweater vest under his regulation suit jacket. She thinks there’s a reason agents like him are kept out of sight. He looks like an easy target—no. She doesn’t think about people as targets anymore. She means that he looks like the grandfather in a commercial about watches, the one who takes the vintage watch off of his own wrist to wrap it around the grandson’s with an air of gravity.

“This interview isn’t a guarantee, despite your…recommendations,” Agent Briston says the moment Nadezh sits down. His desk has nothing but a computer, a notepad, and a pen. Somehow the harried look on his face makes it seem cluttered with paper. “We don’t have the budget for many staff. We need to be selective.”

Nadezh resists the urge to pull at the Hero Force regulation mask on her face or the power suppressors around her wrists. Part of her agreement with Foresight was that she’d wear the cuffs whenever Gannon wasn’t with her. The blue glow feels ostentatious, and she hopes Agent Briston won’t turn her down based on them. “Understood, sir.”

“Briston,” Agent Briston says. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Only the heroes call me sir. My staff calls me Briston.”

Nadezh nods. “I’m Nadezh Mel—”

“No last names, Nadezh,” Briston says. He pulls his glasses from a desk drawer and puts them on. He squints at his computer. “Now. Tell me.  Do you have accounting experience?”

“Yes, si—Briston.”

Briston’s thick white eyebrows raise and he abandons his computer to focus back on Nadezh. He seems skeptical. “Really?”

“I created the office budget for my last company,” Nadezh says. She has a better way to say this, she rehearsed this with Gannon— “My plan allowed for the purchase of new chairs and a copier.”

Briston stares at her. “You really have accounting experience.”

Did he not hear her? Or did she answer incorrectly? “I-I was also part of the team that allocated reinvestment funds—”

“Foresight’s recruits never have accounting experience.”

“—and payroll for over 500 employees—”

“Payroll!” Briston looks up at the ceiling. “She does payroll!”

“I—I’m sorry?” she says. She can’t read his tone. Is he disappointed or being sarcastic? She scrambles for her next interview answer. “I have a bachelor’s in accounting from Illinois State, but I plan to complete my master’s in the next five years—”

Briston makes a sound she’s only ever heard from frightened raccoons. “You’re hired,” Briston declares. He reaches over the desk to shake her hand. “I’ll draw up a counteroffer before noon.”

Confused, Nadezh shakes his hand. His grip is surprisingly strong. “Sir? The terms of my employment should already be in my file.” Foresight had made it clear she’d be starting at the bottom level of the pay scale.

“We aren’t paying my new director that,” Briston says. “We’ll start double that and see what they counter offer.”

“They? Aren’t you in charge of salary approvals?” Nadezh asks. Then, as his words sink in, “Director?!”

Briston beams at her. “Experience, a degree, and common sense! We’ll settle for 30% higher than the initial offer with a condition for an additional 10% at the next performance review.”

“Director,” Nadezh says. When Briston doesn’t answer, ignoring her in favor of typing feverishly, Nadesh says with surety, “You’re joking.”

Briston hums and doesn’t answer her.

“Right?”

----.

Briston isn’t joking.

Gannon takes a dazed Nadezh out for dinner and drinks to celebrate. The private room he reserves is in the back of a Japanese restaurant run by a former Superhero. There are flowers on the table, candles strategically placed around the room, soundproofing on the walls, and a chilled bottle of Nadezh's favorite white wine waiting. She processes all of this distantly. She makes Gannon read her employment contract between bites of sushi. Bemused, he dutifully announces her employed status and starting salary whenever she asks.

“Guess I shouldn’t have listened to the rumors about the department head,” Gannon says. Rather than surprised, his voice carries an element of relief. “You’re barely taking a salary cut with this.”

“Cut? This is a ten percent raise,” Nadezh hisses. She stares at her green tea. “Does Foresight know?” A jolt of sick fear floods with her. “I didn’t make Briston give me a raise, I swear!”

“Nadezh, of course you didn’t,” Gannon says. He reaches across the table to nudge at her clenched hands. Automatically, she unfurls them to reveal half-moon indents from her nails. He slides his palm against hers. “You deserve this.”

“But Foresight might think—”

“He won’t.” Gannon picks up his chopsticks with his left hand, content to let his right keep holding hers so that her dominant hand is free. He’s clumsier with them and frowns as he chases salmon roe around his plate. “Briston has almost unilateral say in the finance department. Nobody can sway him. He’s known for being short-tempered, cheap, and stubborn. I’m sure Foresight will just be grateful he finally hired someone.”

Nadezh narrows her eyes. ��You said you didn’t know the person interviewing me.”

“Oops?” Gannon finally catches the salmon roe under a bite of rice and pops it in his mouth. He chews innocently. “Did I?”

“Fess up.”

“It’s not like I know a lot. People say Briston fires more than he hires.” Gannon’s eyes shift to the side.  “Aaaand that he can be heard yelling whenever it’s time to calculate overtime expenses. Or whenever the armory submits their expense report. Or when the audit team comes back with city damage claims. Or when—”

Nadezh drops her head into her free hand, letting her long black hair hide her for a moment. She forgot that Hero Force accountants dealt with destroyed skyscrapers and medical leave for when you got your arms ripped off in a fight, not copiers and desk chairs. “You didn’t think to mention any of this before the interview?!”

“You were freaked out enough.” Gannon pauses in the way he does when he’s about to say what he’s really thinking so Nadezh doesn’t interrupt. She waits as he chews until he finally says, “I’m glad he bumped your salary. I was starting to feel guilty.”

Nadezh’s hand spasms around Gannon’s. “Guilty?”

“Yeah,” Gannon says. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I argued against making you leave your job. Said it made Hero Force the sort of organization everyone always accuses us of being. Overreaching and, well…cruel.”

“You didn’t tell me about that either.” Had he been thinking that this whole time? While she made him practice interview questions with her? Did he think she was forcing herself? The thought of Gannon feeling even a tenth of the gnawing guilt that lives inside her makes her want to throw up. Nadezh shakes her head and leans across the table. She’s glad for the private room and how it allows her to show him how his words affect her. “Babe, you don’t have anything—"

“I know how hard you worked for that job,” Gannon interrupts. He licks his lips. Now it’s his turn to stare at his tea. “Please, just…listen.”

Nadezh would do anything Gannon asked. She squeezes his hand again and fights the words bubbling up her throat like lava.

“We haven’t really talked since that day,” Gannon says. He’s a Hero; he makes himself look into her eyes. “I haven’t really talked. I’ve been afraid to. I know your past isn’t…isn’t good. I do. And I know that you don’t want to forget about it or pretend it doesn’t exist.”

She wants to, but she can’t. Like hunger and emptiness, she doesn’t think Gannon will ever understand the weight she carries from the harm she’s done. The screams she’d once reveled in now haunt her in ways she could never have guessed. But he’s talking to her, so she doesn’t explain. She listens.

“I feel like I’ve been making you give up everything for me,” Gannon confesses in a rush. He speaks faster as her eyes widen, like if he makes his sentences a big enough river, she won’t be able to dam it up. “Your first civilian job, your past, and your freedom to do whatever you want to do – because you could do anything, you really could – and even your powers.” He rubs his thumb over the underside of her wrist where the power suppressors sit during working hours. His face crumples. “Every morning, I will have to take you to put them on. It’s…I hate it. It feels like I’m abandoning you, or like I’m part of your punishment, or like I’m not being the partner you deserve.”

She starts, half rising from her seat. “Gannon! How could you—?”

His grip is strong on her hand, and he gestures for her to sit with a quick jerk of his chin. His eyes close tight. “Please, Nadezh.”

She quiets.

It takes him a long time to start speaking again. He remains quiet until he’s able to look her in the eyes again. “You…that day. The day you saved my and my team’s life.”

The day she thought her fairytale had come to an end. Even now, the memory of his blank eyes as she revealed the red and gold costume of the Firebreather, one of the world’s most notorious and deadly supervillains, follows her. The cold wind whipping across the ship’s deck, the pillars of ice gleaming in the sun, his team haltingly asking her if she was going to take over the boat…and his eyes. The pain that ripped through her when she realized she would lose him was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. It had made her realize that she’d been a shell for years until she met him, that she’d been nothing until he showed her a world where she could be someone. In that moment, she’d known that she’d wasted his time on a dead end. That their dream to get married would never be the same if it happened at all and she had robbed him in her greed.

But he remembers it as the day she saved his life rather than dooming his future.

“I became a hero to save people,” Gannon says. His lips thin. “How did I put it? That day at the diner? To share the relief of having the day saved.” His face twists in a way she can’t understand. “You must have thought I was so naïve.”

“No,” she says simply.

He raises their hands so he can kiss the back of hers. “Thank you. I think I was naïve. Being a hero seemed simple, looking at the world that way, like everyone wanted to be saved and, in turn, wanted to one day go on to save someone else. Every moment of salvation would get repaid. Good things would always happen to good people.”

Well, when he put it like that.

Gannon continues, “But when I saw you standing there, dressed as the Firebreather, being saved was…different. It was all different.” He swallows hard. “For the first time, I realized saving the day wasn’t so simple. You had to reveal your identity to do it. You had to put your freedom and everything you worked for on the sidelines. Even us. You were ready to do it even if it meant we never got the chance to be married. I could tell that you weren’t going to let that stop you. You were going to save the day.  Instead of being relieved, I felt afraid.”

A small noise of protest builds in Nadezh’s throat. “Afraid of me?”

“No!” Gannon’s eyes widen and he leans over the table. “No, never. Never, Nadezh. Even when that last fireball singed the toes of my boots, I didn’t flinch for a moment. I knew you would never hurt me.”

Nadezh’s laugh is watery. “So that’s why you threw out those boots.”

“Regulation is closed toe,” Gannon says gravely. He plays with her fingers. “I was afraid because I realized there was a cost that I wasn’t willing to pay, but you were.”

“I couldn’t let you die,” Nadezh says.

“I know.” Gannon clears his throat and adjusts his grip on her hand so that he can feel her pulse against his thumb. “I know. I’m not saying that’s wrong.  Just…it was hard, wasn’t it?” His brown eyes search hers. “You knew before you even left the apartment to find me that you were going to lose everything.”

“But I didn’t,” Nadezh points out.

“But that’s what you thought.”

She can’t deny that.

“Saving the day is easy when it’s just a job,” Gannon says. “That day, I realized that I’d never really been a hero. It was a job, an important one, but not one that was going to take anything I wasn’t willing to give. That same job was the reason I let myself just stand there as Hero Force took you into custody. Like a coward. I hate myself for that moment.” His voice is raw with the admission. His free hand curls into a fist. “I should have run with you then.”

Nadezh barks a disbelieving laugh. It’s inappropriate, but the idea of Hero Zone, the most honorable hero in Chicago, running away with a supervillain is ridiculous. She hides her incredulity. “That’s—”

“I’m serious, Nadezh.” Gannon’s eyes burn through her, gaze unflinching. Her pulse jumps under his thumb. “I still think that. We could run now. Settle down somewhere and be civilians. Never show up on Hero Force radar again. Like Bonnie and Clyde hiding out from the law.”

“That’s not funny.” Try as she might, Nadezh can’t find any trace of humor on Gannon’s face. Her eyes dart around the room. When she can’t find any cameras, she leans forward and hisses, “Don’t even joke about that. You love being a hero.”

“I love being with you,” Gannon says. This time when he smiles the mole under his eye disappears with the force of it. “I told you, all I want is to marry you. No job will ever be worth more than that. So…” His smile wavers for a moment before he fixes it in place. “What do you say? Will you run away with me?”

Fuck. Her mind leaps ahead. They could get a place in the mountains. She knows how much Gannon misses his hometown on the East Coast. His family has long since disappeared from those ridges and valleys, but she can see him there, facing the sun with his arms held over his head in triumph. A field sprawled out below him blooms with green and a house sits just beyond that with a gently smoking chimney. Could she belong there too? With him?

Gannon mistakes her silence. “You wouldn’t have to wear the power suppressors ever again or worry about Briston yelling or what Hero Force will make you do. It could be just you and me like we always imagined. Together.”

Is he pleading with her? Begging her to say yes?

There will always be a part of her that wants to. The greedy and selfish part that wants to keep him all to herself, like the doll in her childhood that unraveled at the seams after only a month. The part of her that could hide him away is familiar. Too familiar.

“No.”

Gannon’s face falls. “No?”

“Not because I don’t want us,” she assures. Somehow, she feels lighter. Is this what’s been sitting silently between them this whole time? She could laugh. “I do. But I think you’re misunderstanding something. You’re not the reason why I’m cooperating with Hero Force.” She thinks over her words and then rephrases. “You’re not the only reason.”

“I’m not?” Gannon backtracks. “I mean, it’s not a problem if I’m not, but I thought…well. I thought given what you said in the interrogation room…”

“You will always be the love of my life,” Nadezh says. She finds the words as she says them. She’s had a lot of time to think about this – Gannon is not the first one to think what it’d be like to run away. “That will never change. It’s just…” Private room, she reminds herself. No one will be able to hear. She confesses, “I want to change. I don’t want to be the Firebreather anymore.”

“You’re not!”

Keep him, no one can stop you, power suppressors barely work once we really get up to temperature—Nadezh stops those thoughts firmly in their tracks. “There are parts of me that still are. I was afraid when I revealed who I was, but since then look how far I’ve come. You know all of me and you’re still here.” She lets her wonder and hope leak into her voice. Some mornings she wakes up to him by her side and can’t fathom how the universe let someone with hands as stained as hers have something so good. “I have a job. I have a way to give back for all the harm I caused. I…I think confronting my past has given me a chance to grow like I haven’t done before. A year ago, I couldn’t even accept the proposal from the man I love more than life itself. Now? I know that I can walk into work every day and have those power suppressors put on me by Hero Force -not you - and I can hold my head high.”

“Not me? Nadezh, I’m your containment,” Gannon says. His expression is tortured in the candlelight. “You say it’s Hero Force, but it’s me. I’m the one holding you back. Foresight said that Firebreather was sufficiently contained by my side, he awarded me custody—”

“Are you feeling guilty over that?” Nadezh’s mouth drops open. “Gannon, seriously?”

“I feel like I’m choosing to be your captor over being your fiancé,” Gannon says.

“Just like how you knew I would never hurt you, I know you would never hurt me. I wouldn’t even have to use my powers. I know the second I didn’t want to put those cuffs on, you wouldn’t.”

“I’m still—”

“No.” Nadezh won’t allow any room for confusion here. “Gannon. Stop. I am the one choosing to do this. That day I gave you a choice, remember? I said that you could walk away and I would be—” fine is a strong word “—I would understand. I was going to keep the memory of us agreeing to get married and let you walk away.”

There’s gravel in Gannon’s voice. He reaches across the table to capture her other hand. “I would never change my mind.”

“I believe you.” He was patient with her, waiting for her to believe it. She holds his hands back. “I believe you. So here’s what I’m asking. You gave me a choice just now. Stay or run away. Please believe me when I say I want to stay.”

“Even if it means I have to be your captor?” he asks, anguished.

She nearly snaps at the question. Isn’t he listening to what she’s saying? His tone stills her. She studies him. His eyes are teary, and she can feel his hands tremble in hers. “This really bothers you.”

He nods wordlessly.

She tries to put herself in his shoes. She imagines that he’s working as a henchman who used to be a hero. She imagines putting cuffs on him before work every day, knowing that he’d be helpless if the Villain ever decided to turn on him—She winces. “Maybe we can ask Omit to put on the cuffs instead?”

“I…we could try that,” Gannon says after a long moment. He breathes in through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. Then, “I really ruined this celebration dinner, huh?”

She snorts. Both of their eyes are red and swollen despite neither of them crying. “This is about how most of my celebration dinners have gone. Better, actually. Nobody is screaming and nothing’s on fire.”

“Yet,” Gannon says.

“See? There’s still hope.” They’ve been talking for so long that her wine is warm. She grimaces as she swallows. “Hey, captor? I think it’s time you took me to a secondary location.”

“That’s not funny.” Despite his words, Gannon’s lips twitch as he stands and pushes in his chair. “I’m really upset about that.”

Nadezh follows him to the door. She caresses his shoulder, ostensibly checking him for dust, but really needing the contact. “Should I comfort you?”

Gannon drops back to put his arm around her shoulders. “Hmmm, keep talking.”

“I think I have Stockholm syndrome—”

“I change my mind. No more talking.”

Nadezh laughs. “Riiiight.”

It’s not perfect. Nadezh knows that the conversation isn’t over. There’s a guardedness in Gannon she’s never seen before when talking about Hero Force. He doesn’t believe her, not yet. But that’s okay.

She’ll be around to convince him.

(Except for 9am-5pm Monday through Friday. She somehow doesn’t think Briston would take kindly to a hero responsible for flooding the docks every other week hanging around the office.)

----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to support me and what I do, please consider checking out my Patreon where I post all sorts of pieces earlier than I do on Tumblr!

Next week I have the continuation of my Cinderella retelling going up there first and then here later in March. You can read Cinderella here (Tumblr X) (PatreonX)

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[fireladyofink]

Oh God.. uuhhhh.. been a minute since I tried one of these..

Skipping 1, hate first person, just can't do it, not even read it.

2 is 100% Andlàtkyn. There's some issues here and there but it will always be my pride and joy.

Due to not posting on AO3 (even though I really should be), 3 is mostly ineffective. Except Wattpad has tags. I'd say UTAU, dragons and crossover.

4, lol. Literally. Lately I keep using that (only when texting others) and it's bothering me. I feel like a simpleton because of how much I'm saying that, eugh.

5 I've honestly learned a lot while researching fics. For one, I found out lantana berries are toxic to humans yet taste like blueberries, and I have them growing in my backyard. They're actually my favorite plant! I love their flowers; so pretty, and they have such a uniquely funky smell as well. Part of why I adore them, it stands out so much without being a bad smell. And the leaves have a sort of citrus smell? I love lantanas.

6 I don't know. I've thought about requests due to the money, but I feel like I'd either struggle to start writing it or get carried away with it- or straight up not finish in a reasonable timeframe. Commissions? Like art commissions? Maybe in a few years when I'm more confident in my skills and also somehow have a drawing tablet to properly draw digitally. Something like that.

7 Either or. I love making sickeningly sweet coffee or various different teas.

8 Is honestly hard to decide! Off the top of my head I can think of Dust initially meeting Killer with the hilariously absurd question of "What do you mean you don't have a mouth? How are you speaking right now? Your ass?"

9 Believe it or not it was basically when I first got a phone and commented a short story in the comments of a YouTube video. Someone replied with a suggestion of Wattpad. The rest is history, lol.

10 Off the top of my head I can't think of anything beyond something very specific for the fic I've been thinking about again lately, Ninjagaësia. Only time I've written outside of the UT fandom too, I specifically want to get around to writing that version of Zane more. What I had planned for him is fun as hell. An absolute badass.

11 Lots of comments, votes and people enjoying it. Which, continuing the above mention, Ninjagaësia doesn't qualify for. Pretty unsuccessful, but for once I don't really care.

12 Undertale AU's. I doubt I'll ever leave, either.

13 No. Hell, my ultimate fic of Andlàtkyn was written throughout the later half of highschool. I am technically working on an original story on the sidelines, I call it my worldbuilding project because I'm building up so much lore in this world before I actually touch on the story itself outside of a vague idea. About 60-ish different species of people, including the were-diseases. Last I counted, anyway. I'll be working on it for years, I know it, and I don't mind that either.

14 Comments talking about my fics on said fics. Actual interactions! It brings me joy. 🧡

15 My family is well aware. I don't bring up a lot of details but the last time I went into vague detail with my mother it was over a scene in Andlàtkyn (no direct spoilers) and she interpreted it weirdly and now she teases me by asking if I'm killing babies again! A bit awkward..

16 Actually finishing a damn story. I don't mind the periods of no writing until I get inspired again, but what annoys me is when I can't seem to finish anything. Only ever finished Andlàtkyn. I still have yet to write anything for the sequel to it, either! Zeradelsída is still just a bunch of loose plot points..

17 I am semi successfully writing benevolent eldritch horror. It doesn't intend harm, but it is truly.. horrifying nonetheless. The uncertainty of someone knowing he died, feeling his own heart stop beating, and feeling something OTHER seep inside and force it to start again, pulsing in his veins, fusing with his anatomy, permanently altering both him and itself into something completely unknowable.. I'm rambling. Anyone who hasn't seen my Wattpad, read Awakened. If you don't mind ridiculously long fics, read Andlàtkyn too!

18 I have at least 7 I mostly expect to finish, with at least 4 others just kind of.. there. I don't think I've posted any of those, either. I also have ideas inspired by dreams that I'd love to write down someday, though don't really expect to actually codify.

19 I kind of just don't. I work on different projects as the inspiration hits, take a backseat for a month or so, then come back to either the same project or a different one.

20 Hmmm.. Hard to think of something specific. I'm leaning towards stuff in Andlàtkyn. I don't really have a favorite kiss scene because I don't do romance. I write adventure! Andlàtkyn has some side romance though- not that any of it is my favorite. Platonic stuff, though.. I'd say my favorite is honestly Lust and Alter incidentally befriending each other and becoming venting buddies. It's the cutest thing, their friendship is adorable and wholesome despite the background angst. I didn't write nearly as much of them as deserved.

21 Honestly it's mostly lack of inspiration that I'm pretty sure stems from depression. If I could get an ADHD prescription or depression meds I'd probably be a lot better but like. I am completely broke. So much so that those issues aren't even in the top 10 of pressing problems solved with money.

22 Given I've literally only done it once.. not really. I guess I post it around everywhere I can think of in excitement?

23 That one continuous dream I had that went on over a month centered on a Nightmare that was freshly corrupted. He was honestly so nerdy and adorable despite putting on the brave and mildly "evil" front. The boy. Him. Goddamnit I want to write that at some point.

24 Honestly I can't think of anything for this one.

25 Oh yeah, I can't think of anything off the top of my head but there's a lot I'd like to fix in all of my stories, lol.

26 Kind of? It's a more recent development, did it for Zeradelsída which still has yet to be written, did it for that Ninjagaësia too. A little bit of a broad, even vaguer outline for things I want to happen in Awakened, too? More like events, no particular order or connection.

27 A few of those WIP's that haven't been posted... Okay technically just one. There's also the very first fic I wrote that is subsequently the only one I've ever deleted.

28 Angstiest often coincides with cursed for some reason, so I'll just go with the ending of Andlàtkyn for the Apple Twins.

29 I kind of just.. don't. If I do, I start hating everything, and because I'm not THAT bad at spelling and grammar I think it's mostly fine the way it is.

30 Oh absolutely. It's particularly obvious when one looks at Andlàtkyn, which I wrote over the course of 4 years. Really neat transition, if I ever manage to do it, I'd rewrite the beginning a little to match the rest when crossposting to AO3. If I ever get around to that.

31 Again, Andlàtkyn. That fic is my baby, man. It's so precious to me.

32 Honestly I don't know for this one, which is weird.

33 100% Ink of Awakened. My little boy. I have some friends that would rib the hell out of me if they ever found out, lol. Thankfully the main one doesn't even remember that he has a Tumblr.

34 I was not expecting how hard of a question this is! I thought it was Andlàtkyn, but thinking about it.. I don't think so? It might simply just change depending on which one I'm currently fixated on, but at the moment I think my favorites to get that on is Awakened and Ninjagaësia, second of which already has basically nothing to begin with.

35 I don't have anything, oof.

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[debonairprincesposts]

Outside Sucks

Summary: Reader is an introvert. Jason is pleasantly surprised when you agree to go out with him without any arguments. Practically stupefied.

Words: 706

Jason bounced the heel of his boot against the concrete outside your apartment. Usually, this was the point where his anxiety started to ramp up. He'd rehearse his arguments in his head, mentally preparing for the barrage of sarcastic retorts and stubborn refusals. He was ready to deploy the "fresh air" card, the "vitamin D deficiency" card, and, if necessary, the heavy artillery: the promise of greasy, delicious junk food.

He knocked on the door, a familiar, slightly impatient rhythm. He braced himself.

The door swung open, and there you were. You were wearing a pair of ripped jeans and one of his old hoodies, your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. So far, so good. But it was your expression that threw him. You looked... almost... agreeable?

"Hey, Jay," you said, your voice surprisingly soft.

"Hey, baby," Jason replied, a knot of suspicion tightening in his stomach. "I was thinking... you know... maybe we could get out of here for a bit? Get some air?" He waited for the usual pushback, the litany of reasons why staying inside was infinitely preferable to facing the outside world.

Instead, you just shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good."

Jason blinked. He stared. He felt like he'd walked into the wrong apartment. "...What?" he managed to stammer out.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. "What do you mean, 'what'? I said, 'sounds good.' As in, I'm willing to leave the apartment. As in, you don't have to launch into your whole 'sunlight is good for the soul' speech."

Jason was officially flabbergasted. He'd been ready to launch into a full-blown debate, armed with statistics about the benefits of outdoor activity and a mental list of every burger joint within a five-mile radius. He'd even mentally prepared a counter-argument for your inevitable "I'm perfectly happy being a vampire" comment.

"But... but you hate going out," he sputtered, feeling like he was missing something crucial. Had you been replaced by a pod person? Was this some elaborate prank?

You chuckled, a low, throaty sound that usually meant you were about to unleash a particularly cutting remark. But instead, you just smiled, a genuine, almost... sweet smile. "I know, I know. But I've been feeling a little... restless lately. And I figured, why not? Besides," you added, a mischievous glint returning to your eyes, "I could use a coffee. Your treat, obviously."

Jason's brain was short-circuiting. He couldn't process this. He'd spent so much time anticipating the struggle, the resistance, that he hadn't even considered the possibility of... compliance. He felt like a general who'd prepared for a siege only to find the gates wide open and the enemy waving a white flag.

"Uh... yeah, coffee. Definitely my treat," he mumbled, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. "So... you're actually... going?"

"Yep," you said, turning towards the back of the apartment. "Just give me, like, five minutes to throw on some makeup. Wait in the living room."

And with that, you disappeared, leaving Jason standing in the doorway, utterly bewildered. He slowly stepped inside, his mind racing. What was going on? Were you sick? Had you finally cracked under the pressure of his constant nagging? Was this some kind of elaborate trap?

He wandered into the living room, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings as if searching for clues. He sat down on the worn couch, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. He was so used to fighting for every inch, every concession, that this sudden, unexpected agreement felt... unsettling.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe you were planning something. Maybe you were just lulling him into a false sense of security before unleashing a torrent of pent-up frustration. Or maybe you actually wanted to spend some time with him, outside of the apartment, without a fight.

He didn't know what to think. But as he waited for you to emerge, he couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief, suspicion, and a tiny sliver of... hope? Maybe this was a sign that things were changing. Or maybe he was just setting himself up for a spectacular fall. Only time would tell.

[themultifanshipper]

Can you write another Jenson smut with a age-gap reader? Please. It’s so hard to find good Jenson stories.

Jenson had desperately needed a replacement teammate for the 24 hours of Le Mans after one of them had fallen ill. 

He was starting to regret choosing you for the job. 

Warnings: Smut, tension, fingering, massage, age gap, I have limited knowledge of how the 24hrs of Le Mans works so forgive me if there are inaccuracies, I decided to put Fernando as the 3rd teammate because why not, reader is basically 2000s Jenson, tiny plot twist at the end. 

wc: 5.7k

Not because you were incompetent or anything, you were very competent. 

Almost too competent. 

He was perfectly confident in your ability to help him get that damn trophy, but your youth and energy made Jenson feel old. 

He didn't know whether it was coffee, or redbull, or fucking cocaine that made you into a nervous ball of energy, but it was unnerving the way you would run literal circles around him all day. 

The other problem though, and honestly the main reason he felt old, was that if he'd been a decade younger, he would have definitely fancied himself a chance with you. 

You were beautiful, funny, witty… and Jenson hated to admit, very much his type. He had trouble not thinking about you, and about how much you reminded him of himself when he was younger. 

His only salvation, he thought, was that you'd never be in the car together, and when neither of you were driving, one of you would definitely be sleeping. 

 

Jenson managed to put the car on pole. Which took a huge weight off your shoulders, and he decided he should be the one to start the race. 

Fernando was going to replace him for the second stint, and then you would come in after him. Eight rotations of 3 hours each, you only doing 2 stints because you were the rookie.  

It was a foolproof plan. And hopefully Jenson would come out of it without doing anything stupid. 

So for the first few hours all you could do was wait. You watched videos on your phone, checked the livestream, got impromptu engineering lessons at the back of the garage, anything you could think of to keep yourself calm while you waited.  

This was your first endurance race, and you were in a team with two literal legends… which made you so nervous you felt like you could throw up at any given moment at the thought of disappointing them. 

The first driver swap went perfectly, Fernando jumped in and Jenson made his way over to you. 

You heart rate sped up when you spotted him. 

The reason you were so nervous around him was because he was your idol, and you were terrified of fucking up in front of him. 

Also you had a big fat crush on him, but that was just a detail. And right now he was drenched in sweat. It was hot. 

I mean it was hot in Le Mans. You know, because it was summer and stuff… 

 

He smiled at you as he made his way over. 

“You nervous?” he asked, eyeing the cup of coffee you were holding. 

“Yeah” you exhaled shakily “I am terrified of accidentally falling asleep or something”  

Jenson laughed. “That's why it's a good idea to sleep while you're not in the car. I for example am going to go take a shower, and a nap” 

Your eyes widened in panic. 

“But what if there's a problem?! What if we need to do an emergency driver swap! Fernando-“ 

He slapped his hand over your mouth to stop your rambling. 

“That is why you are here.” He tried to reassure you. “And given the size of that coffee, and the fact that you are still in the garage, I'm guessing you have no plans to go to sleep yet. So there's nothing to worry about!” he smiled tiredly, not realising his sweaty palm was still against your skin, partially obscuring the huge blush that was spreading across your face at the contact. 

“So chill out, watch a movie, and try to go easy on the coffee, if you start drinking too much now, you won't get to the end, trust me” 

He offered you a reassuring smile before retracting his hand and shuffling away, covered in sweat and eager to get back to his room. 

You stood there, a blushing mess while the engineer who had been explaining cooling systems to you smirked knowingly. 

“Don't say a fucking word” you muttered. 

He threw his hands up in surrender, but his smirk stayed firmly in place while he watched you slink away in embarrassment. 

Jenson had lied. 

Well, partially. His shower was great, but he was way too hopped up on adrenaline to go to sleep. 

He just didn't want to stick around the garage while you were there. He was already cringing at himself whenever he replayed the moment his sweaty, greasy palm made contact with your skin. 

Why the fuck had he done that?  

He set the stream up on his tablet so that he could keep informed on what was going on, and decided to scroll through instagram to pass the time.  

Within seconds he ended up on your profile, scrolling through the already too familiar photos. 

He clicked on your story to see the video (that he'd already seen 100 times that day) of you filming him and Fernando. 

The camera panned to Fernando first and your voice crackled through the phone speakers. 

“Fernando Alonso! How are you feeling about todays race?! Nervous? Excited?!” 

Fernando's laughter echoed in the room. 

“Me and Jenson have done this several times, we are used to it. I should be asking you the question!” 

The camera turned back to catch your face as you rolled your eyes. “Riiiight I forgot I was racing with a pair of old men!” 

“Hey!” Jenson heard his own voice shout, and your face lighting up while you turned the camera towards him. 

“Is that… 2009 Formula One world Champion Jenson Button?! I think it is!”  you laughed at his failure to keep a straight face at your antics. 

“Jenson Button! Huge fan! Could you sign something for me?!”  

Video Jenson rolled his eyes at you. 

“I'll tell you what, help me win that trophy and I'll see what I can do” 

You gasped, turning to the camera with an evil grin. 

“You heard it here first folks! If I win Le Mans, Jenson Button is going to sign my ass!” 

“That is NOT WHAT I SAI-“ 

The last few seconds of the video were Jenson and you grappling for the phone while a blurry Fernando facepalmed in the background. 

 

For Fernando to be the adult of the team was… unexpected. 

But you just brought out that side in Jenson, and he almost felt like he was back in F1 again, young and fun and- 

Well, sadly the time of being able to fuck his teammates was over. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when your name was said on the livestream. 

His head whipped up and there you were. 

“She hasn't left the garage. Jenson and Fernando's fellow driver, a rookie, is seemingly too excited to sleep and seems to have joined what looks like a human pyramid with some of the engineers…” 

Jenson's jaw dropped. 

Someone was giving you a lift up so that you could climb to the top of a pile of engineers. 

“She seems to be a breath of fresh air around the paddock, I will admit. I'm sure everyone has seen her story on instagram by now, where she teases poor Jenson. You just don't really see drivers having that sort of fun anymore do you?” 

Jenson watched in horror as you jumped off the top and into the arms of a waiting engineer. 

You then spotted the cameraman that was filming you and ran over to kiss the lense and smile evilly.  

A shiver ran up Jenson's spine. 

“Speaking of Jenson, I wonder why he isn't in the garage with her. In any case she reminds me a lot of him when he was in Formula One. They have that same fire and hunger that drives their wild child nature.” 

Jenson had seen enough. He put on some clothes and wandered back to the track. 

 That way he could be there for you during your stint and Fernando could have a nap before replacing you again. Or that's what he told himself, really he just wanted to be with you and have a bit of fun. 

As soon as you saw him step into the garage you grinned mischievously at him and waved. 

You’d just started a game of scrabble on a table in the back with a couple of the engineers. 

“I saw that, you know” he was hitting the dad pose next to you as he eyed the board. 

“Saw what?” you smiled, putting down the word ‘cat’ for 5 points. 

“The human pyramid. Can you imagine how much shit we would be in if you'd fallen and hurt yourself?” 

“But I didn't fall, so… we're all good” you smiled up at him. 

Jenson spotted the coffee cup next to you. 

“How many of those have you had since I left?” 

“Just the one, dad” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“It should have been none. Mark my words you will be exhausted if you can't sleep before your second stint.” 

“Oh is Mark here? I didn't see him!” you looked around the garage sarcastically while the other two chuckled. 

Jenson did not laugh. At least not on the outside. 

Your cheeky grin had a way of piercing through his defences and his resolve crumbled. 

“I hate you” 

“You won't feel that way when I get you that trophy and you're forced to sign my butt”  

“I will not be doing that” he grumbled, the idea of going anywhere near your ass was enough to make him tense. 

You took a sip of your coffee, peering at him over the rim of the cup.  

“We'll see…” 

It was time, Fernando was about to come in and you were going to hop into his seat and speed off into the night. 

It was impossible to tell who was more nervous, you or Jenson. 

“You'll do fine” 

“What if I crash?” 

“Then we'll lose. So don't crash” 

Your leg was bouncing nervously. 

Fernando's headlights appeared at the end of the pitlane and your heart skipped a beat. 

Jenson slapped your helmet playfully and as the car screeched to a halt, you wrenched the door open and swapped places with Fernando. 

With new tyres and a body full of nerves and caffeine, you drove off as fast as you could (within the speed limit of course) and rejoined the track. 

Jenson watched you go and didn't even register Fernando sniggering at the look on his face. 

“She will be fine, Jenson. She knows what she's doing. The adrenaline will eventually wear off and she will fall asleep as soon as she gets out of the car” 

Jenson sure hoped so. 

Fernando went to take a nap, because he was going in again after you. 

Jenson couldn't sleep though. He watched your onboards nervously while devouring a chicken sandwich. 

You were doing well. The track was cold, but dry so as long as you didn't get your lines wrong you weren't at a risk of slipping. 

But he could tell all that coffee was getting to you. 

Firstly because 45 minutes in you told your race engineer you needed a piss. Which was answered with a laugh and a comment about not being allowed to pee in the car. 

Secondly because he knew your body language, and you were always a bit hyper for sure, but the way your fingers kept tapping at the wheel and how much you were fidgeting definitely wasn't normal. 

Then your voice came over the radio. 

“Is Jenson still in the garage?” 

Your race engineer sighed and answered that yes, he was. 

“Jenson if you can hear me, you should go to bed, old man” 

Jenson scoffed at the nickname and then his heart rate picked up at the fact that you were thinking about him in the car. 

He tried to tell himself it didn't mean anything. After all, when you spend 3 hours alone in a car, your mind will go anywhere to keep itself occupied. 

But he couldn't help the butterflies in his stomach. 

By the end of your 3 hours, you had mentioned Jenson a total of seven times, and each one had gotten more laughs throughout the garage than the last. 

Fernando was ready to swap when you came careening into the pitlane, and off he went with new tyres and a good luck slap on the back from you. 

You immediately jumped into Jenson's arms and he was surprised that you were still this full of energy. 

Either you had the slowest metabolism on earth or you really were just that excited. 

“I did it! I survived!” you laughed excitedly and Jenson could feel his heart pumping in his chest when he realised how nice it was having you so close to him. 

“You sure did, now I recommend you have a shower and a big long nap before your second stint” 

You pulled your helmet off and sighed with relief. 

“A shower sounds nice, but there's no way I am going to be able to sleep” 

He chuckled. ‘Yeah, right’ he thought as he watched you practically sprint away. 

You were right. After your shower you went straight back to the garage, where Jenson was watching Fernando's onboard. 

He did a double take when he saw you. 

“Absolutely not, go and sleep. You have 6 hours until you need to be in the car” 

You looked at him guiltily.  

“I can't. I'm too excited to sleep” 

Jenson sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. 

“Come with me” 

You followed him out, and he lead you to his drivers room. 

It was quite cozy. He'd brought lots of pillows and blankets which were strewn all over the bed. 

You stepped inside nervously, not knowing what he was planning. 

“Lie down” 

You hesitated.  

“On the bed?” 

He gave you an unimpressed look. 

“No, on the floor. Of course on the bloody bed” 

You scoffed and did as you were told, watching Jenson warily as he unfolded a blanket and draped it over you. 

“You are not allowed out of this room until you've had a nap, understood? I don't care how you do it. Put some white noise on, count sheep, have a wank, whatever but I want you asleep within the hour” 

You couldn’t help the way your stomach fluttered at his words and his forceful tone.  

“You… want me to have a wank… on your bed?” 

“Whatever works for you” and with that he turned on his heel and stormed out the door. 

You were speechless, that was an insane interaction. 

You lay down, and stared at the ceiling, trying to slow your heart rate down. 

Jenson had to be joking. There's no way he actually thought you would do that, right? 

A shiver ran down your spine. You were contemplating it, after all you knew he was right about you needing to sleep. 

But you knew that wasn't going to happen. Not just because of the coffee and excitement, but because now your head was swimming with Jenson's words and dominant display. There isn't much you wouldn’t do to hear him order you around like that again. 

You decided to take his advice. 

It didn't work.  

Try as you might to get off, it only made you more antsy and you felt bad thinking about Jenson while you touched yourself. 

You thought about him, his hands, the way he was drenched after his first stint, the way he dragged you out of the garage. 

You felt hot all over, but your fingers weren't doing much to satisfy the need between your legs. 

You looked at the time.  

00:57 

You'd been tossing and turning for close to an hour now, and still you were no closer to getting off, or getting to sleep. 

You decided to send Jenson a text. 

“It's not working” 

Jenson groaned in frustration, rubbing his eyes after reading that. 

He'd spent the better part of the hour trying to forget the fact that you may, or may not, be getting off in his bed. 

He had no way of knowing and it made his skin crawl. 

‘Shrodinger's orgasm?’ he thought unhelpfully while his fingers typed out a response. 

“You mean…?” 

“Yeah… I just cant do it, Jenson. I'm too wired up” 

“Ok…I have an idea” 

He glanced at the clock.  

01:03  

He had just under two hours until he needed to be in the car. 

He barged into the room unceremoniously, making you jump. 

“On your stomach, top off, I'm going to give you a massage. It's the only thing I can think of to relax you”  

Your eyes widened in surprise and he waved a hand dismissively. 

“Don't worry I won't… look. Just trust me, you need to sleep. If you don't you're putting yourself in danger, and the team.” 

You took your shirt off and did as you were told while he grabbed a bottle of oil from his bag. 

“And you just happened to have that with you?” 

He glared at you and made his way over to the bed. 

“Shut up and close your eyes.” 

‘Yes sir’ you thought. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Jenson was about to give you a massage.  

It felt like you were dreaming, the object of your affections was climbing on top of you to straddle your hips and put his hands on you. His wondeful, big, strong hands. He was going to touch you. Jenson Button was going to make you feel good.  

Your cheeks heated at the thought. 

You were so in your head that you didn't notice his hands on your skin until he spoke up. 

“Relax… you’re so tense. Close your eyes and take a breath. Concentrate on my voice” 

You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly as you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders. 

He spread oil all over your back, pressing his thumbs in circles up and down the sides of your spine. 

It was a surprisingly quick process, you felt yourself relaxing into his touch the longer he pressed into your back. 

Then he pressed down on a knot. 

You'd been successful so far at hiding your noises, but the sudden mix of pain and pleasure was so intense you let a shaky moan slip out. 

Jenson's hands froze on your back. 

“Don't stop” you gasped “It feels good” 

You were desperate, the heat between your legs was only getting worse and you felt like you would die if Jenson stopped touching you. 

Jenson had to bite back a groan at your pathetic whimper. 

He was in over his head. This was a terrible idea, what had he been thinking? This was wildly inappropriate, you were his teammate for god's sake, not to mention how young you were and he was clearly taking advantage of you while you- 

“Jenson, please” 

“What do you need?” he rasped, resolve quickly slipping and he could feel his body reacting. 

“Touch me” you gasped “Please” 

Those words sent a fire throughout his body and satisfaction purred in his chest. His hands trailed over your sides teasingly, roaming over your bare skin and you arched your back at the touch. 

“That's not what I mean and you know it” you whined. 

He just chuckled and leaned over you to growl in your ear. 

“Then be a good girl and tell me what you want” 

“I want you to touch me” you whispered, feeling his weight shifting on top of you “I need you. Inside me, please”  

Jenson felt like he'd been punched in 5he gut. His lips travelled over the skin of your upper back and you could feel the smirk on them. 

“Need me, hmm? Need me to tire you out? Maybe a couple of orgasms'll do the trick…” 

You nodded desperately, lifting your hips so that he could reach under you and help you out of your pants. 

“Please, I need you so bad.” 

He gazed at your body in awe as you spread your legs and arched into him when you felt a finger dip into your wetness. 

“Is this where you need me, love?” he teased, pushing the finger in to the knuckle “So wet for me, all from a massage?” 

“Don't flatter yourself” you bit back “I spent an hour before this trying to get off” 

He hummed, slipping a second finger inside you. 

“Tell me, what were you thinking about that got you this wet, hmm?” he asked, and he pressed the pads of his fingers against your g-spot insistently while his thumb went to rub harsh circles on your sensitive clit. 

You let out a low moan and cursed as you felt the familiar tingling in your gut. 

“Fuck - I'm close, don't stop!��� 

“I'm not letting you come unless you tell me what you were thinking about, darling” he smirked. 

The idea of being denied after being riled up for so long made you cry out in desperation 

“You! Fuck! You, Jenson” you cried out as you felt the first wave of your orgasm approach. 

“Really?” he couldn't deny the twitch of his cock in his shorts at the mental image of you picturing him to get off. “What about me, specifically?” 

“Your hands!” You panted, “Your hand are… fuck- they're so fucking…” 

Jenson grinned, speeding up his movements. 

“You mean the hands that are making you feel good right now? The hands that are about to make you come like a good girl?” 

You choked back a sob and your thighs twitched as you came in waves on his talented fingers. 

Once you went limp he helped you turn over and spread your legs, licking his lips at the mess between them. 

He didn't let you recover, and instead dived in, lapping up your juices like he'd wanted to do pretty much since he met you. 

He had to hold you down because you were squirming away from the onslaught of his mouth in overstimulation. 

He pressed his fingers back inside you and hooked them upwards. 

Your back arched at the overwhelming sensation. He was making you feel incredible, and you threaded your fingers through his hair, not sure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Oh fuck, Jenson” your head was thrown back in ecstasy while he worked his magic. 

Your thighs clamped around his head, and it wasn't long before you were babbling nonsense as a fresh wave of arousal coursed through you. 

The constant pressure of his fingers inside you was making your body vibrate with pleasure and a new kind of feeling crept up your spine. 

It was much more intense than before, a sharp sensation curling in your gut before it unravelled, and before you knew it you were soaking Jenson's hand as you gushed all over him.  

He couldn't believe it, but he eagerly lapped up all that he could while he coaxed you through your orgasm. 

You lay there trying to catch your breath while he pulled the duvet off the bed and fetched a new one, careful not to disturb you too much while you recovered. 

You felt utterly boneless, and you didn't even realise your eyes were closing of their own volition. before you passed out. 

Jenson chuckled, happy that the endorphins had overridden whatever amount of coffee you'd drank. He shuffled around the room, putting the bottle of oil back in his bag, and making sure you had an alarm set on your phone just in case. 

You were supposed to get back in the car at six o'clock, and it was currently just after two. 

That left you enough time to have a good long nap before your stint, and Jenson had time to go and freshen up (and take care of the throbbing problem in his pants) before he needed to replace Fernando. 

The swap went fine, not that you'd know, you were completely out for three whole hours, and Jenson could have some time to reflect on what had happened in his drivers room. 

He really didn't know what had come over him. If someone had told him something like this would happen he would have smacked them across the face. 

He'd promised himself he wouldn't try anything. There were two decades between you two, and the more he thought about it the guiltier he felt. 

To the point where his race engineer asked him if he was okay because he was uncharacteristically quiet. 

You woke up in a cold sweat.  

You had no idea how long you were out for, and the thought of somehow missing the race filled you with panic. 

But when you glanced at your phone, which was ringing incessantly with your alarm, you saw that it was half five in the morning. 

You sighed and got up, fishing around for your clothes. It was only when you went to grab a race suit from the cabinet that it hit you. 

Those suits were way too big for you, this was not your room, and… 

Oh yeah, Jenson had fingered you to sleep. 

There wasn't really any other way of putting it, really. 

Fucking hell. Jumping in the car after Jenson was going to be awkward as fuck, not to mention you were going to have to speak to him like a normal human being after all this. 

As if Jenson fucking Button hadn't just… Jesus. 

A knock at the door interrupted your train of thought. 

Fernando's head peeked in and he eyed the room suspiciously. 

“You okay in… here?” 

You nodded,  and assured him you'd be out in a minute. 

You rushed to your own driver’s room and put your suit on, feeling your limbs lagging behind. 

You needed coffee. Or a redbull or something, you couldn't drive in this state. 

You ran back to the garage and looked at the time. 

05:41 

You had time for a cup of coffee and for it to kick in before the swap. 

Fernando appeared next to you while you sat at the scrabble table, gazing at where a dozen engineers were sleeping on little camp beds and mats in a corner. 

“So… were you so tired after your stint that you accidentally fell into the wrong bed?” 

You blushed behind your cup. 

“Something like that” you muttered and he smirked. 

You watched the stream, getting up to date with the places. Your team were still ahead, and by quite a margin.  

You could tell Fernando was excited about the prospect of having a fully dominant race, but it was much too early to call. The race was only halfway done. 

You got ready to jump in the car, and by the time Jenson came into the pits, you felt re-energised and ready to go. 

During your time out on track, your mind wandered back to Jenson's room. 

You were going to have to talk to him about it at some point. You couldn't avoid him forever, and his friendship meant a lot to you. 

Jenson was exhausted. He hadn't slept at all yet, and he was doing another stint in 3 hours, so as soon as he got out he made a beeline to his room and completely passed out.  

 

Your stint went fine, and the following swap from you to Jenson went fine, despite how tired he was. Everything was going according to plan. 

Fernando had slept all through your stint, and most of Jenson's.  

His hair was sticking up in different directions and the seam of his pillow was imprinted onto his cheek, but he looked incredibly happy that Jenson was still firmly in the lead. 

When Jenson came into the pits for the final driver swap, you and Fernando were all but buzzing with excitement.  

This was it. If Fernando managed to stay in front, you would win the race. 

You were going to be a 24 of Le Mans winner. As a rookie, as a replacement driver, and more importantly as a woman, you were going to prove to everyone you were worthy. 

Jenson needed help getting his helmet off. 

He slumped against the wall and you had to help him to his drivers room. 

You lay him down, unzipping his suit just enough to cool him down a bit and got him a glass of fresh cold water. 

You were going to leave him to it, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You gave him a questioning look and he sighed. 

“We need to talk”  

Your gaze travelled around the room. 

"Yeah… Do we have to do it right now though?” 

“We've got three hours to kill, might as well…” 

It was your turn to sigh. 

“I suppose…” 

You scooted closer to him on the bed and he took your hands in his. 

“First of all, I shouldn’t have done what I did earlier. It was selfish of me to take advantage of you like that…” 

Your mouth hung open, utterly bewildered. 

“Take advantage? Jenson I asked you to… I wanted it just as much as you did.” 

He blinked at you. 

“But… still… it wasn't appropriate.” 

“Do you regret it?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious. 

He melted and stroked your thigh soothingly.  

“No! No of course not, but-” 

“Neither do I” you interrupted “So there's nothing for you to feel bad about. I want you, Jenson” 

You gently slid a hand in his fireproofs, feeling the firm muscle underneath, and the hot dampness from his sweat.  

“You're all sweaty” you remarked, hand travelling lower. 

His eyes were fixed on yours, pupils expanding quickly the lower your hand went. 

“Yeah… I need a shower” he rasped. 

“Well… we’re both going to get dirty anyway getting sprayed with champagne on the podium later” you murmured, leaning down so your face was hovering over his. “So we could wait until after, and then scrub each other clean…”  

Your lips barely brushed his but he groaned, partly at the image of your body soaking wet and naked. He didn't have a preference whether it was from champagne or soapy water. 

“Sounds good to me” he whispered, going cross eyed when he glanced down at your lips. 

“It's a date, then” you smiled. “In the meantime… why don't I thank you for helping me get to sleep ”  

You grinned into the kiss, hands roaming under his fireproofs.  

You both somehow managed to get all of your layers off without separating and once you were both naked, he carried you over to a wall and held you up against it. 

“This is gross, we're both disgusting.” He moaned as you pulled on his hair roughly. 

“I don't care. I need you to fuck me Jenson” 

He let out a shaky breath at that, and lined himself up with where you were dripping against his lower abdomen. 

“God are you just… always this wet?” he looked down in awe at his tip sliding into you. 

“Only when you're around” you smirked. 

Something about that sentence made something dark settle in his stomach, and without further ado he slid into you. 

His cock stretched you out perfectly and you scratched at the wall for purchase as he started fucking into you with fervour. 

He pressed his body against yours, mouthing at your neck while he snapped his hips. It was like he was in some kind of trance, all previous exhaustion forgotten as he buried himself inside you repeatedly. 

Soon enough your neck was covered in marks and you could feel your flesh bruising where his fingers dug into it to hold you up.  

He didn't tease you this time, he let you come and fucked you through it with determination. Not stopping until you were a shaking, begging mess in his arms. 

He dropped you back on the bed and instructed you to hold your legs open for him. 

He had a dark look in his eyes as he fisted his cock with intent, aiming for your leaking cunt and the backs off your thighs. 

He almost lost balance with how  hard he came at the sight of you all pliant under him.  

Satisfaction purred in his chest as he gazed at you, covered in his streaks of cum. It made him slightly feral if he was honest. 

The two of you cleaned up with a wet towel and curled up under the blankets for a while. There was still a couple of hours left. 

“So tell me” you started, fingers swirling through the thin patch of hair on his chest. “How many of your teammates have you slept with?” 

He chuckled, amused by your question. “Including you?” 

“Yeah” 

He quickly glanced towards his tablet, where Fernando's onboard was playing.  

“Three.” He said. 

___

 

“So the race is soon coming to a close, and the Hertz team are looking to have been completely dominant this time around. Yet Jenson and his dear rookie teammate aren't in the garage during this closing stage… I can only hope they’re sleeping.” 

“Together, perhaps?” 

“I wouldn't care to speculate… but…..”

___

 

“What do you mean three? How is that even possible..."

Your voice died in your throat as you glanced back towards the stream in disbelief. 

“No! You fucked Fernando?”  you couldn't help a small smirk of amazement creeping onto your face.

“Well actually he fucked me but y-” 

“WHAT?!” 

___ 

The champagne tasted like shit, as usual.  

But the pure joy of being soaked in it after an impressive win was truly something else. 

You were excited for a shower that was for sure. You couldn't wait to get the sticky feeling off of your skin.  

Fernando and Jenson had you on their shoulders while the engineers generously sprayed the three of you. 

Jenson was so happy he did in fact grab a marker to sign your ass over your race suit, which got whoops and cheers from everyone around.

And of course the fact that you were going to have not one, but two hot older men to help you get the tricky spots… was a definite bonus. 

Yes, two. Because after all, poor Fernando didn't have anyone to shower with, and you didn't want him to feel left out of the celebrations. 

[evermoreness]

moonlight and mending pt.9 | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: you become remus' girlfriend, officially.

obs: this is part nine of a series. here's part one.

masterlist

The past few days had been… odd.

Remus was acting strange.

Not in a bad way—if anything, he was more affectionate than usual, constantly tucking you close to his side, pressing random kisses to your temple, and looking at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. Which, in all honesty, you kind of loved.

But he was also sneaking around.

And Remus Lupin was a terrible liar.

“Alright,” you said, crossing your arms as you cornered him in the library. “What’s going on?”

Remus blinked up at you, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, don’t you dare try to act clueless, Lupin. You’re up to something.”

His ears turned pink. “I—what? Me? Up to something? Pfft, that’s ridiculous.”

You raised a brow. “You’ve been whispering with the boys every time I walk into a room, Lily keeps giving me knowing looks, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when I caught you writing in your notebook yesterday. You never hide things from me.”

Remus swallowed, looking anywhere but at you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, love.”

You gasped dramatically. “Oh Merlin, you’re actually lying to me.”

“I’m not lying—”

You poked his chest. “You are! You’re the worst liar, Remus Lupin!”

“I am not—”

“You so are! You do this thing where you scratch the back of your neck—”

He immediately stopped scratching the back of his neck.

You smirked. “Aha! Caught red-handed!”

Remus groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I hate that you know me so well.”

You giggled, reaching up to pry his hands away. “Come on, just tell me what you’re planning.”

“No.”

“Remus.”

“Nope.”

You sighed dramatically. “You’re cruel. This is cruelty.”

He laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Patience, dove.”

You huffed. “You do realize I will figure it out, right?”

He smirked. “Not if I ask James to hide all your detective novels.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You monster.”

Remus chuckled, looping his arms around your waist. “Just… trust me, alright? It’s nothing bad. Just something I want to get right.”

You sighed, resting your forehead against his. “Fine. But if you take too long, I will take matters into my own hands.”

He grinned, kissing your softly. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

And with that, he escaped before you could question him further.

He still had work to do.

The following days only made you more suspicious.

Remus was still sneaking off with the boys, still whispering in hushed tones whenever you entered a room, and now, even Lily was in on it.

You tried everything to get it out of him—puppy-dog eyes, playful threats, bribery with his favorite chocolates—but nothing worked.

Remus Lupin was a terrible liar, but when he was determined to keep a secret? He was infuriatingly stubborn.

Which was why you were currently slumped over the Gryffindor common room couch, dramatically groaning into a pillow.

“Why are men?” you whined.

Lily snorted from the chair across from you. “I assume you mean Remus.”

You lifted her head, pouting. “He’s hiding something, Lils.”

Lily gave you an infuriatingly knowing look. “Maybe he just wants to surprise you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know, don’t you?”

Lily only sipped her tea, looking far too smug.

“Oh, Merlin,” you groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “First the boys, now you? I’m losing.”

Lily chuckled. “Patience, dear”

You huffed. “That’s what he keeps saying.”

Lily smirked. “Then maybe you should listen.”

You were about to throw a pillow at her when the portrait hole swung open and in walked Remus, looking slightly winded, his uniform a little rumpled.

And Sirius, grinning like a maniac.

Oh, this was suspicious.

Sirius clapped Remus on the back. “Alright, Moony, you’re all set. Now go get your girl—”

Remus shot him a look. “Shut up, Pads.”

You sat up immediately. “Go get your what?”

Sirius smirked. “Your girl, obviously.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate you.”

Sirius only wiggled his brows. “You love me.”

Remus sighed and turned to you, looking nervous but also determined.

You stared at him, heart racing. “Remus?”

He took a breath, then held out his hand. “Come with me?”

Your stomach flipped. “...Alright.”

You let him take your hand, casting one last suspicious glance at Sirius and Lily—both of whom were grinning like idiots—before following Remus out of the common room.

Whatever he was planning… you had a very strong feeling that you were about to find out.

Remus led you through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his hand warm around yours. He was nervous, you could feel it in the way his grip tightened slightly, in the way his thumb traced absentminded circles against her skin.

You wanted to ask but something in his expression stopped you.

Instead, you let him guide you up a staircase, down a hallway, and finally to a familiar wooden door.

The Astronomy Tower.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Remus glanced at you, then hesitated. “Close your eyes?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you going to push me off the tower?”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Not this time.”

You giggled but obeyed, closing your eyes as he pushed the door open and led you inside.

“Alright,” he murmured, stopping behind you. “You can look now.”

You opened your eyes—and gasped.

The Astronomy Tower, already one of the most beautiful places in Hogwarts, had been transformed into something straight out of a dream.

A thick, cozy blanket was spread out in the center, surrounded by enchanted candles floating in the air, casting a soft, golden glow. A few pillows were scattered on the blanket, along with a basket—probably filled with food, knowing Remus—and a thermos of what you hoped was hot chocolate.

But what really caught your attention was the sky above—clear, open, vast, the stars twinkling like tiny diamonds.

It was breathtaking.

You hand flew to your mouth. “Remus…”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “D’you like it?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Like it? Remus, this is—this is beautiful.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Good. That’s… that’s good.”

You turned back to take it all in, still in awe. “Did you do all this?”

Remus chuckled. “I had some help.”

You smirked. “Sirius?”

“Mostly James, actually,” he admitted. “Sirius just told me not to mess it up.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the blanket. “Well, you haven’t.”

You sat down together, and as soon as you were settled, Remus reached into the basket and pulled out a familiar-looking bar of chocolate.

Your eyes widened. “Remus, is that—”

He smirked. “My favorite chocolate? Yes. And before you ask, yes, I’m sharing.”

You gasped dramatically. “You must love me.”

At that, his face turned serious.

You blinked. “Remus?”

He took a breath, then took both of your hands in his. His thumbs traced over your knuckles, his expression soft but determined.

“There’s something I need to say,” he murmured.

You tilted your head. “What is it?”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before looking her straight in the eyes.

“I love you.”

“I know I’ve said it before,” he continued, voice steady, “but I need you to know how much I mean it. How much you mean to me.”

Your fingers curled around his. “Remus…”

He shook his head, a small, almost nervous smile playing on his lips. “Let me say this, dove.”

You nodded, heart pounding.

Remus took another breath, then spoke.

“You are—everything to me. Before you, I thought I’d always be alone, that I deserved to be alone. I never let myself believe that someone like you—someone so good, so kind, so brilliant—could ever want someone like me.” He squeezed your hands. “But you do. And I still can’t quite believe it.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out—your throat was too tight, your eyes burning.

Remus swallowed, then continued, “You take care of me when I need it most. You see me—the real me. And you don’t turn away. You never turn away.” His voice wavered, but he pressed on. “I love you. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone.”

He exhaled, gaze locked onto yours. “And I—” He let out a nervous chuckle. “I had this whole speech planned, but my brain’s gone completely blank because you’re looking at me like that.”

You laughed, finally finding your voice. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to kiss me,” he teased.

You grinned. “Maybe I am.”

His lips twitched, but then his expression turned serious again. “Before you do, I need to ask you something.”

You nodded. “Anything.”

Remus took a shaky breath. “Will you—will you be my girlfriend?”

Your heart stopped.

“Because I—I want you to be,” he continued, voice thick with emotion. “More than anything. But only if you want to. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Because you did kiss him.

Hard.

Remus let out a startled sound before melting completely against you, hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you back like you were the air he needed to breathe.

When you finally pulled back, you pressed your forehead against his, smiling. “You idiot,” you murmured.

Remus blinked. “Uh—”

“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His eyes widened. “You—”

You laughed, nudging his nose with yours. “Did you really think I’d say no?”

“I—” He huffed out a breathless laugh. “I don’t know—I was terrified—”

You kissed him again, softer this time, pouring every ounce of love you had for him into it.

When you pulled away, Remus was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “I love you, too.”

Remus grinned, then let out a relieved laugh, pulling you into his arms. “Merlin, I’m so lucky.”

You hugged him back, eyes closing as you listened to his heartbeat.

And for the first time in a long time, Remus Lupin felt like the happiest boy in the entire world.

You settled onto his lap, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzled into him, breathing him in. You just wanted to be close—closer than ever. Like you could melt into him, merge your hearts together because Godric, you loved him.

And Remus—Merlin, he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were his now. Officially. Not just in the way you gravitated toward each other, or in the way you cared for each other, but in the real, undeniable, world-acknowledging way.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your temple, like he was testing the words out loud, making sure they were real.

You grinned, pulling back to look at him. “Yours,” you confirmed, tapping his nose. “And you—you’re mine.”

His lips twitched. “That’s how this whole ‘relationship’ thing works, yeah.”

You giggled and kissed him again, just because you could. Just because it felt right.

When you pulled back, you ran your fingers through his soft, messy hair, admiring him. Your boyfriend.

Remus still looked a little dazed, eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. “I still can’t believe you actually said yes.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Remus John Lupin, are you insulting me?”

He blinked. “What? No, I—”

“Because I’ll have you know I love you, and I would’ve said yes the second you asked me—maybe even before.”

His lips curled into a lopsided smile. “Before?”

You grinned. “Oh, yeah. I would've just known.”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

“I do.”

You beamed. “Good.”

He took your hand in his and started tracing random shapes on your palm, looking thoughtful. “I just don’t get it,” he admitted after a moment.

You raised an eyebrow. “Get what?”

“How you—this brilliant, beautiful, perfect girl—ended up with me.”

You groaned and lightly smacked his chest. “Remus, shut up.”

He laughed. “I mean, really, you could’ve had anyone—”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine, let’s settle this right now.”

Remus blinked as you leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “You are brilliant,” you whispered. “You are beautiful. You are perfect. And you are mine. And if you ever question that again, I will throw hands.”

His breath hitched, and you could feel the way his hands tightened on your waist. “Throw hands with who?”

You pulled back, eyes serious. “With you, if necessary.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” you said again, giggling.

Remus let out a dramatic sigh. “I do,” he admitted, feigning defeat. “I really, really do.”

You hummed in approval and reached for the basket, grabbing a piece of his chocolate. “Good. Now, since I’m your girlfriend, I think I deserve the biggest piece of this.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “That’s my favorite—”

You smirked, taking a slow, obnoxious bite. “Mmm,” you said, exaggerating the sound. “Tastes even better when it’s yours.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Merlin, I should’ve known this would happen the second I asked you out.”

You giggled, leaning in to kiss the pout off his lips. “Oh, Remus,” you whispered against him. “You love spoiling me.”

He groaned. “I do. And it’s awful.”

You gasped. “Did you just call loving me awful?”

His face dropped. “That’s not—I meant you’re awful—no, wait—”

You threw your head back, laughing. “Remus, I’m teasing you.”

He sighed in relief. “Oh, thank Merlin.”

You kissed his nose. “You’re adorable.”

He huffed. “I was trying to be charming.”

You grinned. “You were.”

Remus blinked. “I—wait, really?”

You nodded. “In your own awkward, bookish, Remus way. And I love it.”

His lips twitched. “I tried to flirt with you, you know.”

You tilted her head, intrigued. “Did you?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “And then you stole my chocolate, and now I’m questioning my life choices.”

You giggled, popping another piece into your mouth. “Welcome to dating me, Lupin.”

He just shook his head, wrapping his arms more securely around you. “Merlin help me.”

You kissed him again, softly, sweetly. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He smiled against your lips. “That’s the best part.”

Officially his.

The days passed, and being Remus Lupin’s girlfriend was, quite literally, the best thing in the world.

You had always loved him, always been close to him, but now—now you got to call him yours. Now you got to kiss him whenever you wanted, hold his hand under the table, steal his sweaters without pretending it was an accident.

And the best part?

Remus—your shy, awkward, bookish boyfriend—was so different when you were alone.

In public, he was still himself—still sweet, still affectionate in his own way. He’d tuck loose strands of your hair behind your ear, guide you through crowded hallways with a hand on your lower back, steal soft, fleeting kisses when he thought no one was looking. But when they were alone?

It was ridiculous.

You had no idea where he had been hiding this side of him, but you loved it.

Like right now.

You were curled up in his bed, a book in your hands, completely relaxed as Remus lay beside you, his head resting in your lap. He had claimed he was reading, too, but really, he had spent the last fifteen minutes tracing slow, lazy circles on your thigh, humming softly to himself.

You smiled down at him, brushing his messy hair away from his face. “You’re staring,”.

He hummed, looking unbothered. “And?”

You grinned. “And you’re distracting me.”

His lips twitched. “Am I?”

“Yes,” you said, closing your book with a soft thud. “What are you thinking about, love?”

He tilted his head, considering. “How beautiful you are,” he said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your heart skipped. “Remus.”

He smirked. Smirked. “What? Am I not allowed to admire my girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not when I’m trying to read.”

He hummed, running a gentle hand up and down you arm. “Mm. You can read later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you propose I do now?”

Remus sat up, shifting so that they were face to face. His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer, to his lap, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

“Be kissed,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

“Oh,” you breathed. “I see.”

And then he did kiss you.

Soft, slow, deep. Like he had all the time in the world just to kiss you senseless.

You sighed against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I think I like this plan.”

He chuckled, kissing you again, this time at the corner of your mouth. “I thought you might.”

You grinned. “You’re so soft when we’re alone.”

Remus groaned. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You giggled. “I won’t. But it’s adorable.”

He sighed dramatically. “Merlin help me.”

You kissed his cheek. “I love being your girlfriend.”

His arms tightened around you. “I love that you’re my girlfriend.”

You beamed. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

Remus snorted. “No, I am.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Remus, look at me. And now look at you. You’re sweet and smart and stupidly handsome, and you love me. I win.”

His lips twitched. “I do love you.”

You grinned. “And I love you.”

Remus sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fine. We can both be lucky.”

You giggled, kissing him again. “Deal.”

Not the same.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with life, but in one particular corner, a very important discussion was taking place.

Remus sat on the couch, you tucked securely under his arm, your legs draped across his lap. James, Sirius, and Peter were sprawled across the furniture, with Lily sitting comfortably beside James, her legs crossed, eyes sharp with amusement.

And at this very moment, all of them were grilling Remus.

“I’m just saying,” James said, tossing a chocolate frog in the air and catching it in his mouth, “you’ve changed, mate.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Have I?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sirius jumped in, pointing a dramatic finger at him. “You’re all smiley now. And confident. And you let people touch you.”

Peter nodded furiously. “You used to flinch when Sirius so much as breathed near you.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “That’s because Sirius used to randomly tackle me in the corridors.”

Sirius smirked. “I still do that, but now you fight back.”

Lily leaned in, grinning. “They’re right, you know.”

Remus groaned. “Not you too, Evans.”

“Oh, absolutely me too,” she said, smiling knowingly. “You’re different. Happier.”

James nodded sagely. “A man in love.”

You laughed, snuggling closer to Remus. “I like him like this.”

Remus looked down at you, his heart flipping at the way you smiled at him like he had hung the stars. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I am happy,” he admitted. “Really happy.”

Sirius gasped. “Merlin’s beard! Moony just admitted to being happy? Who are you?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Pads.”

Peter cackled. “You are different though! You talk more, joke more—you even initiate affection.”

James wiggled his eyebrows. “So tell us, Moony, what’s your secret?”

Remus sighed, looking down at you, who was staring up at him with the softest, sweetest expression. He couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s my secret,” he said simply.

The room erupted.

“Oh, gag—” Sirius groaned.

“That was so disgustingly romantic,” Peter whined.

James clutched his chest. “Moony, I think I might cry.”

Lily just laughed, nudging you. “You’ve ruined him.”

You grinned. “You say ‘ruined,’ I say ‘improved.’”

Remus chuckled, squeezing your hand. “I have to agree.”

Sirius made a choking sound. “He agrees?! Who are you?”

James threw an arm over Remus’ shoulder dramatically. “He’s in love, Pads. Let the boy live.”

Remus just smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For once, he didn’t mind the teasing. Because, for the first time in his life, he was truly, ridiculously, wonderfully happy.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to their own forms, you both stayed behind, just the two of you.

It was late, the Gryffindor common room nearly empty except for a few students scattered around, quietly studying or chatting in hushed voices. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room, and outside, the sky was painted with stars. It was the perfect setting for a quiet, peaceful night.

You sat curled up on the couch, a book resting in your lap, but your focus was barely on the pages. Not when Remus was sitting beside you, leaning into your warmth, his head resting lightly against yours. He was tired—exhausted, really—but he never wanted to leave your side.

You closed her book with a soft thud and turned slightly, taking in his relaxed expression. “You should go to bed, you know,” you murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair from his face.

Remus hummed in response but made no move to get up. Instead, he turned his head slightly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. “Mmm… ‘m comfortable here,” he mumbled sleepily.

You smiled softly, your fingers gently running through his hair. “You’re practically falling asleep on me, Moony.”

“That’s because you’re warm,” he said, voice drowsy but affectionate. “And I like being close to you.” He nuzzled against your neck slightly, breathing you in. “Smell good, too.”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head as he pressed another lazy kiss just below your ear. “Is that the wolf in you talking?” you teased.

Remus chuckled against your skin. “Probably,” he admitted. Then, his lips curled into a small smirk. “Or maybe it’s just me being completely in love with my girlfriend.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you bit your lip, trying (and failing) to suppress the giddy smile that spread across your face. Even after all this time, he still had this effect on you.

“Well,” you said softly, “I think I might just be completely in love with my boyfriend too.”

Remus lifted his head slightly to look at you, his warm brown eyes searching yours. His expression softened, full of something deep and unspoken. Slowly, he reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin.

“You are?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with awe.

You leaned into his touch, nodding. “I am.”

A slow, loving smile spread across his face. He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, like he still couldn’t believe you were his. “Merlin, I love you,” he whispered, his forehead gently pressing against yours.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your eyes fluttering shut as you savored the moment.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted your chin up slightly and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, sweet, and filled with so much love. His lips moved against yours slowly, taking his time, savoring you, as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

You sighed happily into the kiss, your fingers threading through his soft curls as you pulled him closer. His hands found their way to your waist, holding you gently, grounding himself in your presence.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours again, your breaths mingling.

“You make me so happy,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, pressing a tiny kiss to the corner of his lips. “You make me happy too.”

Remus let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his thumb over your waist in slow, soothing circles. “I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he admitted.

You cupped his face, looking at him with nothing but adoration. “I’ve always been yours, Remus.”

His breath hitched slightly at your words, his arms instinctively tightening around yours. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, his heart full.

And in that moment, with the fire crackling beside you and the world fading away, nothing else mattered except the fact that you had each other.

—— 🌙 ——

A note from the author:

Hello my lovely people!

This took a while to post because i was struggling with exam week at uni! Sorry!

Hope you liked it! This is officially the last part! But there will be one more just for bonus, just for you to see how their future turned out!

Thank you for all the love in this series! 🤍

See you soon!

Taglist: @iloveremmy @jjamjamie @breakawayfromeveryday @oursweetmoony @whimsical-mistakes @froggiedragon @sophie-0012 @deathmybride @nerdbirdsworld @wolfstarsprongs @mischievousmoony @httpvomitello @msfandomsblog @starofthedawn @malenk @diiyaa @theonyxstate @waitforiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit @theredvelvetbitch @ohheyitsrowan @a1ienmush @michtellch @weirdstartshere @arcane-fan @ilovejamespottersomuch @koolayee @lovelyteenagebeard @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @worldofsaturnsblog @lovelyygirl8 @myalchemicalgnomace (If you want to be tagged, let me know!)

[edenesth]

5 Steps to Losing to You

Pairing: student council president!Yunho x vice president!fem!reader

AU: high school au (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The student council president of KQ High had five simple steps to surviving his vice president: outshine you, outsmart you, outlast you, annoy you, and — definitely — never fall for you. Too bad every step brought him closer to late-night arguments, unexpected truths, and one unforgettable confession under the fireworks. Somewhere between enemies and uneasy allies, Yunho took five steps too far — and ended up losing (his heart) to you.

Genre: romance (duh), comedy

A/N: Thank you, @itstheghostofmypast, for giving me the urge to write another high school AU. This one's heavily inspired by one of my favourite animes of all time, Kaguya-sama: Love Is War.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Do you ever meet someone for the very first time, and somehow, without a single word exchanged, you just know — from the very core of your being — that you can't stand them? No logical reason. No past history. Just pure, gut-level irritation.

That was exactly how Jung Yunho felt the second you stepped into the student council room, your posture straight, your expression unreadable, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that set his teeth on edge.

You were the new transfer student — the one the teachers haven't been able to stop raving about, the one who somehow landed the coveted vice president title before even learning the school layout. And now, here you were, standing beside him, the council's golden boy, as if you belonged there.

"Dude, that's her? Oh, they weren't lying when they said she'd be eye candy," Wooyoung, the council treasurer, whispered with a smirk, elbowing Yunho's side. Yunho didn't even glance at you. He just scoffed, nudging Wooyoung back hard enough to make him stumble. "Yeah? Well, too bad a pretty face isn't enough to survive my council. I give her two weeks before she runs back to wherever she came from."

He said it loud enough for you to hear — on purpose — just to see if you'd flinch. But you didn't. You only lifted your chin slightly, eyes flicking toward him for a single, scathing second. And in that moment, you hated him just as much as he hated you.

Because from the moment you locked eyes, you knew exactly who he was — the adored, untouchable president who had everyone wrapped around his finger. The boy who carried himself like the school was his kingdom, and every student his subject. And now you were supposed to serve under him?

Absolutely not.

You hadn't transferred here to play second to anyone — least of all some arrogant, overhyped, self-proclaimed king. Back at your old school, you were always at the top: top grades, top leadership positions, top of every ranking that mattered. You weren't just a vice president — you were a future president in the making.

If Yunho thought you were here to play a supporting role in his perfect little reign, he was dead wrong.

You weren't here to make friends.

You were here to take his crown.

────

Yunho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you skim through the thick binder of council documents that Seulgi, the council secretary, had just handed over. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you like you were some kind of unwelcome intruder trespassing on his territory.

"Hope you're not too overwhelmed," Yunho said, voice dripping with fake concern. "Student council here isn't exactly… beginner-friendly."

You didn't bother looking up, flipping another page instead. "Don't worry, President," you replied, tone sweet but sharp. "I've dealt with more organised councils before. This is nothing I can't fix."

The room went still for half a second — just enough for Seulgi to glance between you both like she was watching a fuse being lit.

Yunho's smile sharpened. "Fix? That's a bold word for someone who hasn't even seen our term plan yet."

You finally met his gaze, leaning forward just slightly over the table. "Oh, I've seen it. Last year's records were so charming, especially the part where half the events went over budget and the spring festival had a typo on the banner. Spring Festivel, was it?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, but his grin didn't falter. "Funny. You talk big for someone who just transferred here. But I get it — new girl syndrome. All ambition, no clue how things actually work."

You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the table. "And you talk big for someone who's clearly too comfortable sitting on his throne. Guess we'll see who adjusts faster — me to this school, or you to having actual competition."

The president's smile froze in place. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being challenged — especially not by someone who hadn't even been here a full week.

Seulgi cleared her throat awkwardly. "So! Uh, why don't we go over this semester's goals together? You know… as a team?"

You and Yunho didn't break eye contact. Neither of you smiled.

"Can't wait," you said.

"Neither can I," he replied.

And like that, the war had officially begun.

────

To the outside world — to teachers, students, and anyone not trapped in this cursed room — Yunho and you were the dream team, the picture-perfect president and vice president duo. Smiling side by side during assemblies, coordinating in perfect sync during meetings, and even exchanging polite nods in the hallway.

But inside these four walls, away from the prying eyes of your adoring audience, it was an entirely different story.

It started small. The first time Yunho reached for the meeting agenda, it was mysteriously missing from his file. "Alright, let's get started with today's agenda—" he paused, flipping through his folder, only to find the neatly printed schedule gone. His eyes snapped up, narrowing instantly at you.

You sat across from him, filing your nails with deliberate slowness, not even trying to hide your smug smile when he had to wing the entire meeting from memory. "Looking for something, President?" you asked sweetly.

Wooyoung watched the exchange from the corner, whispering to Seulgi, "That's the second time this week. If this keeps up, he's gonna staple the agenda to his forehead."

The secretary sighed, already immune to the madness. "At least they're creative."

Then there was the presentation. Monthly council update in front of all the teachers, a perfect opportunity for the president to shine — until Yunho confidently clicked to the next slide… and instead of student council statistics, the screen flashed an embarrassingly tragic childhood photo of him mid-sneeze, teeth crooked, hair tragic.

Gasps filled the room. His eye twitched. From beside him, you covered your mouth, the picture of shocked concern, while under the table, your finger rested innocently on the laptop's trackpad.

"Oops," you whispered sweetly.

"You're dead," Yunho mouthed back.

The teachers would later praise your teamwork for handling the "technical difficulty" so gracefully.

The coffee war escalated next. Yunho, ever the gentleman, brought you coffee before morning meetings — extra bitter because he knew you hated it with a passion. You retaliated the next day, handing him a cup that smelled amazing but was actually salted beyond salvation.

Wooyoung took a cautious sip from his own drink, eyeing both of you. "This is why I only drink from the vending machine now."

"Smart," Seulgi muttered.

When it came time to make festival posters, the battle turned artistic. The school festival posters were a joint project — one half handled by you, the other by the president. What should have been a cohesive design turned into visual warfare.

Yunho's side was classic and professional, clean fonts and crisp colours. Your side? Bold, flashy, practically neon — and just slightly crooked, making his side look off-balance.

"It's like watching a couple divorce through graphic design," Wooyoung whispered.

"Except they were never married," Seulgi muttered. "Thank god."

The final straw — at least for that week — came during the morning announcements, when the president confidently read out the list of upcoming events — only to realise someone had swapped his script. Instead of the council's official calendar, he was now announcing a fake bake sale where Yunho himself would supposedly be dressing as a bunny mascot to promote sales.

His death glare found you through the broadcast window. You waved back cheerfully.

The students roared with excitement. "Bunnyho!" they chanted.

Seulgi buried her face in her hands. Wooyoung filmed everything.

And yet, the moment those council doors swung open, you both snapped back into your roles like pros. Smiling in sync at the cameras, cutting ribbons together with practised grace, even finishing each other's sentences when teachers asked about the upcoming festival. It was a performance so convincing that even Wooyoung — who knew the truth — found himself applauding.

"It's terrifying," the treasurer started, watching the two of you gracefully cut the ribbon at a new club opening ceremony. "They look like they actually… get along," he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

"Tell me about it. They're scarily good at this," Seulgi agreed, clapping along with the crowd. "It's like they're starring in a romcom where only they missed the memo."

If only they knew.

If only the rest of the school knew.

If only anyone knew that beneath all the staged smiles and synchronised speeches, it would only take five steps for the mighty president and his infuriating vice president to lose — not to each other, but to something neither of them ever saw coming.

────

Step One: seeing each other.

It started like any other day in the student council room — a battleground polished to perfection.

You arrived first, flipping open your notebook, already plotting your next move. Yunho followed shortly after, shooting you a glare so subtle no one else would notice, but you caught it. You always did. The latest round in your ongoing war had been yours — you'd managed to replace his entire project folder with a stack of fake documents detailing a made-up proposal for a "Student Council Talent Show," featuring him as both host and performer. He'd spent an hour in front of the principal before realising the whole thing was a setup. You were winning.

So when Yunho swept into the room, you were already bracing for his retaliation. And sure enough, it came — a stack of freshly printed minutes from the last meeting placed squarely in front of you. Except every instance of your name had been replaced with "Her Royal Highness, The Vice President of Perfection".

You stared at it. He smiled, all teeth and zero remorse.

"Thanks for the edit," you said coolly.

"Anything for my vice president," he shot back.

But that wasn't the real blow. The real sabotage came during the club funding review later that afternoon. It was your turn to present the approved budgets for each club, a dry, boring task — until Yunho, in a voice far too innocent, asked, "By the way, Your Highness — didn't your old school have a fencing club? You were captain, right?"

You froze for half a second. It was microscopic — no one noticed. Except for Yunho. Of course, he noticed.

"Yeah," you said, flicking through the papers like the question meant nothing. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you transferred out so suddenly. From what I hear, you were practically royalty back there, too."

You knew what he was doing. Fishing. Trying to unearth whatever dirt might be hiding under your perfect exterior. You forced a smile. "It was boring," you lied. "Needed a challenge."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Later that evening, you found your chance to return the favour. You'd overheard a conversation between Wooyoung and Seulgi, something about Yunho always leaving in a rush after school, barely staying long enough to clean up. So you set a trap — a simple one. You "accidentally" scheduled a last-minute meeting that ran late, forcing him to stay behind.

You expected him to blow up at you afterwards. You were ready for it. What you didn't expect was to follow the tall and lanky boy out — purely out of curiosity — only to watch him walk straight to the convenience store down the street, throw on a part-time apron, and start restocking shelves.

You stood outside, stunned, watching the golden boy student council president clock into a job like any regular kid. Except he wasn't just any regular kid, was he?

For the first time, you saw him without the shine — no polished uniform, no cocky smirk, no sharp words ready to fire at you. Just a boy with his sleeves pushed up, quietly stacking instant noodles, stopping every so often to check his phone like he was waiting for a message.

And when his phone finally buzzed, you saw him smile — small, tired, real.

You didn't mean to see the text, but you did.

Mum: Yunho-yah, don't forget to bring home eggs if they're on sale.

You stepped back before he could notice you watching, heart thudding with something you couldn't quite name.

That was the first crack.

The next day, Yunho found a neatly folded discount coupon for eggs tucked into his student council folder. No signature. No note. Just a coupon.

He stared at it for a long time.

For once, neither of you said anything.

But it didn't end there.

Later that week, Yunho caught sight of you outside the school gates, long after the council room had emptied. He hadn't meant to linger — in fact, he had every intention of ignoring you like usual — but something about the way you stood there caught his attention.

You weren't scrolling through your phone or chatting with anyone. You just stood there, posture straight, hands clutching your bag like it was the only thing keeping you upright. A sleek black car pulled up, polished until the surface gleamed, and a middle-aged man in a pressed suit stepped out to open the door for you.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course.

Princess treatment. Figures.

But as you slid into the back seat, something about the way you moved made him pause. Stiff. Formal. Like you were stepping into a stranger's car, not your own. He caught a glimpse of your face through the tinted window before it rolled up — your gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. You looked... distant. Detached.

Not proud. Not smug.

Not like someone who had it all.

Just... tired.

Yunho frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, "Must be nice to have everything handed to you... so why do you look like you've got nothing?"

He didn't have an answer. And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the memory of your empty eyes lingering longer than they should.

Neither of you knew it yet — but the game was already changing.

────

Step Two: the unexpected rescue.

The rain came down hard — the kind of storm that soaked you to the bone in seconds, drumming against the pavement with no mercy. You stood just outside the school gates, shoulders hunched slightly under the awning, arms crossed tight as your phone buzzed non-stop in your hand.

Driver (5 missed calls)

Driver: Stuck in traffic. 15 minutes.

Driver: 20 minutes.

Driver: Sorry, Miss. It's a mess out here.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, locking your screen before shoving the phone into your pocket. This was typical — your family's staff was always prompt when it came to your father, but for you? Delays. Excuses. You were used to it. Didn't make it any less irritating.

The rain intensified, and you took a careful step back, just barely avoiding a splash from a passing car. That's when you saw him — Yunho, already halfway down the sidewalk, hood pulled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He could have kept walking. You expected him to. Hell, you would've preferred it.

But he stopped.

He stood there for a second, back still facing you, before you saw his shoulders rise and fall in what looked suspiciously like deep, begrudging contemplation. Then, without a word, he turned back, marched toward you, and thrust his umbrella out with one hand.

"Don't make it weird," he muttered, hood shadowing half his face. "I'm not leaving my vice president to drown. People would talk."

You stared at him, dumbfounded, before slowly stepping under the umbrella's cover. Your shoulder brushed his — just barely — but it was enough to make the air between you heavier than the rain itself.

"You're still an arrogant ass," you said, mostly out of habit.

"And you're still annoying," he shot back.

But neither of you moved away.

The walk to the nearby bus stop was silent, save for the rain pattering against the umbrella's canopy and your synchronised footsteps on the wet pavement. The silence should have been awkward — it always was between the two of you — but this time, it felt... almost easy.

At the stop, he held the umbrella steady over both your heads until the bus pulled up, wiping rainwater off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Don't think this means I like you," he said, voice quieter than usual.

You snorted, climbing up the bus steps. "Please. I'd be more worried if you did."

But when you found your seat by the window, you caught a glimpse of him outside — standing there in the rain, umbrella still in hand, watching the bus pull away. Neither of you knew why this moment stuck so firmly in your minds. You just knew something had shifted.

The next morning, you were absent.

Yunho should've been pleased. A day without your sharp tongue, your constant presence, your infuriating need to challenge his every decision — it should've felt like a vacation. But instead, an uncomfortable unease gnawed at him from the moment he entered the council room and saw your usual seat empty.

He shouldn't care. He knew that. But for some reason, his mind kept circling back to the night before — the rain, the bus, the fleeting glimpse of your tired face in the window.

Did you even get home safely?

He scowled at the thought. Not my problem. I already did more than enough. But no matter how much he tried to shake it off, that knot of regret just sat there in his chest, stubborn and unrelenting.

By mid-morning, his irritation boiled over. Slamming his pen down, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Where's Vice President Pain-in-the-Ass today?" he asked, tone far too casual to be casual.

Wooyoung's eyebrows shot up — before a slow smirk stretched across his face. "Why? Miss her already? You two were so cute sharing that umbrella last night."

Yunho's chair scraped violently against the floor as he sat up straighter. "What?! Who said— That's not— I'm only asking because I was expecting her to submit the student committee reports today!"

"Suuure," Wooyoung drawled, dragging out the word until Yunho was ready to fling a stapler at his head.

Seulgi, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in with a sigh. "She called in sick. Probably caught a cold from getting drenched yesterday."

The president's stomach did an uncomfortable flip, though he masked it with a disinterested shrug. "Serves her right for not bringing her own umbrella," he muttered.

But later that night, during his shift at the convenience store, he nearly rang up a customer's items twice — his mind completely elsewhere. Each time the door chimed, he half-expected to see you storm in with some ridiculous complaint about student council policies. He hated the way that thought made his chest tighten.

He hated it even more when, the next morning, he found himself at his kitchen counter — brewing herbal tea.

When you returned to school the next day, you dropped your bag onto your desk, only to pause, brow furrowing. Sitting there, completely unassuming, was a flask of warm herbal tea. No note. No explanation.

You glanced around the empty room — only one other person was there this early, and of course, it was him. Yunho, head down, pretending to be engrossed in a report he had already read twice.

You nudged the flask aside and pulled out your notebook instead, determined not to play into whatever weird game this was.

Across the room, his pen froze mid-sentence. After a few beats of silence, he huffed, loud enough for you to hear.

"For heaven's sake, it's not poisoned," he said, still not looking up. "Drink it if you want to actually recover."

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious — but curiosity (and the faint scratch in your throat) won out. You unscrewed the lid, steam rising in a gentle curl. It smelled... comforting. Soothing. Like something homemade.

Reluctantly, you took a sip.

"...It's good," you admitted quietly.

He didn't respond, but when you looked up, you caught him — just for a second — sneaking a glance at you over the top of his file.

Again, neither of you said another word.

────

Step Three: forced vulnerability.

For a while, it seemed like the umbrella incident and the flask of tea never happened. Whatever fleeting kindness had passed between you both was quickly swallowed by your usual dynamic — sharp words, constant one-upping, and a relentless need to prove the other wrong.

That fragile truce didn't stand a chance.

It all came to a head after yet another brutal fight — the kind that had papers flying across the table, voices raised loud enough to make the underclassmen passing by the council room door wince. Seulgi had to physically step between you, arms stretched out like a human barricade.

"You always have to hog the spotlight, don't you?" you seethed, finger jabbing toward Yunho. "President this, President that — it's like you can't function unless the whole school is watching you."

"And you're any better?" His voice came sharp and fast, eyes blazing. "You waltz in here acting like you're saving us all, like this council should be grateful to breathe the same air as you. Spoiled little princess who can't handle not being number one."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Wooyoung, who usually lived for drama like this, suddenly found his folder of expense reports incredibly fascinating.

You stormed out before anyone could see the flicker of hurt flash across your face. No way were you going to let Jung Yunho of all people make you feel small.

You walked blindly down the hall, fury pulsing in your veins, until you froze at the sound of his voice — quieter, softer, so unlike the boy who had just ripped into you moments ago.

"…No, Mum, I can't cover that shift. I already stayed late for council." A pause. "It's fine, really. I'll figure it out."

The reminder hit you hard. Yunho, the golden boy, the president everyone envied — was working part-time jobs after school. The same boy who seemed to have it all was just another kid juggling too much, carrying more weight than he let on. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you couldn't move either. Something about the edge of exhaustion in his voice made you stay.

Suddenly, the arrogant bastard didn't seem so untouchable after all.

A few days later, the roles reversed.

Yunho had gone to the library to grab an old council binder when he spotted you tucked away at a corner table. You weren't working — just sitting there, blankly staring at an open textbook like the words weren't even registering.

Next to you, a small pile of letters lay scattered — some still sealed, others torn open, the papers inside slightly crumpled like you'd held them too tightly. He didn't need to read them to know what they were. Letters from parents who cared more about achievements than feelings, words dressed up as 'encouragement' but laced with disappointment underneath.

He hadn't meant to stop, but something about the way your shoulders curled inward — that tiny, defeated slump — made him pull out a chair across from you without a word. He opened his own notebook, flipping through pages like he had a reason to be there.

The silence stretched, but for once, it didn't feel awkward.

Eventually, Yunho broke it.

"Not everyone's parents show up for them either, huh?" he said quietly, still pretending to read.

Your head snapped up, startled by the unexpected understanding in his voice. But he didn't look at you. He just kept twirling his pen between his fingers, as if the words had been said casually — like it wasn't the first time either of you had ever acknowledged this shared emptiness.

You didn't answer, but you didn't push the letters away either.

And just like that, things further shifted.

For the first time, you both saw each other — not as rivals or enemies, but just two kids quietly drowning under the weight of expectations neither of you had asked for.

────

Step Four: defending each other.

It happened so fast, you didn't even have time to think.

You were passing by the courtyard on your way back to the council room when you heard them — two students sitting on the low wall, voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.

"I heard she only got vice president because her family donated a new wing to the school."

"Yeah, everyone knows Yunho's the real deal. She's just there to smile and look pretty. Riding his coattails the whole way."

Your hands curled into fists, steps already veering toward them — but someone else got there first.

The sharp thud of a bag hitting the ground made the gossipers jolt upright. Yunho stood there, shoulders squared, eyes dark with something dangerously close to fury.

"Say that again," he said quietly — and somehow, the softness of his voice was far more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

The students stammered, scrambling for excuses, and he didn't even spare you a glance as he slung his bag back over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there — stunned silent.

Because for all the times you had accused him of being full of himself, Jung Yunho had defended you like it was second nature. Like the idea of anyone else insulting you was unthinkable.

You didn't know what to do with that.

The universe, however, was nothing if not fair. Because just a few days later, the rumours shifted — this time, about Yunho.

"Did you hear? Student council president's working at some convenience store. Imagine seeing him behind the counter after school, bagging snacks for pocket change."

"Golden boy's not so golden after all."

The words grated against your ears so sharply, you were standing in front of them before you even realised you'd moved.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, you gave them a smile so sweet it made your words all the sharper. "Funny. I didn't realise students who can't even pass basic math had opinions anyone cared about."

The stunned silence that followed was delicious. You didn't wait for their response — just turned on your heel and walked off like they weren't even worth your time.

That should've been the end of it — except Yunho was waiting for you by the lockers later that afternoon, arms folded, gaze unreadable.

"I didn't ask you to defend me," he said, tone somewhere between exasperation and confusion.

"Yeah, well." You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Couldn't let my rival's reputation get dragged through the mud before I beat you fair and square."

He stared at you for a long moment — long enough that you felt heat creep up your neck. And then, to your utter disbelief, he smiled. Just a little.

"You're insane."

"You're welcome."

Neither of you admitted what was really happening here.

Neither of you wanted to.

Because rivals didn't protect each other like this — right?

…Right?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

That's what you both told yourselves. Yunho stepping in when people ran their mouths about you? Just defending the council's reputation. You shutting down rumours about his part-time job? Basic professional courtesy. Nothing more.

Except it kept happening.

You noticed when he looked more tired than usual, dark circles smudged under his eyes like he hadn't slept a wink — and then you caught yourself caring. Which was ridiculous. You didn't care. You were just making sure the president didn't screw up his responsibilities because he couldn't handle his personal life. Right?

And Yunho? He wasn't watching out for you. No way. He just… happened to notice when you didn't eat lunch (because of course a spoiled princess would be picky), and maybe that's why he tossed a protein bar onto your desk without looking at you. Totally normal. Not thoughtful. Just practical.

The mental gymnastics you both performed to justify each and every concern were Olympic-level.

When you caught the president absently saving you the better seat during meetings, you told yourself he was just being tactical — easier for you to see the projector, of course. And when Yunho overheard you grumbling about forgetting your calculator before a math quiz, and then somehow one appeared on your desk five minutes later, you were definitely not touched. It was probably a spare he didn't need. Nothing more.

Wooyoung and Seulgi, meanwhile, were losing their minds — because the two of you were so deep in denial it was physically painful to watch.

"She just snapped at him for using the wrong pen colour for the event banners, then turned around and gave him the last slice of cake at the meeting," Seulgi whispered, wide-eyed.

"And he's been pretending to hate her handwriting, but I caught him saving one of her post-it notes in his folder," Wooyoung whispered back.

"Should we help?"

"Nah. Let them suffer."

Because to everyone else, it was painfully obvious: the two of you cared, far too much, and it was eating you both alive.

Neither of you could sleep without replaying your arguments, wondering if you'd crossed a line. Neither of you could look at the other without searching for signs — were they okay? Were they pushing too hard? Were they... thinking about you too?

Of course not.

You hated each other.

That's what you told yourselves.

That's what you needed to believe.

────

Step Five: the breaking point.

The final planning meeting for the year-end festival — the crown jewel of student council events — was supposed to be smooth sailing.

Supposed to be.

Instead, it turned into a sudden crisis and full-blown disaster. Miscommunications piled up like wreckage, schedules clashed, vendors were double-booked, and somehow, two essential permits vanished into thin air — all thanks to the endless assumptions of he'll handle it or she'll settle it.

In truth, the entire student council had been stretched too thin. With final year exams looming and everyone juggling revision sessions alongside festival planning, it was inevitable that details would slip through the cracks. Messages were missed, notes went unshared, and somewhere along the way, every member — even you and Yunho — had trusted that someone else would catch the mistakes.

No one did.

And now, with barely a week left until the biggest event of the year, it was all on the verge of collapse.

The council room was a war zone by the end of the day, with papers scattered across every surface, and half-eaten snacks abandoned next to rapidly-drained cups of instant coffee. The rest of the council had long since been sent home after nearly combusting from secondhand stress.

That left just the two of you — sworn enemies, or at least that's what you both kept telling yourselves — sitting across from each other in the wreckage, sleeves rolled up, hair undone, exhaustion written into every breath.

Somewhere between fixing the vendor placements and rewriting the schedule for the third time, you both cracked.

Laughter. Actual, delirious laughter. It started small — you snorted at something he mumbled under his breath, and he stared at you like you'd grown a second head before dissolving into laughter himself. The kind that made your stomach ache and your shoulders shake, the kind fueled by stress and sleep deprivation until it was impossible to stop.

"This is actual hell," you groaned, collapsing onto the table, cheek smushed against a poorly drawn map of the festival grounds.

"Yeah," he leaned back, arms hanging off the back of his chair, head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "But at least it's not boring."

You turned your head to look at him — hair sticking up in every direction, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled, sleeves unevenly rolled, and yet somehow still the same Yunho who drove you insane. Except, right now, he wasn't the 'golden boy president.' He was just… a boy. One who was just as tired, just as human.

"Yunho," you said softly, surprising even yourself. "Why do you hate me?"

His laughter faded. He didn't look at you right away — just exhaled long and slow, fingers tapping against the table.

"Because you make me feel like I'm not enough," he admitted, voice low, like a confession dragged straight from his chest. "And I hate feeling that way."

The honesty knocked the air from your lungs. Because it was exactly how you felt too — and you'd never meant for him to see you like that, just like you never thought you'd see him like this.

"I never wanted to hate you," you whispered, voice small. "I just wanted to beat you."

He finally turned his head, gaze meeting yours — and for the first time, there was no sharpness, no competition, no battle lines drawn between you. Just understanding.

And maybe, just maybe, something softer underneath. Something neither of you were ready to name.

"It's late. We should go," he murmured.

The air was cool, the sky stretched inky black above you, and the silence between you wasn't exactly uncomfortable — just unfamiliar. After months of snapping and snarling at each other, the absence of sharp words felt almost too quiet. Too fragile.

The two of you walked side by side down the empty street, your steps slower than usual, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break the strange peace that had settled over you.

But eventually, you couldn't hold back.

"…Are you okay not making your shift tonight?" you asked softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

He took a moment before answering, the faint scrape of his shoes against the pavement filling the gap. "I'll just work a double another time," he said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

It made something pinch in your chest — this casual acceptance of overworking himself like it was second nature. You hesitated, then asked the question you realised you'd never actually known the answer to.

"Why do you work so hard?"

He didn't answer right away. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of the question. But eventually, his voice emerged, quieter than you expected.

"For as long as I can remember, it's just been me and my mum," he said. "She works really hard, but money's always been tight. When I was old enough, I took as many jobs as I could — bagging groceries, tutoring, working at that convenience store. And I kept my grades up because… I just wanted to make her proud. Wanted to give her a life where she didn't have to worry anymore."

You slowed your steps, turning your head to look at him properly. And once again, you saw him — not as your rival, not as the frustrating golden boy — but as a son. Someone's son, trying his best.

"You're a good son, Yunho," you said softly, with a smile that felt more genuine than any you'd given him before.

He smiled back — just a little — until you added, just as softly, "Can't say the same for myself though."

Yunho's footsteps halted. You stopped too, eyes falling to the sidewalk beneath you.

"You wanted to know why I transferred here, right?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Without waiting for an answer, you bent down and pulled up the edge of your right sock, revealing a thin line of surgical scars tracing across your ankle. The streetlight caught on the pale skin, glinting faintly.

"One bad match," you said, almost to yourself. "One opponent who played dirty during championships. That's all it took."

His brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"Like you said, I used to be fencing captain. Top-ranked in my old school." You let out a soft, bitter laugh. "And after the injury, I couldn't compete. I fell from first place — took months off to recover, missed exams, missed everything. To my parents, that was all it took for me to become… a disappointment."

You let your sock fall back into place, hands brushing down your skirt, voice tight with forced cheer. "So, they sent me here to start over. To rebuild whatever glory I lost. To make me their perfect trophy again."

The president didn't say anything right away. And for once, you didn't try to fill the silence either. You just stood there together, in the middle of a quiet street, under a flickering streetlamp — two students who had spent so long trying to outshine each other, only to realise they were both just chasing shadows.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.

"They were wrong."

You glanced up at him, blinking.

"They were wrong to make you think you're only worth something if you're perfect."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away — because if you didn't, you might actually cry, and you weren't ready for that. Not in front of him.

"Come on," he said gently, nudging your arm. "We still have to survive this festival. One tragedy at a time."

You laughed — watery, but real. And without thinking, you bumped your shoulder into his.

For once, he didn't bump back harder.

────

Five steps later, you were finally here.

The festival had somehow, miraculously, come together — the chaos you and Yunho had wrestled into order was now a blur of glowing lanterns, flashing booth lights, and bursts of laughter floating up into the night air. From the rooftop, you could see it all — your shared battlefield turned into something beautiful.

You should have felt victorious. But instead, your chest ached with something you couldn't name.

Footsteps behind you.

You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Shouldn't you be down there soaking up the praise, President?" you asked, arms folded across your chest, voice deliberately casual.

He stepped up beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking down over the festival before settling on you. "Shouldn't you be down there taking credit, Vice President?"

You side-eyed him, lips twitching up despite yourself. "I thought you hated sharing your spotlight."

"I do," he said — quieter this time, almost too honest. "But… maybe I don't mind sharing with you."

You froze.

This wasn't the usual banter. There was no smirk, no teasing edge to his voice. Just Yunho, standing there under the open sky, the glow of the festival washing a soft colour over his face.

"I spent this whole year trying to beat you," you admitted softly, your fingers curling around the cool metal railing. "Trying to prove I was better."

"Same," he said — too quickly, like he'd been holding it in. Then he shook his head, a breathless laugh slipping out. "But every time I thought I was close to finally taking you down, I just… ended up liking you more."

Your heart stuttered. "Liking me?"

"Yeah." He exhaled hard, like saying it out loud physically knocked the air from his lungs. "I hated you so much I couldn't think straight, and then somewhere along the way, I just wanted to know you. All of you."

The first fireworks burst overhead, painting the sky in red and gold. The light caught in his hair, in his eyes — and you realised you'd been staring at him this whole time.

"You're such an idiot," you whispered, even though your throat was suddenly tight.

"Why?" He turned toward you fully now, his shoulder brushing yours. "Because I confessed first?"

"No." You took a step closer — close enough that the heat of him bled into your skin. "Because I've liked you too. For longer than I wanted to admit."

Another firework cracked, sending sparks raining down like stars.

Neither of you looked at it.

Yunho's hand found yours on the railing — the touch hesitant at first, until your fingers curled back around his. His thumb traced along your knuckles like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I still want to beat you," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Good." He leaned down, forehead almost brushing yours. "I wouldn't like you if you didn't."

And then — under a sky exploding with light — he kissed you.

It wasn't sweet or shy. It was a clash of everything you'd ever felt for each other — every argument that left you breathless, every late-night meeting where silence spoke louder than words, every sharp-tongued insult meant to cut but only carved deeper into longing.

His lips were warm and urgent, tasting faintly of festival cotton candy and the mint gum he always chewed when stressed. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair before settling at your jaw, his thumb tracing a line along your cheekbone so softly it left your skin tingling.

He pulled you in like you were something fragile and precious and dangerous all at once — something he couldn't risk breaking, but couldn't stand losing.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands fisting in the fabric of his blazer, tugging him closer until there was nothing between you but heat and heartbeats. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the subtle shudder that ran through him when your fingers brushed the back of his neck. His heart hammered so loudly against your chest that you could swear it was echoing your own.

The fireworks painted streaks of gold and crimson across your closed eyelids, but none of it compared to the colour blooming beneath your skin — the dizzying warmth curling low in your stomach, the ache of every unsaid word bleeding into every touch.

When you finally broke apart, panting slightly, foreheads pressed together, you both laughed — breathless and dazed — like you couldn't believe it took you this long to get here.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But they were nothing compared to this.

────

The following Monday after the festival, the entire school knew.

Some claimed they'd caught glimpses of you and Yunho sneaking off together just before the fireworks, while others swore they saw his arm casually draped around your shoulders during the late-night cleanup. And, of course, the boldest rumours came from those who witnessed you both at the council table, sipping from the same straw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But none of that was the real giveaway.

The real giveaway was how you two fought — exactly the same as before, except now he called you baby in the middle of arguments, and you shot back with a saccharine sweetheart, both said with enough venom to curdle milk. The council meetings were still battlegrounds, but now they were laced with something sharper — affection disguised as irritation, fondness hidden under barbed words.

"We should focus on next month's fundraiser," Yunho declared, tapping his pen against the table.

"We should focus on midterm review sessions first," you countered, not even looking up from your notes.

"You just want to show off how perfect your study guides are," he accused, eyes narrowing.

"And you just want to procrastinate so you can rewrite your precious 'president's welcome speech,'" you fired back.

"It's called leadership."

"It's called an ego trip."

The room went silent — council members exchanging wide-eyed glances, already bracing for the explosion.

But instead of storming off like you used to, Yunho just leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "I'm still your boss, Vice President."

Your smile was too sweet, too dangerous. "And I'm still the one who covers your ass when you forget deadlines, President."

Somewhere in the back of the room, Wooyoung silently started a betting pool: kiss or kill — which would happen first?

Together, the two of you became the undeniable, unstoppable force of the student council — a perfect storm of brains, charisma, and sheer chaos. When Yunho's charm and golden-boy smile couldn't win over the principal, your cold logic and flawless presentations sealed the deal. When your sharp tongue and brutal honesty made freshmen tremble, his easy grin softened the blow. Together, you raised more funds, pulled off bigger events, and terrified more slackers than any council duo in school history.

And yes — you still argued like your lives depended on it.

But now, the fights ended with lazy kisses behind closed doors, fingers brushing under the table during meetings, and softly muttered threats of "I'm still going to beat you at this" whispered like a love language.

Some days, he walked you to your chauffeured car, fingers laced with yours despite the stunned looks from every passing student. Other days, you waited at the convenience store until his shift ended, pretending to browse the snack aisle while secretly watching him work — admiring the boy who once drove you insane, and now, somehow, made your heart ache in the best way possible.

And every night you walked home together, sharing an umbrella or splitting a can of soda, your shoulders bumping softly in the dark.

"We're still enemies, right?" you asked once, voice quiet under the stars.

He grinned, tugging you closer by the waist. "Always."

Then he kissed you again — and just like that, the fight for power had never tasted so sweet. Because somewhere between rivalry and romance, between every clash and compromise, you both realised: there was no winning without each other.

If you've watched Kaguya-sama: Love Is War and are also a fan of it, just know that I love you. The way Wooyoung was initially going to take Miyuki's role, but on second thought, Yunho seemed more well-suited for it. Wouldn't you agree?

Also, I hope y'all liked the rooftop kiss🙈

And if you haven't watched the anime, I love you too! For taking the time to read this, I genuinely hope it was enjoyable hehe I know I had a lot of fun writing this.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part nine of the series, so chapters will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: 🫢 Is all I have to say. It's a long one.

You can’t get Kimiko’s words out of your head.

"I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

What did she mean by that? And why couldn’t you just let it go?

It wasn’t just the way she said it. It was the look in her eyes, the smug, knowing smirk tugging at her lips like she had figured something out before you did.

It irritated you to no end. Everything Kimiko did made you mad.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Her constant flirting with Bakugo got on your nerves, but more than that, it made you sad. Every time she leaned into his space, every time she laughed a little too sweetly at something, he said, every time she called him Katsuki so casually, like she had the right to? it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t jealousy, was it?

No. It was something worse. Something heavier. Because she could do all those things, and you couldn't. Or rather, you wouldn’t.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump against your desk. Kimiko had a way of making sure her words stuck in your head like a splinter, and you hated it.

This was probably her plan all along, to make you overthink, to make you question yourself. And the worst part? It was working.

A sudden knock on your dorm door startles you out of your thoughts.

"Who is it?" You call out, still lying face-down on your desk.

"It’s me. Open up, dumbass."

Bakugo.

For some reason, your brain immediately goes into panic mode. You sit up straight, smoothing your hair down and glancing around your mess of a room. Why did it suddenly feel like a disaster zone? Why did you care?

You hurriedly shove a pile of clothes under your bed and straighten out your sheets before clearing your throat. Get it together.

"Um… come in!"

Bakugo opens the door, stepping inside, and you abruptly stop what you’re doing, frozen mid-motion like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Silence.

Bakugo lets out a small grunt before plopping down onto your bed like he owns the place.

Meanwhile, you just stand there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Why were you acting like an idiot? He’d been in your room plenty of times before. Hell, he’d seen it in way worse conditions, so why were you acting like some flustered fool now?

"What brings you here, partner?" You lean against your desk, trying to act casual, trying, and failing.

Partner? Partner?! Could you sound any more stupid?

As if to further cement your humiliation, your elbow knocks over a pile of books, sending them tumbling to the floor.

"Shoot," you mutter, scrambling to pick them up.

From behind you, Bakugo lets out what sounds close to a laugh.

You freeze.

That was a laugh.

Your face burns as you quickly gather your books, your fingers fumbling. It was just a laugh. Just a laugh. Don’t be stupid, Y/N.

"So… you wearing that out?" Bakugo suddenly asks.

You glance down at yourself, oversized, wrinkled T-shirt (with a mysterious green stain you’d rather not think about), old sweats with a hole in the knee.

"Well, uh—wait. Out where?"

Bakugo stares at you like you’ve grown two heads.

"Seriously? You don’t remember?"

You blink. What the hell is he talking about?

"No? Did I forget a birthday? Whose did I forget? Kaminari? Kirishima? Mina—"

"No, you dumbass. Chill out." Bakugo rolls his eyes. "We’re going to the arcade. Me. You. The other extras."

Oh. Right.

Your stomach sinks a little. You had completely forgotten. It's probably because Kimiko would be there.

"Heh… right. I totally remembered that." You mumble, scratching the back of your head.

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you. "It’s not like you to forget."

His words catch you off guard. "Something on your mind?" That’s not something he usually asks.

"Er, uh, no. Just slipped, y’know?" You force a grin.

Bakugo doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

"Right. Well, get ready unless you wanna go out looking like a damn hobo."

"Hey, not too much now." You chuckle, grateful for the shift in topic.

Bakugo huffs and stands up, heading for the door.

And you should let him go.

But you don’t.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist.

Bakugo stiffens slightly, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. His expression is unreadable.

"Um… you can stay, y’know." Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "And we could head down together. Like we used to?"

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes scanning your face. Then...

"Okay."

You got an okay!?

You let go of his wrist and step back, heartbeat hammering in your chest as you quickly escape to the bathroom to change. You try really hard not to freak out.

By the time you and Bakugo head downstairs, everyone is already gathered in the common room. Kaminari jumps up from the couch the second he sees you.

"Finally! Took you two long enough. Let’s go!"

"God, Kaminari, could you be any more impatient?" Jirou sighs, standing up.

Kaminari and Jirou are the first ones out.

"Wow, man, I didn’t even have to drag you out this time," Kirishima teases.

"Shut up," Bakugo grumbles, walking past him.

Kimiko, because of course she does, immediately rushes to Bakugo’s side, smiling sweetly.

Major eye roll.

The arcade was alive with flashing neon lights, the sharp chimes of tokens clinking into machines, and the occasional victory yell from a lucky player.

The air smelled of buttered popcorn and cheap pizza, the kind that tasted way better than it should.

You had barely stepped inside when Kimiko started her Bakugo antics.

“Hey, Bakugo,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Wanna team up? I bet we’d destroy everyone else.”

Before Bakugo could respond, you felt his hand on your wrist.

“Nah,” he said, pulling you along. “Already got plans.”

Your heart jumped at the sudden contact, and Kimiko’s expression flickered, just for a second, before she forced on a smirk.

“Oh, I see,” she said, crossing her arms but making no effort to hide her displeasure. “Have fun, I guess.”

Bakugo didn’t even acknowledge her before leading you toward a row of games.

“Pick something,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets.

You grinned, trying to ignore the warmth still lingering from where he grabbed you. “What, giving me full control? That’s dangerous, Bakugo.”

“Tch. You act like I won’t kick your ass at whatever we play.”

That, of course, became the challenge of the night.

First game: Air hockey. You managed to score a few points, but Bakugo, with his stupidly good reflexes, sent the puck flying into your goal more times than you’d like to admit.

“Damn it,” you muttered, watching the scoreboard light up with his victory.

He smirked. “Hope you’re not gettin’ discouraged already.”

Second game: A co-op zombie shooter. The two of you stood side by side, plastic guns in hand, mowing down wave after wave of the undead. You weren’t sure if it was just the adrenaline or the fact that Bakugo actually made a pretty solid teammate, but you found yourself laughing at how serious he got, cursing every time he missed a shot.

By the time you reached the final boss, you were both on your last lives.

“Shit, move, dumbass, you’re in my line of fire!”

“You move, I’m covering your left!”

Somehow, you both landed the final shot at the same time, causing the screen to flash VICTORY! in bold letters.

You turned to Bakugo, grinning. “We actually make a decent team.”

He snorted. “Obviously. You’d be dead without me.”

Final game: The claw machine.

Bakugo wasn’t one for the “kiddy” games, but after catching you eyeing a plush sitting in the pile of prizes, he shoved a few tokens in without a word.

“You don’t have to win me anything,” you said, watching as he maneuvered the claw with expert precision.

“Didn’t ask,” he muttered.

It took him three tries, but eventually, the claw managed to grab hold of a stuffed bear with lopsided button eyes and a slightly crooked smile. He pulled it out and tossed it to you, acting as if it was no big deal.

You hugged the bear close. “He looks a little messed up.”

“Yeah, well, figured he suits you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “What should we name him?”

Bakugo tilted his head, pretending to think. “Dynamutt.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s awful.”

“Like you could come up with somethin’ better.” He mutters.

You glanced down at the bear and grinned. “Fine. Dynamutt it is.”

By the time you all returned to the dormitories, everyone had collected their fair share of arcade prizes.

Kirishima had an armful of plushies from a rigged punching game. Mina somehow ended up with a collection of flashy LED glasses. Kaminari and Sero had spent most of their time hoarding candy from a ticket machine.

You held Dynamutt close as you flopped onto one of the common room couches, exhausted but content.

Bakugo sat down on the opposite couch, and before you could blink, Kimiko plopped down beside him, far too close for comfort.

“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Bakugo just shrugged. “I guess.”

Kimiko giggled, tilting her head. “You’re always so hard to please, huh?”

You watched as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just a little lower.

“You know, I bet I could make things more fun for you,” she added, her fingers barely brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw. There it was again, that same feeling that had burned in your chest at the party and many times after.

The frustration, the annoyance, the overwhelming urge to say something.

But not here. Not in front of everyone.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you mumbled, standing up abruptly. “Be back soon.”

Sero, who had been watching the entire thing, shot you a knowing look before getting up as well. “Yeah, me too.”

The cool night air was a relief against your heated skin as you leaned against the railing outside the dorms.

Sero stood beside you, silent for a moment before finally speaking.

“She really gets to you, huh?” He said, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me. I know the feeling.”

You turned to him. “Kimiko?”

Sero sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I mean, I know I don’t have a chance or whatever, but watching her go after Bakugo like that… it sucks.”

You hesitated before admitting,

“I don’t even know why it bothers me so much. I mean, I do, but…”

“But?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s like some part of me still doesn’t want to admit it.”

“That you love him?” Sero blurts out.

The words made your stomach flip. "Yeah.." You kick a small pebble.

Sero smiled knowingly. “Denial’s a bitch, huh?”

You groaned. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Nah, I’m the best. And I think you should tell him.”

You gave him a look. “Oh yeah? And what about you? Gonna confess to Kimiko?”

Sero huffed. “Hell no.” Then, after a pause: “Maybe.”

You both laughed, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter.

“C’mon,” you finally said, nudging his arm.

“Let’s head back.”

As the two of you step back into the common room, you hear Kimiko’s voice cut through the air.

"Y'know, Katsuki, if you want to hold someone's hand, you could just ask me." She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "I wouldn’t make you work for it."

There's something in Bakugo’s eyes that tells you he's barely back his frustration. He takes a deep breath before responding.

"Could you stop that? It's annoying."

Kimiko’s expression falters just for a moment before deciding to continue. "Oh come, Katsuki, you know you like it." She reaches out to touch his arm once more, but he shifts away from her.

No, I don’t," he says, voice firm, final. "I never have."

Silence falls over the room. Kirishima shifts awkwardly, looking like he’s about to step in, but Bakugo isn’t done yet.

"I’ve just been putting up with it because I didn’t wanna deal with the drama." His voice is sharper now, frustration rolling off him. "But you’re annoying as hell, and I don’t like it, so stop."

The weight of his words hangs in the air.

You and Sero, still standing near the doorway, exchange a glance. This is... a lot.

Even Kaminari and Jirou, who had been hanging around earlier, had the good sense to disappear before things got worse.

Kimiko mutters something under her breath, too quiet for you to hear before pushing off the couch. She leaves without another word.

Mina sighs, rubbing her temples before grabbing Kirishima’s wrist. "Come on, Red, we should check on her."

Kirishima hesitates but follows. "That was kinda harsh, man," he mutters to Bakugo before leaving.

"Well, that was—" You turn to Sero, only to find him gone.

You huff a quiet laugh. Traitor.

Bakugo looks up at the sound, his usual scowl still in place. You hesitate for a second before walking over, dropping into the seat Kimiko had left empty.

Silence stretches between you both.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. Silence has always been your thing.

"You heard all that?" he finally mutters.

"Yeah..." You pick at your sleeve, not sure how else to respond.

There’s another pause before Bakugo exhales sharply, his voice lower when he speaks again.

"I don’t get why people think I’m into that flirty crap. It’s annoying." His gaze flickers toward you, then away just as quickly. "Not my thing."

"Then why did you tolerate it?" you ask.

You’ve spent months watching Kimiko flirt with him. At times, he barely reacted. Others he seemed to like it, so you assumed he was fine with it. But now? Now he’s snapping, like he’s had enough.

"’Cause damn Shitty Hair wanted me to," Bakugo mutters. "He said she was just trying to be friends with me, so I let it go. And she’s an okay sparring partner, I guess."

"Oh... I see..."

There’s something heavier in his voice now, something that goes beyond just Kimiko. You wait, and sure enough, he keeps going.

"After the war," he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself, "everything felt… different."

He exhales sharply, frustrated. "I know I probably worried the hell outta everyone, almost dyin’ and all. I feel like, like I gotta make up for that somehow. Be better. Do shit right."

You swallow. "You did worry everyone," you admit softly. "Me, especially."

Bakugo clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists in his lap. "I know, and I hate that," he mutters. "I hate knowing I made everyone go through that."

His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and there’s something raw within his expression.

"That’s why I let that shit slide. Why I put up with dumb crap like Kimiko’s flirting. ‘Cause it felt like… I dunno, something I should do."

You feel your heart tighten in your chest. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Bakugo."

"I know, and that's why you’re the only one I don’t gotta pretend around."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You’ve always been my best friend, but—" he hesitates, just for a second, before pushing forward. "You’re different. You always have been."

Sero’s advice flashes through your head.

And suddenly, you feel like you’re on the edge of something terrifying.

Your hands clench into fists. "Bakugo..."

His eyes meet yours.

"Katsuki, idiot," he corrects automatically.

Your pulse races.

"Katsuki," you say, and his name feels heavier in your mouth than it ever has before.

His brows furrow slightly, like he can sense something shifting. "What?"

You take a breath.

And then, before fear can stop you, you say it.

"I’m in love with you."

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

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[scarletwinterxx]

magnets - choi seungcheol imagine 1/2

buckle up bcs this is going to be a long one, i tried i really did i tried my best writing as much angst as i can. i'm not the best in that genre but i think i like how it turned out... i tried my best to put into words the scenes I had in my head. i needed to make this in 2 parts since it won't let me post all at once😅 so yes THERE WILL BE A SECOND HALF

tbh out of all the stories i wrote here, this one has the most 'me' in it. sad if you realize why i say that but yea😅 in my mind, cheol is the type of man whose love isn't consuming, it just makes everything better, easier, a little less terrifying bcs no matter what you can count on him to be there with you. i guess that's what make me love this story even more. hope you do too!

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’ve heard it all before. You're too picky. Your standards are unrealistic. Men aren’t that bad.

Lies. All of it.

Men are that bad. They lack common sense, can’t read between the lines, and somehow think saying "you’re not like other girls" is a compliment. You’ve dodged so many disastrous setups that your friends have given up entirely, dubbing you "The Man Hater." 

Until a certain someone crossed paths with you. 

It happens on a regular Friday night. Your group is at some bar Mingyu insisted on checking out, and you're barely listening to Jeonghan talk about his latest situationship when you see him.

Seungcheol walks in like he owns the place. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and a presence that makes women glance up instinctively. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s in a plain black tee, jeans that fit just right, and a watch that looks like it costs more than your rent. The kicker? He doesn’t even try to look hot. He just is.

"Who is that?" you ask, cutting off Jeonghan mid-sentence.

Your friends freeze "Did you just…" Jeonghan starts.

"Who," you repeat, your voice dangerously close to sounding interested, "is that?"

Mingyu, still coughing, thumps his chest. "Choi Seungcheol," he wheezes. "Why?"

"He’s hot," you declare, because there’s no point in denying the undeniable.

"You hate men," Irene reminds you, like you’ve somehow forgotten

"I hate most men," you correct. "That one? I want him."

Jeonghan bursts into laughter. "This is the best night of my life."

You ignore them because Seungcheol is making his way to the bar, completely unaware of the chaos he’s caused. You watch, entranced, as he leans against the counter. When the bartender hands him a drink, he nods in thanks. Polite, effortless. Not once does he scan the crowd for attention like most men do. He knows he has it.

Mingyu, having finally recovered, shakes his head. "No way. Seungcheol turns down everyone."

"Not for long," you murmur, already formulating a plan.

Jihyo narrows her eyes. "Oh my God. You’re serious. You’re actually serious."

"I am."

Irene stares at you, then at Seungcheol. "I give you five minutes before he shuts you down."

"Three," Mingyu corrects.

"Ten," Jeonghan bets

"Have some faith," you scoff, already standing up. "Watch and learn, peasants."

You stride towards the bar, heart hammering, but determination stronger. It’s been years since you’ve been genuinely interested in someone. You’ll be damned if you let this moment pass.

Seungcheol notices you as you approach, and when your eyes meet, he tilts his head slightly curious but unreadable. Up close, he’s even better. You swallow.

Then, with all the confidence in the world, you slide onto the stool next to him before speaking

"So, do we skip the small talk, or do I have to pretend I don’t already want you?"

Seungcheol blinks. Then, he laughs. low, rich, interested and just like that, the game begins. He turns fully to face you, one elbow resting on the bar, drink held loosely in his hand. His gaze flickers over you—assessing, but not in that sleazy way men do when they think they have the upper hand. No, this is different. 

He’s curious.

"That’s a bold opener," he muses, taking a sip of his drink.

You smirk. "I don’t do weak ones."

He hums, seemingly unfazed, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. "And what exactly do you already want from me?"

Your fingers drum against the bar as you lean in slightly, "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, then he sets his drink down with a quiet clink and exhales a small chuckle. "You’re not like the others."

"God, please tell me that’s not your usual line," you tease.

His grin widens. "No. Usually, I don’t even entertain conversations."

"Tragic," you say dryly. "You’ve been missing out."

His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, and you swear you see a flicker of actual interest settle in his expression. Then, suddenly, he shifts gears.

"You came over here with a plan," he states, amusement laced in his voice. "Go ahead. Impress me."

Oh, he’s fun. You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Alright. First, we exchange names not because I don’t already know yours, but because manners are important."

Seungcheol chuckles, but he plays along. "Choi Seungcheol."

You extend a hand. "Nice to meet you, Seungcheol" you say his name, telling him yours also

"I know who you are." That throws you off for exactly half a second, and you hate how much you like hearing him say your name. 

"Oh? And how exactly did you hear about me?"

"I have ears," he shrugs. "And friends who talk too much." he looks behind you. You glance back at your table, where your friends are openly staring.

"They bet against you, didn’t they?"

"Obviously." you scowl then turn to look at him again

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," you echo, matching his smirk.

He looks at you for a moment longer, as if weighing his next move. Then, he leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Alright. You’ve got my attention. Now what?"

You don’t get flustered easily. You’ve shut down men with nothing but a raised brow and a well-placed bless your heart more times than you can count. But there’s something about the way Seungcheol leans in, watching you with that amused little smirk, that makes your pulse trip over itself.

"That depends. Are you going to buy me a drink, or am I going to have to suffer through this conversation sober?"

His smirk turns into a full grin, slow and devastating. "So demanding."

"I don’t waste time," you quip

He chuckles, a deep, satisfied sound, before signaling to the bartender. "Get her whatever she wants," he tells them, then glances back at you. "And if you say something ridiculous, I’m judging you."

"Wow," you scoff, placing a hand over your heart. "You don’t even know my order, and you’re already prepared to be disappointed? You really are different."

Seungcheol snorts. "Just don’t tell me it’s some overly complicated drink with eight different ingredients."

You hum, making a show of considering his words before turning to the bartender. "A whiskey sour."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Not bad."

"Did you think I was going to order an appletini?"

"Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you."

You laugh, shaking your head as the bartender hands you your drink. You take a sip, enjoying the slight tang, then tilt the glass in his direction. "See? No judgment necessary."

"I’ll admit, I’m a little relieved," he teases, taking a sip of his own drink.

You narrow your eyes playfully. "So, is this your thing?"

"My thing?"

"Buying girls drinks, making them feel special, then walking away like a mysterious, unattainable dream?"

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. "Not really. Like I said, I usually don’t entertain conversations."

"But you’re entertaining this one."

He tilts his glass toward you in a silent toast. "I am."

You clink your glass against his, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. "I must be special, then."

Seungcheol watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze just a little darker now. "You must be."

You linger at the bar with Seungcheol for a few more moments, exchanging teasing remarks and sidelong glances, but eventually, you decide to leave while you're ahead.

"Well, this has been fun," you say, setting your now-empty glass on the counter.

Seungcheol tilts his head. "Leaving already?"

"What, you want me to stay?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "I wouldn’t mind."

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "Tempting… but I like to keep things interesting."

Before he can respond, you slide your arm across the bar toward him, palm up. His brows raise slightly, but he doesn’t hesitate. He picks up a pen left behind by the bartender and, with deliberate strokes, scrawls his number across your forearm.

When he finishes, he caps the pen, meeting your gaze with a knowing smirk. "Your move."

You glance at the numbers, then back at him. "We’ll see." Then, without another word, you turn on your heel and walk back to your table.

As expected, your friends are staring. The moment you reach the table, Jihyo blurts, "What happened?!"

You take your seat, completely unbothered, and casually extend your arm, showing off the ink on your skin. Silence.

Then

"WHAT THE—?!" Mingyu practically screeches, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. “Wait, wait. So, you—the man hater—just casually waltzed over there, flirted with Choi Seungcheol, and now you have his number?"

"Looks like it." You examine your arm with a smug smile.

Jihyo grips your wrist, eyes darting over the digits. "So? Are you texting him? Calling? When’s the wedding?"

You shrug, retracting your arm. "I’m not texting him."

Jihyo looks betrayed. "Why the hell not?!"

"Where’s the fun in that?" You take a slow sip of your drink. "Let’s see if he texts first."

Jeonghan looks at you before the evil smile shows on his face, “You didn’t give him your number, didn’t you?”

“Nope”

Jeonghan leans forward. "Oh, you’re evil."

You don’t text him that night. Or the next. His number, which you took time to save on your phone, remains stagnant on your contact list. 

You’re lounging on your couch, half-listening to a true crime documentary, when your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. You stare at it for a second, debating whether to answer, before sighing and picking up.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then—

"Was this your plan all along?"

You freeze. That voice is unmistakable. Leaning back against the cushions, you fight the smirk threatening to form. "Choi Seungcheol."

"You remember my name. Good to know," he deadpans.

You hum, inspecting your nails. "You sound a little… frustrated."

"I had to track down your friends just to get your number," he says, and you can hear the irritation laced with amusement. "Do you know how annoying that was?"

You bite back a laugh. "Who caved?"

"Mingyu. He held out for, like, ten seconds."

You laugh, imagining the exact moment Seungcheol probably cornered Mingyu, all intimidating and brooding, while your friend fumbled immediately.

"So," Seungcheol continues, "tell me, was this some elaborate game? Give me your number, wait for me to text, then just ghost me?"

"I didn’t ghost you. I just never texted in the first place."

"Exactly."

You grin, stretching out lazily. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d chase."

A pause. Then, in a tone far too smug for your liking "So you like being chased?"

Your stomach does a stupid little flip, but you refuse to let him know that. "I like seeing who puts in effort," you reply smoothly.

"And? Impressed yet?"

"You’re getting there," you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. "Good. Then meet me for dinner."

You blink. "What?"

"Dinner," he repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, a meal? Where two people sit down, talk, and eat?"

"I know what dinner is," you snort. "I just wasn’t expecting you to be so forward."

"You made me hunt you down," he says. "You don’t get to act surprised." Okay. Fair.

"Alright, then," you say, biting your lip to contain your grin. "Pick me up at eight."

And just like that, Choi Seungcheol is taking you to dinner. And at exactly 7:59, your phone buzzes.

Seungcheol: I’m outside.

You glance at the time and snort. Of course, he’s punctual.

Grabbing your purse, you take one last look in the mirror before heading out. As soon as you step outside, you spot Seungcheol leaning casually against his car. A sleek, black beauty that looks just as effortlessly expensive as he does.

His eyes sweep over you as you approach, and he smirks. "You clean up nice."

You arch a brow. "I always look nice."

"Cocky."

Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he glances at you. "Comfortable?"

You hum, running a hand over the buttery leather seats. "Not bad. I guess your car is alright."

Seungcheol scoffs. "You guess? This car is a masterpiece."

You grin. "I’m sure it’s great at making up for other shortcomings."

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls onto the road. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

"It’s a gift," you say sweetly.

He glances at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You really made me work for this date."

"You chased," you remind him.

"And you liked it."

You pretend to consider. "A little."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping."

You meet his gaze, and for once, you don’t have a witty comeback. Seungcheol pulls up to a sleek high-rise, handing his keys off to the valet like it’s second nature. You step out, glancing up at the towering building, the city lights reflecting off the glass.

You give him a sideways look. “Fancy.”

He smirks. The elevator ride is smooth and silent, except for the way Seungcheol occasionally glances at you. When the doors open, you step into a dimly lit, impossibly exclusive restaurant. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering skyline, the city sprawling below like something out of a movie.

A host greets you by name before leading you to a table near the window. You raise an eyebrow. “How did you even get a reservation here?”

Seungcheol just shrugs, sliding into his seat. “I have my ways.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He leans back, studying you with that same amused smirk. “You like it?”

It’s stunning, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction just yet. “It’s alright.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

The waiter arrives, and Seungcheol orders without even glancing at the menu. You squint at him. “You come here often?”

“Not really. Just know what’s good.”

“So, what, you bring all your dates here?”

Seungcheol sets down his glass, eyes locked onto yours. “No.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the first.”

Your stomach does something stupid and traitorous, but you keep your expression cool. “Guess I should feel special.”

His lips quirk up. “You should.”

And damn it, for once, you do. As the waiter leaves, Seungcheol leans forward, swirling the dark liquid in his glass before giving you an all-too-amused look.

“So, I heard something interesting from Mingyu.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.” 

“Apparently, you have a reputation.”

You take a slow sip of your drink. “Do I?”

Seungcheol smirks. “Something about being a ‘man hater,’ quote-unquote.”

You nearly choke. “Oh, for the love of—” You set your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “I am not a man hater.”

He rests his chin on his hand, clearly entertained. “Mingyu made it sound pretty serious.”

You roll your eyes. “Mingyu is dramatic. I just—” You gesture vaguely. “—don’t waste my time with idiots.”

“So, most men are idiots?”

You sigh, giving him a pointed look. “Look, I just have high standards. That doesn’t make me a man hater.” You pick up your drink, muttering, “Mingyu talks too much.”

Seungcheol just laughs, looking way too pleased with himself. You lean back in your chair, twirling the stem of your wine glass between your fingers, watching him with a knowing smirk.

"You know," you start casually, "I heard something about you too."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You nod. "Apparently, you’re the guy who turns down women without a second thought."

He hums, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down. "Mingyu, again?"

"Maybe."

He smirks. "He really needs a hobby."

"Don’t change the subject," you tease, tilting your head. "So, is it true?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches you for a moment, like he’s deciding how much to say. "Depends," he finally says.

"On what?"

"On what you think ‘true’ means."

You narrow your eyes. "That sounds like something a guy who’s absolutely guilty would say."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. "Look, I’m not some heartless bastard. I just don’t waste time on something I know won’t go anywhere."

You cross your arms. "And what exactly makes you so sure it won’t go anywhere?"

He shrugs, voice even. "You can tell when someone only wants you for the wrong reasons."

Something about the way he says it makes you pause. It’s not cocky. It’s just… matter-of-fact.

You watch him carefully. "So, what, they just like the idea of you?"

He meets your gaze, unreadable. "Something like that."

You hold his stare, and for a moment, the teasing dies down, replaced by something heavier. Something real. Then, because you refuse to let things get too serious too quickly, you click your tongue.

"Damn," you say, shaking your head. "And here I was thinking you were just playing hard to get."

Seungcheol laughs, the tension breaking. "And yet, you still showed up."

You grin. "Guess I like a challenge, too."

He lifts his glass toward you in a silent toast.

"Good," he murmurs, eyes dark with amusement. "I’d be disappointed if you didn’t."

The food was amazing, company even better. He’s funny without trying, you don’t think you laughed that much in a while. And a guy being the reason? A miracle truly. 

He’s driving you back home leaning back in the passenger seat, comfortably full from dinner, when his voice cuts through the quiet.

"So." His fingers drum lazily against the wheel. "Why didn’t you text me?"

You glance at him, feigning innocence. "Text you?"

He gives you a look. "You know. After that first night."

You smirk, tilting your head. "Ohhh, you mean when you wrote your number on my arm like some overconfident frat boy?"

Seungcheol scoffs, but his lips twitch. "I was being resourceful."

"Sure." You shrug. "Guess I just wasn’t in a rush."

He raises an eyebrow. "Weren’t interested?"

"I didn’t say that."

"Didn’t not say it either."

You chuckle. "Alright, fine. Maybe I just wanted to see how serious you were."

Seungcheol hums. "So, making me track down your friends and practically interrogate Mingyu was a test?"

You flash him a grin. "And you passed."

He glances at you, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I knew you were trouble."

"You knew," you agree, smirking. "And yet, here you are."

Seungcheol shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the way his lips curl up. "Yeah," he murmurs, like it’s more to himself than to you. "Here I am."

You don’t tell anyone about the dinner. Not because you’re trying to be secretive, but because there’s nothing to tell. At least, that’s what you tell yourself but the others notice something.

"You’re in a good mood," Jihyo says one afternoon, squinting at you suspiciously over her coffee.

You blink. "Am I not allowed to be?"

"You are," she says slowly. "It’s just unusual."

Mingyu chimes in from across the table. "Yeah, you haven’t made fun of me once today. It’s kinda weirding me out."

You roll your eyes. "You want me to insult you?"

"Lowkey, yeah."

Jeonghan, who’s been scrolling through his phone this whole time, suddenly looks up. "Wait. You are acting different."

Irene nods, narrowing her eyes. "Yeah. You’re… less murdery. "You know." She gestures vaguely. "Less I’ll kill a man if he looks at me the wrong way."

You groan. "You guys are so dramatic."

"Okay, so what happened?" Jihyo presses.

"Nothing."

Jeonghan smirks. "That means something." Four pairs of eyes immediately narrow at you.

"Who is it?" Jeonghan adds, grinning like a wolf. "Oh, wait—" His eyes gleam with mischief. "Who’s the poor bastard?"

You roll your eyes. "There is no bastard. Poor or otherwise."

"She’s deflecting," Jihyo announces.

Mingyu leans forward. "It’s Seungcheol, isn’t it?"

You don’t react. Not visibly but the millisecond of silence is enough. Jeonghan’s grin explodes.

"Ohhhh, no way." Mingyu screeches.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. You should’ve known. You deny, deny, deny until they finally give up, though not without a lot of suspicious side-eyes and unnecessary winks from Jeonghan.

By the time they stop prying, you think you’re in the clear.

That is, until Friday night.

It’s just supposed to be a normal night out—drinks, chaos, and Mingyu probably embarrassing himself at some point. The usual.

But then you see him.

Seungcheol.

And he’s not alone. You clock him the moment you step into the bar, leaning against the counter with a drink in hand, looking ridiculously good in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s mid-laugh, talking to someone. Looks like a close friend. 

You don’t react, keeping your expression neutral, but Jeonghan notices immediately.

"Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?" he asks, following your gaze.

And because the universe is cruel, that’s the exact moment Seungcheol glances over and meets your eyes. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips.

Jeonghan watches it all happen. His eyes widen before he turns to you, grinning like the menace he is. "Oh. My. God."

Mingyu, of course, is oblivious. "Drinks first!" he announces, leading the group toward an open spot by the bar.

Irene and Jihyo follow easily, already deep in conversation, but you feel Jeonghan at your side. His eyes are glinting. You just know he’s about to be a problem.

"You know," he says casually, "for someone who ‘definitely did not go on a date with Seungcheol,’ you two sure looked like you have history."

You don’t even blink. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jeonghan snickers. "Right. And I’m a law-abiding citizen." You ignore him, signaling the bartender for a drink.

Everything is fine or at least it was until Seungcheol and his friend start making their way over. You don’t react. But you know Jeonghan notices the way you straighten up, the way your fingers tap once against the bar before going still.

His friend gets there first, smiling easily at the group. "Hey," he greets. "Didn’t know you guys were coming out tonight."

Mingyu perks up. "Joshua Hong! What’s up?" He claps Joshua's shoulder, immediately pulling him into conversation.

And that’s when he speaks.

"Small world, huh?"

You refuse to turn your head too fast, refuse to let your body react. Instead, you sip your drink first, then glance to the side. Seungcheol is looking at you like he knows something..

You raise an eyebrow. "Not really. Bars exist."

Mingyu, bless him, is still too caught up in talking to Joshua to notice the undercurrent of whatever is happening here. Irene and Jihyo are watching, though. They’re pretending to be casual, but you can feel their curiosity.

Seungcheol doesn’t drop it. He leans slightly closer, just enough for his voice to drop between the two of you. "You avoiding me?"

"Why would I do that?"

He tilts his head, pretending to think. "Maybe because someone went on a date with me and then acted like it never happened."

Jeonghan is eating this up. He’s watching like it’s his favorite drama, sipping his drink with barely concealed glee.

You sip your drink again, unfazed. "Must not have been that memorable then."

Seungcheol laughs like, full-on laughs and somehow that’s worse than if he had been annoyed.

"Oh, this is fun," he murmurs, shaking his head.

"You need better hobbies," you reply dryly.

"You’re right. I should pick up dating mysterious, difficult women who don’t text back."

You glance at him. "So you’re saying I’m a challenge?"

He smirks. "I’m saying I like challenges."

Your lips curve, but you don’t let the smile take over. You turn back to your drink instead and just like that, the moment passes. Instead, he just slides into conversation with the rest of the group like nothing happened. Like he’s not already thinking about the next time he’ll get you alone.

The night goes on as if nothing happened. As if Seungcheol didn’t just throw you off balance with his ridiculous smirk and infuriatingly charming presence. But then, when Seungcheol and Joshua drift off to another part of the bar, Jihyo pounces.

"Okay, explain."

You feign ignorance, sipping your drink. "Explain what?"

Irene scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. You were literally just flirting with him."

You roll your eyes. "I was not."

"That was the most obvious non-flirting flirting I’ve ever seen," Jihyo insists. "And I’ve known Jeonghan for years."

Jeonghan smirks. "She’s right, you know."

Mingyu, now finally catching up, furrows his brows. "Wait. Are we talking about Seungcheol?"

"No, we’re talking about your ability to be dense," Irene says, exasperated

Jihyo leans in. "I thought you wanted him."

You groan, rubbing your temples. "I do."

She blinks. "Then what’s the problem?"

You sigh. "That’s the problem."

Mingyu looks confused. "Wait, I’m lost."

Irene pats his arm. "Sweetie, this is grown-up business." This makes Mingyu glare at him, jokingly pushing her sideways

Mingyu scowls. "I am grown!"

"You’re a puppy," Jeonghan corrects.

Meanwhile, Jihyo is still staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. "So you want him, but that’s the problem."

"Yes."

She stares harder. "You’re gonna have to give me more than that."

You huff, crossing your arms. "Look, it’s one thing to think a guy is hot. It’s another to actually want to do something about it. And it’s another thing entirely when that guy is Seungcheol."

Jeonghan hums. "Because he’s…?"

"Because he’s Seungcheol." You gesture vaguely. "Effortlessly hot. Stupidly charming. A literal menace who just gets whatever he wants without even trying."

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. "And that’s… bad?"

You exhale. "It’s bad because I don’t lose. And I will lose against him."

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jeonghan bursts out laughing.

"Oh, my God," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "This is amazing."

Mingyu blinks. "I still don’t get it."

Irene sighs, shaking her head. "She’s afraid he’s gonna wreck her life."

Mingyu tilts his head. "That’s dramatic."

Jihyo just smirks. "So what’s your plan?"

You sigh. "I don’t have one." And that? That’s the real problem.

It happens when you least expect it. One second, you’re at the bar with Jihyo, fending off yet another round of questioning. The next Seungcheol is there.

"Can I borrow her for a second?" he asks smoothly, voice just low enough that only you can hear the real intent behind it.

Jihyo raises a brow, eyes flickering between the two of you. You can practically hear her thoughts. But before she can say anything, Seungcheol’s hand finds yours then he’s pulling you away.

You follow, weaving through the crowd until he tugs you into a small corner of the bar. A photobooth. You barely register it before he pulls the curtain shut behind you. The space is tiny. Cramped. You can feel the heat of him, too close, too intoxicating.

"You could’ve just asked to talk," you say, leaning against the side of the booth like you’re not at all affected.

Seungcheol smirks, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Your pulse jumps. "You like making things difficult, don’t you?"

"I could say the same about you."

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you—steady, knowing, amused as hell—makes it hard to breathe.

"So," he says, voice softer now, more serious, "why didn’t you text me?"

You exhale, meeting his gaze. "Because I knew you’d find a way to track me down anyway."

"You think you have me figured out?"

You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch before you answer. "I think you don’t like losing."

Seungcheol watches you for a beat. Then he laughs. It’s soft at first, then full and deep, shaking his shoulders as he shakes his head. "God," he mutters, "I should’ve found you sooner."

Your chest tightens. The photobooth timer starts blinking.

3…

His gaze dips—

2…

You don’t move away

1.

The camera clicks.So does something else between you.

The next day at work, you’re in a mood. You glare at your computer. You glare at your coffee. You glare at the innocent potted plant on your desk. And your friends notice.

Jeonghan doesn’t ask immediately. He waits until you’re both in line at the café, you’re scrolling through your phone, pretending you don’t notice him watching you.

"So," he says casually, "when are you seeing him again?"

You freeze. Your finger hovers over your screen. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his smirk. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jeonghan hums. "Sure you don’t."

You take a deep breath. "Nothing happened."

"See, I know that’s a lie," he says, stepping forward as the line moves. "Because if nothing happened, you wouldn’t be acting like a walking existential crisis."

You scowl. "I am not—"

"—a walking existential crisis?" Jeonghan interrupts, raising a brow. "Oh, please. You’ve been glitching all morning."

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. "You’re being dramatic."

"Am I?" He crosses his arms. "Because if I recall correctly, you’re the one who wanted him at first sight."

You click your tongue, shifting your weight. "And that’s the problem."

Jeonghan leans in slightly, intrigued. "Because?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Because I’m hot and cold about this, okay? One second, I want to see where this goes. The next, I’m ready to vanish into the void."

He blinks. "So you like him."

You hesitate. "I—"

Jeonghan’s smirk returns. "Oh, you so like him."

You glare. "I barely know him."

"But you want to," he points out.

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face. "That’s exactly the problem. I don’t get like this."

Jeonghan nods slowly, as if considering. "So what I’m hearing is… Seungcheol has you shook."

You groan, stepping forward as the line moves again. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Debatable."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Look, you can keep overthinking this, or you can just let yourself have some fun." He tilts his head. "Unless you’re scared?"

You bristle. "I’m not scared."

His smile widens. "Maybe. Or maybe you’ve just met your match." You stare at him, but before you can argue, the barista calls your order.

Jeonghan winks. "Think about it."

"This," you say flatly, "is why I hate most men."

Jeonghan snickers. "Oh, so you admit you don’t hate all men?"

You glare at him over the rim of your cup. "Unfortunately, some of you have managed to slip through the cracks."

He hums thoughtfully. "And would you say Seungcheol is one of those ‘slip through the cracks’ cases?"

You almost choke on your drink. "Jeonghan," you say warningly.

"Just saying," he muses, blowing on his coffee

You scoff. "Oh, please."

But then you hesitate because, damn it, he has a point. You liked Seungcheol immediately. One look, and you wanted him. And that never happens. It’s annoying. It’s unnerving. And the worst part? Seungcheol knows it.

It’s been a long day. You step out of the building, already thinking about what to make for dinner when you see him.

Seungcheol leaning against his car like he’s posing for a magazine, arms crossed, watching you with an amused tilt of his head. You stop in your tracks.

He smirks.

"Busy?" he asks, pushing off the car as you approach.

You narrow your eyes. "How did you know I was here?"

“Mingyu” you mutter under your breath how you’re going to kill the 6 foot tall man tomorrow. 

Seungcheol chuckles. "Be nice. I was gonna find you eventually."

You glare. "That’s not the point."

He tilts his head. "Then what is?"

You open your mouth then close it. Because, honestly? You’re not sure. Why does he keep coming back? And why the hell do you feel kind of excited that he’s here?

Seungcheol watches you wrestle with your thoughts, then grins. "You gonna invite me up?"

"To my apartment?"

"Where else?"

You fold your arms. "That’s bold."

He steps closer, just enough that you catch the faintest whiff of his cologne. "I don’t like wasting time."

Your heart skips. You should tell him to leave. You should ignore how good he looks in that damn suit. Instead you sigh. "Fine. But if you track me down again because of Mingyu, I’m sending both of you to hell."

Seungcheol grins. "Deal."

The entire drive back to your place is infuriating.

Seungcheol is smiling, smirking, even, like he just won some kind of game. Meanwhile, you’re glaring out the window, arms crossed, regretting every decision that led to this moment. When he finally pulls up to your building, you let out a deep breath, like you’ve just survived something mentally exhausting.

"You always this grumpy?" Seungcheol teases as he steps out of the car.

You shoot him a look. "You always this persistent?"

He just grins. You roll your eyes, leading him up to your apartment. The moment you step inside, you toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto the couch, and grab your phone.

"I’m ordering food," you announce, already scrolling through your go-to delivery app. Seungcheol follows you in, looking around like he’s taking mental notes.

"Nice place," he comments, settling onto your couch like he’s been here before.

You glance at him. "You say that like you weren’t planning to judge it."

And before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Why are you doing this?"

Seungcheol looks at you, head tilting slightly. "Doing what?"

You sigh, turning to fully face him. "This." You motion between the two of you. "Showing up. Finding my number. Tracking me down." For a second, he just watches you. Like he’s figuring something out. Then, he leans back, resting an arm over the couch.

"So this is why they call you the man hater."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

“You’re suspicious of a guy just because he likes you?"

You stare at him, trying to come up with a solid counterargument, something to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Weren’t you the one who approached me first?" Seungcheol asks, raising a brow.

You freeze because technically, yes. You were. That night at the bar, it was you who walked up to him. You who spoke first. You who, despite your reputation of never being impressed by men, took one look at him and wanted him.

And Seungcheol, the same man who apparently turns down women without a second thought, didn’t turn you away. And now? He’s here. Sitting on your couch. Acting like this is just the natural order of things.

"You’re twisting my words," you argue, folding your arms.

"Am I?"

You narrow your eyes. "I approached you because I was curious."

He tilts his head. "And now?"

Every interaction with him has been throwing you off your game. You’re used to being in control but with Seungcheol, it’s like every move he makes is intentional, and he’s too good at getting under your skin.

"You’re annoying," you finally say.

He smirks. "And yet, here I am."

You let out a slow exhale, rolling your eyes. "I should’ve ignored your number that night."

Seungcheol watches your expression shift, and something about it amuses him. "You always like this?"

"Like what?"

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fighting yourself."

You stare at him. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupts, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re hot and cold with me, and I think it’s because you don’t like how much you want this."

You hate that he’s right.

"You are so—"

"Annoying?" He grins. "You’ve said."

"Why are you even interested?"

“I like you."

Your heart skips but you refuse to let him see that. So instead, you exhale, shaking your head as you tap at your phone. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you like that," he counters. You pretend you don’t hear him as you place the order.

The food arrives, and you both settle in to eat. Seungcheol sits across from you, comfortably digging into his meal like he belongs here. Like he hasn’t been pushing your buttons all night.

You, on the other hand? You’re still glaring.

He looks up mid-bite, noticing your expression, and smirks. "You always eat like you’re plotting a murder?"

You stab at your food with a little more force than necessary. "Just considering my options."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You should really work on your intimidation tactics."

You huff. "They work on everyone else."

"Ah," he nods, chewing thoughtfully. "So I’m special."

You pause. Damn it. "That’s not what I—"

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. "Don’t worry, I get it. I’m persistent, irritatingly charming, and you don’t know what to do with that."

You scowl. "I know exactly what to do with that."

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You gesture to the door. "Kick you out." Seungcheol laughs. Full-bodied, genuine, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s come across in a long time. You hate how nice it sounds.

"Okay," he says, still grinning. "I’ll leave—after we finish eating."

You squint. "You act like you’re doing me a favor."

He smirks. "Aren’t I?"

You refuse to dignify that with a response. Instead, you focus on your food, pointedly ignoring how Seungcheol watches you with that infuriatingly amused expression, like he already knows he’ll see you again.

After dinner you walk him to the door, arms crossed, your glare still very much in place. Seungcheol, in contrast, looks ridiculously satisfied, like he’s had the best night of his life just bothering you.

You stop at the door, unlocking it before turning to him with a deadpan expression.

"I changed my mind," you announce.

His brows lift slightly. "About what?"

"I don’t like you anymore."

Seungcheol grins. Like full-on, dimple-showing, teeth-flashing grin.

"That so?" he hums, stepping just a little closer, enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

Your jaw tightens. "Yes."

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with the same entertained look he’s had all night.

"That’s a shame," he murmurs.

You cross your arms tighter. "Why?"

"Because," he leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, "I still like you." He pulls back, opens the door himself, and steps out. 

"Goodnight," he says, like this is just routine now. Leaving you standing there, your heart beating entirely too fast, absolutely furious that he got the last word.

The next morning, you stomp out of your building and slide into Jeonghan’s car with more force than necessary.

Jeonghan barely glances at you before pulling out onto the street. "Good morning to you too."

You cross your arms, scowling at the window. "I hate him."

"Who?"

You don’t answer right away, mostly because admitting it feels like a loss. But then, under your breath "Seungcheol."

Jeonghan laughs. "You know, for someone who supposedly hates men, you’re really bad at resisting this one."

"I’m not—" You pause. "He’s just—annoying."

"And yet," Jeonghan drawls, "here you are, grumbling his name first thing in the morning."

You shoot him a glare. "Drive the damn car, Jeonghan."

He grins wider, turning up the radio. "Whatever you say, lovergirl."

You get to your desk, ready to start your day with the same level of annoyance you’ve carried since last night and then you see them. A bouquet. Right there. Sitting in the middle of your desk. Jeonghan, who’s still walking behind you, lets out a low whistle. "Oh, would you look at that?"

You drop your bag, snatch up the little card attached, and read it twice just to be sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

Try again. I think you still like me. —S.C.

Your eye twitches. Jeonghan, blatantly reading over your shoulder, bursts out laughing.

"Oh, this is amazing," he says, delighted. "I’ve never seen someone get under your skin this fast."

You slam the card down, glaring at the flowers like they’re the true enemy. "I hate him."

"You’ve mentioned." Jeonghan plucks one of the flowers from the bouquet, twirling it between his fingers. "So what are you gonna do?"

You grab the bouquet with way too much force, march over to Mingyu’s desk, and shove it onto his table. Mingyu, who was minding his own damn business, blinks in confusion. "Uh—?"

"They’re yours now," you say, turning away.

"But—"

"You’re welcome!" you call over your shoulder, marching back to your desk. Jeonghan watches the entire thing with an evil smirk.

"You really think that’s gonna stop him?" he muses.

You drop into your chair, arms crossed. "I don’t care."

Meanwhile, across town Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Joshua with a smirk.

"She gave them to Mingyu?"

Joshua, who had just finished relaying the entire story from Mingyu’s frantic texts, sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She didn’t even hesitate."

Seungcheol chuckles, clearly not deterred. "Figures."

Joshua gives him a look. "You sound way too happy about that."

"Because I am," Seungcheol says simply.

Joshua stares. "You just got rejected via floral delivery, and you’re smiling."

Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered. "She reacted."

Joshua raises a brow. "That’s your takeaway?"

"Of course," Seungcheol leans forward, tapping his fingers against his desk. "If she really didn’t care, she would’ve ignored them. But instead, she marched across the office, gave them to Mingyu, and made sure I’d hear about it."

Joshua squints. "That’s…a reach."

Seungcheol just grins. "Is it?"

Joshua sighs, already exhausted. "Okay, so what’s the plan now, lover boy?"

Seungcheol picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he lands on the one he had personally gotten from Mingyu last week. Your phone buzzes on your desk, and you glance at it once. Then you freeze because there, bright as day, Seungcheol.

Your fingers twitch. You shouldn’t pick up. In fact, you should do the responsible thing and ignore him completely but then the call keeps ringing, like he knows you’re staring at it, like he’s waiting for you to break.

You almost ignore it..Almost. With an annoyed huff, you snatch up the phone and answer.

"What."

A low chuckle greets you from the other end. "That’s no way to greet your boyfriend."

Your entire body jerks. "Excuse me?"

"Ah," Seungcheol hums, clearly amused. "Too soon?"

"Way too soon," you deadpan. "And completely delusional."

"And yet, here you are, answering my call."

Your eye twitches. "Do you want something, or are you just here to waste my time?"

"Both," he admits easily.

You resist the urge to throw your phone. "Seungcheol."

"Fine, fine," he laughs. "Just wanted to check if my flowers got delivered."

You glare at nothing. "Oh, they did."

"And?"

"And they now belong to Mingyu." There’s a beat of silence then he’s laughing. And you hate it, you hate how good it sounded. 

“You’re so cute when you’re difficult."

You hang up immediately and then proceed to glare at your phone like it’s personally betrayed you. Across the room, Jeonghan watches your entire reaction unfold, smirk growing wider by the second.

"So," he drawls, "how’s your boyfriend?"

You launch a stress ball at his head.

Later that night, Jeonghan is sprawled out on your couch, one arm slung over his face as he lazily kicks at the air.

"You got any more of those fancy chips?" he asks.

You barely glance up from your phone. "Pantry."

"Ugh. Too far."

"You have legs."

He groans dramatically, but he doesn’t move. You roll your eyes and keep scrolling, ignoring him—until his voice turns serious.

"Alright," he says, sitting up. "All jokes aside—what’s going on?"

You pause, side-eyeing him. "What?"

Jeonghan leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying you in a way that makes you shift uncomfortably.

"You said it yourself that you wanted him," he says, voice softer now. "So why are you acting like this?"

Because you’ve been here before. Because the last time you really liked someone, you got your hopes up, and it all went to shit. Because you’ve learned the hard way that people say one thing and do another, that words mean nothing without action.

Jeonghan knows this. He’s been there through it all—through the flings, the almost-relationships, the guys who were great until they weren’t. He was there when you decided you were done trying, when you shrugged off love like it was an optional extra, not something you needed.

Now, he’s watching you like he’s seeing through you.

"You’re scared," he says simply.

You scoff. "I am not—"

"You are," he cuts in. "And I get it. But you can’t keep pushing people away just because they might disappoint you."

You bite your lip, looking away.

"Seungcheol isn’t them," Jeonghan continues. "And I don’t think he’s gonna give up just because you’re being difficult."

"...Maybe he should."

Jeonghan chuckles, but it’s not mocking. "Too bad for you, I don’t think he will."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "He will."

Jeonghan raises a brow, amused. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "He’s rich, good-looking, and clearly used to getting what he wants. Guys like him don’t chase for long. The second I make it too much work, he’ll move on."

Jeonghan just smirks, shaking his head. "That’s cute. You think you’re hard to want."

You glare. "Don’t analyze me. I am not dealing with another guy who’s all interest at first and then disappears the moment things get real."

Jeonghan hums, watching you for a moment. Then, with a knowing glint in his eyes, he asks, "So if he doesn’t disappear?"

You blink.

"If he doesn’t give up," Jeonghan says, leaning closer. "If he keeps showing up, keeps proving you wrong—then what?"

You press your lips together, refusing to answer. Because you don’t know.

Jeonghan’s words replay in your head for the next couple of days. You try to brush them off, but they stick. if he doesn’t give up, then what?

But then, Seungcheol stops contacting you.No texts. No calls. No annoying flower deliveries. And in your mind, you’re like, See? I was right.

You told Jeonghan exactly how this would go. Guys like Seungcheol don’t chase for long. They get bored, they move on, they—

Knock, knock.

Your head snaps toward the door, heart inexplicably jumping. It’s late. You’re already in pajamas, wrapped in a blanket on your couch, halfway through a show you weren’t even paying attention to. The knocking comes again.

Slowly, you get up and pull open the door and there he is.

Seungcheol stands in front of you, looking annoyingly good despite the slight exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark coat over a fitted sweater, and there’s an expensive-looking suitcase at his feet.

And in his hand a snow globe.

You blink. "What…?"

"Hey," he says, Just got back from a business trip."

You stare at him. "A business trip."

"Yeah." He lifts the snow globe slightly. "Paris.".

"You brought me a souvenir?"

Seungcheol smirks. "What, you think I’d go all the way to Paris and not bring you something?"

"I—" You pause, suddenly feeling very warm despite the cold draft from the open door. "I just—"

"You thought I gave up," he says simply.

Your stomach flips. You cross your arms, standing a little straighter. "Maybe."

For a second, neither of you say anything. Then, before your brain can catch up, you reach out slow, hesitant and take the snow globe from his hand.

"...Thanks," you mumble.

Seungcheol grins. "You’re welcome."

You step aside, wordlessly letting him in. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate, walking past you like he belongs there. 

"Why do you always look like you want to fight me?" he asks, amused.

"I don’t," you say flatly.

"You do," he counters, dropping onto your couch like it’s his. "You’ve been glaring at me since the day we met."

You cross your arms. "Maybe it’s just my face."

"It’s cute."

You narrow your eyes. "Don’t start."

Seungcheol laughs, stretching out comfortably. "You gonna offer me a drink or just keep staring at me?"

You inhale sharply, fighting the urge to throw him out. Instead, you turn and march into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses of water. When you return, he’s still lounging on your couch, completely at home.

You set his glass down with a little too much force. "Here."

Seungcheol picks it up, giving you a slow, knowing look. "You’re really bad at this," he says.

"At what?"

"Letting yourself like me." You almost choke on your own water. And Seungcheol? He just smiles.

He takes a slow sip of his water, watching you over the rim of the glass like he’s studying you. Then, like he can read your mind, he says, "Before you start spiraling—I didn’t text because I was busy. Meetings from morning to night, different time zones, clients to entertain. I barely slept, let alone had time to talk."

You blink. "I didn’t ask," you say, defensive.

He smirks. "Then don’t overthink."

You open your mouth to argue because you were not overthinking, thank you very much—but he just keeps going.

"I was in Paris for four days. Mostly business, but I had a few hours to walk around. Thought about you when I saw that snow globe."

Your stomach flips against your will. You grip your glass tighter. "You—what?"

"I thought you’d like it," he says simply. "Or maybe you'd just glare at it. Either way, it reminded me of you."

You stare at him, lips parting slightly because what the hell is he even saying? Because he says it like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s normal to have you on his mind while he’s halfway across the world. So, naturally, you do what you do best—deflect.

"You just showed up at my place," you say, voice carefully flat. "What if I wasn’t home?"

Seungcheol grins. "Then I’d have waited."

"Like a stalker?"

"Like a guy who wants to see you."

Your brain short-circuits.You scramble for something anything to say, but he beats you to it.

"You really don’t get it, do you?"

You frown. "Get what?"

He leans forward, setting his glass down on the coffee table, and your whole body tenses when he holds your gaze. "I don’t do things halfway," he says. "I wanted you from the start. That hasn’t changed."

And suddenly, you’re overthinking again. You fold your arms across your chest, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "You're just saying that because you like the chase."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "And you're saying that because you want me to think you're still a man hater."

"Excuse me?" you say, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "You keep acting like you don’t care, like you’re waiting for me to mess up so you can say ‘See? I told you so.’ But you’re just trying to protect yourself."

He’s too damn perceptive. Too calm, too confident in the way he calls you out.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you mutter, looking away.

Seungcheol scoffs. "I do, actually."

He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. "You liked me the second you saw me," he says, voice lower now, smoother. "And that scared the hell out of you."

Your breath catches because he’s right. You hate that he’s right. And the worst part? He sees it. You don’t answer. That's when Seungcheol does something you don’t expect. He stands up. And just like that, the whole atmosphere shifts. The teasing glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something steadier. Something serious.

"If you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave."

You swallow hard. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your sweater. Because this is it. The out you’ve been waiting for. The chance to end this before you get in too deep.

Your voice is quieter than you intend when you say, "If I do, will you leave?"

Seungcheol watches you, his gaze unwavering. "Yes." You know he’s telling the truth. He’s not the kind of guy to stick around where he isn’t wanted.

"You won’t fight for it?" you ask, hating how vulnerable the words sound.

A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I already am."

Your breath catches because damn him. Damn him for saying things like that. Damn him for not pushing, not forcing, just waiting. 

So instead, you exhale, looking away. "Sit down, you’re making me nervous."

Seungcheol smiles and just like that, the tension cracks.

"Yes, ma’am," he teases, sinking back onto the couch like he owns the place.

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips betrays you—a slight, reluctant twitch. He sees it, of course. And you don’t miss the satisfied look on his face when he does.

A few days later, Mingyu ruins everything.

“We should go out for drinks,” he says, like it’s just a casual suggestion and not a trap. And like idiots, you all agree. You don’t think anything of it until "By the way," Mingyu adds, far too casually, "I invited Seungcheol."

You freeze.

Mingyu grins, oblivious to the murderous intent in your eyes. "You don’t mind, right?"

Jeonghan snickers. Irene and Jihyo exchange looks.

"Why would she mind?" Irene asks, ever the instigator.

"You’re all insufferable," you mutter, grabbing your drink and pretending you’re unaffected.

You’re going to ignore him. You’re going to sit with your friends, drink, and not think about him. It’s a solid plan.

Then he walks in.

And suddenly, your plan evaporates.

Seungcheol is unfair. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking effortlessly good in the worst possible way. He steps into the bar with Joshua beside him, scanning the room and then his eyes land on you.

You should play it cool. Pretend to be mad at him. Hold onto your last shred of self-respect but the moment you see him, you walk straight up to him, ignoring the way your friends watch with poorly concealed amusement.

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, like he was expecting this. "Hi."

You scowl. "I hate you."

He grins. "You said that last time. Didn’t sound very convincing then either."

You open your mouth to argue—but you don’t. Because damn it, you don’t hate him at all. So you stare at him, arms crossed, and say, “What, you’re too busy now?”

His smirk deepens. “Didn’t know you’d miss me so much.”

You scoff. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re deflecting.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “Didn’t I text you?”

Your lips press together. Okay, fair point. He did text. A few times.

A "How was your day?"A "Don’t overthink too much." 

Still, you lift your chin. “Texts aren’t the same.”

His brow arches. “So you’re saying you wanted to see me?”

 “That is absolutely not what I said.”

Seungcheol just laughs. “But it’s what you meant.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

His grin is downright infuriating. “You keep saying that, but I don’t think you mean it.”

You spin on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

Seungcheol just laughs, completely unbothered, like he already knows you don’t mean it. He slides into the seat beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I was busy because of work,” he murmurs, voice smooth, almost apologetic—but not quite. “Wanted to come see you, but I figured you’d be tired after work, too.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s your excuse?”

He tilts his head, smirking. “It’s the truth.”

You glare harder, hoping it’ll somehow make him squirm. It doesn’t. He just watches you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a laugh.

“So considerate of you,” you say dryly.

He hums. “I try.” Seungcheol, of course, takes that as his cue to get comfortable. He leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth—not quite touching you, but close enough.

“You’re still mad,” he observes, sounding entirely too entertained.

“No,” you deadpan. “I’m thrilled.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes burning with fresh irritation. “I am not sulking.”

He just grins. “Whatever you say.”

You step out onto the balcony, the night air cool against your skin as you take a deep breath. You just need a moment, one single moment to yourself. Of course, that’s impossible when Seungcheol is involved.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Don’t mind me. I’ll sulk on my own.”

Seungcheol hums as he leans against the railing beside you. “Nah, can’t let that happen.”

You throw him a glare. “And why not?”

He shrugs, watching the city lights with an infuriatingly calm expression. “I’d feel bad.”

You scoff. “Oh, now you feel bad?”

“I’ve always felt bad.”

“You don’t look like you do.”

He tilts his head toward you, smiling slightly. “Alright, what do you want, then?”

You exhale, glancing away. The truth sits heavy on your tongue, but you don’t say it. You’re still you, after all. Instead, you mutter, “For you to stop being annoying.”

A breeze drifts between you, carrying the sounds of laughter from inside. For a second, neither of you speak. Then Seungcheol nudges your arm lightly. “You’re really not gonna admit you missed me, huh?”

You don’t say anything.

His smirk softens into something else. Something dangerous. “I can wait.” He exhales, watching you carefully. The smirk fades, replaced by something quieter. something real.

Then he says it.

“I missed you.”

The words slip out so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers tighten around the railing. Your brain stalls. Your heart does this stupid little flip in your chest. You finally turn to face him, none of the usual teasing or frustration in your expression is just seriousness.

“If it’s going to be like this,” you say, voice steady, “you disappear for days, then coming back like nothing happened then it’s not going to work.”

Seungcheol’s smirk fades completely. He studies you, really looks at you, and you can tell he understands that you’re not just saying this to pick a fight.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” You cross your arms. “You come and then go, then you just show up out of nowhere. Do you expect me to just—” You shake your head. “I don’t play games, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I know you don’t.”

You sigh. “Then what are we doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, “I didn’t think you’d want me to check in like that.”

You blink. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He hesitates. “Because you act like you don’t care half the time.” That stings. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right.

You inhale sharply. “That’s just how I am.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But if I’m going to try with you, I don’t want to be another person you expect to leave.”

Seungcheol holds your gaze, unwavering. “So tell me what you want. What you really want.”

For the first time since this started, you don’t have a comeback. You suddenly feel the urge to leave.

Seungcheol’s words sit heavy in your chest—you act like you don’t care half the time. It stung more than you wanted to admit, and now the whole night feels ruined.

“I’m heading out,” you say abruptly, turning on your heel.

You return inside, Seungcheol following behind you. Jeonghan, ever the observant one, catches on immediately. “Let’s go home yea?” he says, grabbing his coat. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press. Just sticks by your side, because he knows you.

Mingyu frowns. “Already? But we just—”

“Let her go,” Seungcheol says. His voice is unreadable. You don’t look back. Jeonghan walks you out, calls a ride, and when you’re finally inside the car, he leans back with a sigh.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

You stare out the window. “No.”

He hums, not pushing further. Instead, when you get home, he stays. Puts on a random movie, hands you a blanket, and lets you sit in silence.

Because Jeonghan knows you’ll talk when you’re ready. He doesn’t look at you right away. He stays focused on the movie, lthen he hears it.

A sniffle.

It’s quiet, barely there, but Jeonghan notices everything.

He doesn’t immediately react, doesn’t turn his head or ask if you’re okay, because he knows you. Knows that if he does, you’ll shut down completely.

“I think I’m screwing it up.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even blink. “With Seungcheol?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” he says, blowing on his own tea. “I figured.”

You furrow your brows. “How?”

He snorts. “Because you’re you.” You glare at him again, but he just drives. Eyes still on the road

“I’m serious,”

“So am I,” he says easily. “You’re panicking because this is probably the first time in a long time that you actually like someone. And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, you’re, well—”

“Ruining it?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Self-sabotaging. But close enough.”

“Great.”

Jeonghan watches you for a moment. Then, softer this time “What did he say to make you leave?”

You hesitate. Then, voice barely above a whisper “That I act like I don’t care.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

You snap your head toward him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You scowl, ready to argue, but then the truth of it hits you.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because Seungcheol wasn’t wrong. Because you do act like you don’t care, even when you do. Because this whole time, you’ve been pushing and pulling, running hot and cold, and yet

Yet, he’s still here. Still choosing you. The realization makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight.

So you do what you always do when it gets too much. You don’t reach out.

Not the next day. Not the day after that. You tell yourself it’s for the best. That it’s easier this way. That Seungcheol will eventually get the hint and move on.

But then why do you feel like absolute shit?

You go through the motions—work, home, repeat—but there’s this persistent weight in your chest that refuses to go away.

It’s easy to avoid Seungcheol, at least. He works across town, and it’s not like you run in the same circles outside of Mingyu dragging him along. Still. You hate how aware you are of his absence. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve only known him for a few months, but somehow, he’s already made himself at home in your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s given up on you yet. If he’s decided you’re not worth the effort. The thought makes you feel worse.

You almost walk right past him.

Almost.

“Hey.”

Your steps falter. You take a slow breath before turning to him. He’s standing by the entrance of your building, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he’s been waiting.

You scoff. “Oh. Now you know me?”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”

You don’t even know what exactly you’re doing, but you’re already annoyed. “Do what?”

He gives you a flat look. “Push me away.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe you should take the hint, then.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “You don’t want that.”

You step back. “I don’t?”

“You don’t.” You hate that he’s right. That he can see it. That it’s written all over your face no matter how hard you try to deny it and it frustrates you. More than it should.

“Look, Seungcheol,” you sigh, voice heavy with exhaustion. “You can’t just disappear for days and then show up like—”

“Like what?” he interrupts. “Like I actually give a damn about you?” You flinch. It’s not even what he said. It’s how he said it. The sincerity in his voice. The quiet frustration.

You look away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You hate the way he’s looking at you. Like he knows. Like he’s waiting for you to stop fighting him. You shake your head. “You should go.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t move. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.  “Do you want me to?”

The answer is no but you don’t say it. You can’t stand the way he looks at you, like he’s already figured you out. Like he knows every excuse, every defense mechanism, every wall you put up before you even have the chance to throw them at him.

So you do what you do best. You push.

"Let’s just go back to thinking I don’t care." The words taste bitter, but you swallow them down, turning on your heel before he can say anything else.

You walk away.

One step.

Two.

Three.

You expect him to stop you. To grab your wrist. To call your name again. To say something but he doesn’t.

The air is heavy with everything unsaid, with everything you’re choosing to leave behind. And yet the farther you get, the harder it is to breathe. Your own words echo in your head, louder and louder, until you almost want to take them back.

Almost.

But you don’t.

Because that would mean admitting that he’s right. That you don’t actually want him to leave. That you’ve just been pushing him away because it’s easier than facing what’s really scaring you.

Because if you admit that you care—really, really care—then that means he has the power to hurt you.

And you’re not sure if you can survive that again.

And Seungcheol?

He lets you go.

The next day Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say anything. The moment he sees you step out of your apartment building, he knows. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is a mess, and you look like you barely got any sleep. Like hell, basically.

"So, rough night?" he asks, starting the car. You grunt in response, which tells him enough.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just let you wallow in silence until you eventually explode?"

"Silence."

"Got it."

The drive is quiet, but Jeonghan sneaks glances at you every now and then. He’s been with you long enough to recognize when you’re doing it again. The overthinking. The self-sabotaging. The pushing away before you can get hurt.

He knows you want Seungcheol. He knows you care. And he knows that you’re terrified of letting yourself have something good.

So when he finally pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, he doesn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead, he turns to you, voice softer this time.

"You look miserable."

"Wow, thanks."

"I mean it. You look like you barely slept. You’re doing that thing where you overthink yourself into a corner and decide for yourself that you’re better off alone before anyone can prove you wrong."

You hate how accurate that is. "I don’t wanna talk about it, Hannie."

"Fine." He unlocks the doors. "But at some point, you’re gonna have to."

You sigh and grab your bag, stepping out of the car. But as you walk toward the building, Jeonghan calls after you.

"Just answer me one thing—if he calls, are you gonna pick up?"

You pause. The fact that you even hesitate tells him everything. Jeonghan watches you, waiting. Maybe hoping. But when you finally speak, your voice is so quiet.

“No.”

It’s not stubborn. It’s not defensive. It’s not even angry. It’s just… defeated. Like every last bit of fight has already drained out of you.

And that is what makes Jeonghan shut up. 

So, even though it kills him to see you like this, he sighs and just says, “Alright. Dropped.”

But Jeonghan doesn’t move right away. He just sits there in the driver’s seat, watching you disappear through the doors. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if this time—with Seungcheol—maybe you’re making a mistake.

Jeonghan, Jihyo, Mingyu, and Irene are already a few drinks in when Mingyu suddenly stiffens, his eyes narrowing toward the entrance of the bar.

“Oh, shit.”

Jihyo follows his gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to look. He already knows. Joshua Hong walks in first, smiling as he exchanges greetings with someone at the bar.

And right behind him? Choi Seungcheol.

It’s been 2 weeks and Seungcheol looks… the same. Maybe a little tired, but still him. The group watches as he follows Joshua toward a table, not even glancing their way.

“Are we going to talk to them?” Irene asks, swirling her drink.

“Should we?” Mingyu hesitates.

Jeonghan sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen. Because of course it would. The universe wouldn’t let things be that easy.

Jeonghan exhales, slow and measured, before tossing back the rest of his drink.

“I’ll go.”

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jeonghan shrugs as he pushes back his chair. “Someone has to.”

Mingyu shifts in his seat. “Want me to—”

“No,” Jeonghan cuts him off, shaking his head. “If it’s just me, he won’t feel cornered.”

They don’t argue. They know Jeonghan well enough to trust him with this. So, with one last glance at the others, Jeonghan straightens his shirt and makes his way across the bar.

“Joshua.”

Joshua turns first, eyebrows lifting in surprise before his lips pull into a smile. “Jeonghan! What a coincidence.”

Seungcheol looks up then, mid-sip of his drink, and his expression flickers—just for a second—before smoothing out. Jeonghan pulls out a chair and sits without asking.

Joshua leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight. The others here too?”

Jeonghan ignores the question and turns to Seungcheol instead. “You doing alright?”

Seungcheol stares at him, unreadable. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeonghan hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “Dunno. Just seems like you haven’t been around much lately.”

Joshua looks between them, lips twitching, but he wisely keeps quiet.

Seungcheol finally exhales, setting his drink down. “Is this about—”

“Of course it’s about her.” Jeonghan doesn’t even let him finish. “You think we wouldn’t notice?”

Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line.

Jeonghan tilts his head. “She’s been avoiding everything that even remotely reminds her of you. And she’s stubborn as hell, but I know her. She’s not okay.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens on his glass.

Joshua sighs, leaning back in his chair. “This is why I told you to just talk to her already.”

Seungcheol runs a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “And say what?”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “Say you’re sorry. Say you care. Say literally anything, because she’s convinced herself you don’t.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply. “That’s not—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “She told me to leave.”

“She tells everyone to leave,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And she’s always surprised when they actually do.”

Seungcheol goes quiet. Jeonghan leans forward, voice steady but firm. “If you don’t care, then stay away. But if you do? Do something. Because right now, all you’re doing is proving her right.”

Seungcheol stares down at his drink. Jeonghan watches him, waiting.

And then, after a long moment Seungcheol stands.

Joshua blinks. “Oh? We’re going now?” Seungcheol ignores him, pulling his wallet out and throwing some cash on the table. Then, finally, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Where is she?”

Jeonghan tried calling again. Straight to voicemail.

He frowned. “She’s not answering.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “Is she home?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan muttered, already pulling up your shared location—but of course, it was off.

Joshua exhaled through his nose. “Maybe she’s asleep?”

Jeonghan shook his head. “She always leaves her phone on, even if she’s mad. If she’s not answering, it means she either doesn’t want to be found or—” He stops himself, lips pressing into a thin line. Seungcheol didn’t need him to finish the sentence. His hands curled into fists.

“Where would she go?” he asked, voice tight.

Jeonghan exchanged a look with Mingyu, who had come over after noticing their conversation.

Mingyu sighed. “There’s a place. She used to go there when she needed to clear her head.”

Seungcheol didn’t waste time asking more. “Where?”

Mingyu hesitated, just for a second. Then, seeing the way Seungcheol was barely holding himself together, he pulled out his phone and sent the location.

“Don’t mess this up,” Mingyu muttered.

Seungcheol was already heading for the door. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got there, but an old bookstore tucked into a quiet street wasn’t it. The lights inside were dim and warm, casting a soft glow through the large windows. He pushed the door open, the bell above jingling softly. 

An old woman, sitting behind the counter, looked up. She peered at him through her glasses, eyes sharp despite her gentle smile.

“You must be the one,” she said simply.

Seungcheol blinked. “Excuse me?”

The old woman hummed, nodding toward the back. “She’s here. Been here all day.”

He followed her gaze and, sure enough, there you were—curled up in one of the armchairs near the back, a book resting on your lap, though you weren’t reading it. Instead, you were staring out the window, lost in thought.

You felt his presence before you saw him. Maybe it was the way the air shifted, or maybe you had been waiting for him all along, but when he stopped in front of you, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re a hard person to find,” he said quietly.

You closed the book in your lap, fingers tracing the edges of the cover. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be found.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like talking.”

Seungcheol crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Are you okay?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were searching, his face unreadable. And for some reason, that made something in your chest tighten.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He exhaled softly. “Can I sit?”

You didn’t answer, but you moved your legs so there was space on the other armchair beside you. He took the silent invitation, settling in.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the bookstore surrounded you.

Finally, Seungcheol broke the silence. “Why did you run?”

You frowned. “I didn’t run.”

He gave you a look. “You disappeared. No one could reach you. That’s running.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the chair. “I just needed time.”

“To do what?”

“To think,” you muttered.

Seungcheol tilted his head, watching you closely. “And?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the book. “And I don’t know what to do with you.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I get that a lot.”

“I’m serious.”

His expression softened. “So am I.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol. I don’t know how to trust that this won’t end up like before.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, “I’m not whoever hurt you.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” His voice was gentle, but firm. “Because it seems like you’re punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

Your chest ached. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said. “But I need you to at least give me a chance.” You stared at him, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But all you found was sincerity.

The lump in your throat grew. “And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll wait.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. “You make it sound so easy.”

He smiled, though there was something sad in it. “It’s not. But I think you’re worth it.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

The old lady approached with slow, deliberate steps, her sharp gaze flicking between you and Seungcheol. She had seen you come in and out of this bookstore too many times, always with a heavy heart.

“So,” she said, arms crossing over her chest. “Is this the boy that’s been making you cry?”

You inhaled deeply, forcing a small smile as you shook your head. “All of them do.”

She clicked her tongue, giving Seungcheol a pointed look before patting your shoulder. “Men,” she muttered before walking off, leaving the two of you in tense silence. Seungcheol didn’t speak for a long moment. You knew he was looking at you, but you refused to meet his eyes.

Then, finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, “Did I really make you cry?”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze on the book in your lap. “Why do you care?”

His jaw tensed. “Because I didn’t want to.”

A bitter chuckle slipped out. “That’s funny,” you said, glancing at him now. “Because I remember you saying that I don’t care.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was angry.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together. “So what do you want from me?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You turned fully toward him now, frustration bubbling up again. “What do you want, Seungcheol? You say you’ll wait, but for what? You keep coming back even when I push you away. What are you waiting for?”

He stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes. “You.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” he shot back. “I know you act like you don’t care because you’re afraid. I know you run before anyone gets the chance to hurt you. And I know you like me.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “That’s why you’re trying so hard to convince yourself that I’ll leave.”

You clenched your jaw. “You will.”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “I won’t.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but before you could, another voice interrupted.

“There you are.” You both turned to see Jeonghan standing by the entrance of the bookstore, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was looking for you.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, glancing at Seungcheol, whose jaw was now clenched.

Jeonghan sighed, looking between the two of you. “You need space,” he said simply. Then, to Seungcheol, he added, “Give it to her.” Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. His gaze stayed locked on you, searching, waiting but you didn’t say anything.

Finally, he exhaled and stood. “I’ll wait.”

You hated that those words made your chest tighten. Without another glance, you followed Jeonghan out of the bookstore, leaving Seungcheol behind.

The moment you stepped out of the bookstore, Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already knowing what was coming.

“I didn’t say anything yet,” he shot back, but the look he gave you was enough.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Because now I am going to lecture you.”

You groaned. “Jeonghan—”

“No, listen to me.” His tone was sharper than usual, firm in a way that made you stop walking. “You keep doing this thing where you push people away the second they get too close. And I get it, I do. You don’t want to get hurt. But you are the one hurting yourself.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing.

Jeonghan huffed. “You like him,” he stated, like it was a fact. “And I know you like him because you’re acting like this.”

You scoffed. “That makes no sense.”

He gave you a pointed look. “It does when it’s you.”

You exhaled slowly, looking away. “He’ll leave.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Jeonghan challenged. “Are you really going to throw this away just because you think he might leave?”

You pressed your lips together. “You don’t understand.”

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I do. Because I’ve watched you do this over and over again. And I didn’t say anything before because, honestly? Most of those guys weren’t worth it.”

You frowned. “And you think he is?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Don’t you? Look, if you really don’t want him, then fine. Walk away. But if you do want him—even just a little—then stop making it so hard for yourself.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight.

Jeonghan softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure if you could so you just nodded, and Jeonghan let it go. For now.

Come morning the next day. Seungcheol sat across from Jeonghan, arms crossed as he studied him. He had been skeptical from the start—why Jeonghan always knew exactly what to say to you, why you let him in when you pushed everyone else away.

“You know a lot about her,” Seungcheol said, voice laced with suspicion. “More than just a friend would.”

Jeonghan smirked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s because we’re not just friends.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his cup tightened slightly. He wasn’t sure why that statement irritated him so much, but it did. “Then what are you?”

Jeonghan glanced up at him, watching his reaction carefully before finally saying it.

“She’s my stepsister.”

“What?”

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, sighing like this conversation was long overdue. “Her dad left when she was a kid. It was ugly—messed her up. My dad married her mom when we were in our teens, and suddenly, we were family.”

It made sense now. Why you and Jeonghan were inseparable, why he always seemed to understand you in a way no one else did.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Jeonghan continued, voice quieter now. “Not to anyone. She pretends it doesn’t affect her, but it does. It’s why she is the way she is. Why she pushes people away before they get too close.”

Seungcheol exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

Jeonghan met his gaze, all traces of amusement gone. “Because if you’re serious about her, you need to know what you’re up against.”

Now, he understood just how much he had to fight for you. Seungcheol stayed quiet, his mind replaying every interaction he’d had with you. The push and pull, the way you shut him out just when he thought he was getting close. Now, it all made sense.

Jeonghan sighed, watching him carefully before speaking again.

“It’s hard to love her less once you get to know her more.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped up, meeting Jeonghan’s knowing eyes.

“That’s why she keeps people at arm’s length,” Jeonghan continued. “Because she knows it too. She’s terrified of people staying just long enough to leave.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “And you think I’m just like everyone else?”

Jeonghan smirked, but there was something softer behind it. “I think you’re different. That’s why she’s this scared.”

Seungcheol didn’t sleep much that night.

Jeonghan’s words stayed with him, looping in his mind until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. You weren’t just pushing him away because you wanted to—you were pushing him away because you were scared. Because you expected him to leave.

And if there was one thing Seungcheol hated, it was being predictable.

The next day, he found himself outside your office again, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. He knew your schedule well enough by now, and when he saw you stepping out, he straightened.

You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw him. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was flat, but Seungcheol could hear the exhaustion underneath it.

He pushed himself off the car, hands slipping into his pockets. “I needed to see you.”

You exhaled through your nose, already tired of this conversation. “Cheol—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “This time, just listen.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t walk away. That was enough for him.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. “You asked me what I wanted from you. I didn’t answer then, so I’ll answer now.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “I want you. I want every version of you—the one who glares at me, the one who shuts me out, the one who lets her guard down when she thinks no one’s looking.”

“And then what?”

Seungcheol tilted his head slightly. “Then I keep wanting you. Even when you push me away. Even when you tell yourself you don’t care.”

Your jaw tightened, your emotions warring against your better judgment. “I don’t need saving, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he said easily. “You never did. But you do need someone who stays.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Seungcheol could see the way your fingers twitched, 

So he softened, just enough. “Jeonghan told me.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, Seungcheol saw something other than defiance in your eyes. It was vulnerability, raw and unguarded.

“I don’t pity you,” he said before you could say anything. “I don’t think you’re broken. I just wish you’d let me in.”

You let out a breath, but it wasn’t exasperation this time. It sounded tired. Resigned. “I don’t know how,” you admitted.

Seungcheol gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward his car. “Then let’s figure it out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to convince yourself this was a bad idea. That you should walk away like you always did.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Seungcheol grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

He opened the car door for you, waiting. And after another beat, you got in.

As Seungcheol got into the driver’s seat, you folded your arms and eyed him suspiciously.

“So?” you prompted.

He glanced at you. “So, what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What exactly did Jeonghan tell you?”

Seungcheol tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, as if debating how much to say. “Enough.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s not vague at all.” He smirked but didn’t answer immediately, which only irritated you more.

You shifted in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “He probably just told you my sob story to make you feel bad.”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he told me about your parents, about how things weren’t easy. But he didn’t say it so I’d pity you.” His voice softened. “He said it so I’d understand you.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly before you shut them again.

“Jeonghan’s known you for years,” Seungcheol continued. “And he made it pretty damn clear that if I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to stop being an idiot and actually see you.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “And what do you see?”

Seungcheol’s gaze held yours, steady and unyielding. “Someone who pretends not to care because it’s safer. Someone who pushes people away before they get the chance to leave.”

“But also,” he went on, “someone who cares way more than she lets on. Someone who makes it impossible for people to love her less once they’ve gotten to know her.”

Your head snapped back to him. That was Jeonghan’s exact wording.

Seungcheol’s lips twitched. “Yeah, he said that too.”

You huffed, leaning your head against the window. “He talks too much.”

Seungcheol chuckled, but then his voice dropped, quieter now. “Look, I’m not here because of what Jeonghan told me. I’m here because I don’t want to be just another person you expect to leave.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t know how. Instead, you just muttered, “You’re annoying,” under your breath.

Seungcheol smirked. “You’ve mentioned.”

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. He didn’t push you to say anything more, and you weren’t ready to give him any more than you already had.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park and turned to you. “So what now?”

You shrugged, gripping the door handle. “I don’t know.”

Seungcheol leaned back against his seat, watching you carefully. “Are you gonna keep avoiding me?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the handle. “…No.”

That seemed to amuse him. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You sighed, turning to face him properly. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol.”

His expression softened. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

You stared at him, searching for something—any sign that this was some kind of game. But all you found was patience, quiet and unwavering.

You exhaled and looked away. “I should go.”

He nodded, but before you could push the door open, he spoke again. “You never answered my question.”

You frowned. “What question?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, as if debating whether to repeat himself. Then, in a voice much softer than before, he said, “What do you want?”

Your breath hitched because wasn’t that the question you’d been running from this whole time?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol studied you for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He smiled slightly. “Okay. You don’t have to know yet.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “That easy, huh?”

His smile grew. “Not everything has to be a fight, you know.”

“Tell that to my brain.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “I’ll work on it.”

You bit your lip, stealing one last glance at him before finally opening the door. “Good night, Seungcheol.”

“Good night,” he said.

PART TWO COMING SOON

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in February - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 3

To the shock of precisely no one, I'm still in DC Comics hell. Enjoy the fruits of my labor (reading so so many fics)

Here's fic recs Part 1 and Part 2!

Individualized Education Plan by @cowboysorceror & @deadchannelradio (General Audiences, 7k, 2024) Dick goes to Damian's parent-teacher conference. Damian endures the consequences of Dick being an extraordinarily attractive man. Left me wheezing on my bus ride to work, this fic is hysterical.

“Richard,” he says, in tones of the deeply suffering, “this place is a hostile environment. I must be collected post-haste, as after this latest indignity I am dropping out. Come at once, or I may die here.”

In Service by @smilebackwards (Teen & Up, 13k, 2023) Bruce refuses to let Tim be Robin. Tim, still determined to help, asks Alfred to let him train to be Bruce's next butler. I could not stop squeeing as I read this, deeply wholesome and great worldbuilding to boot.

Tim rings the doorbell of Wayne Manor for the third time in as many days, and for the third time, Mr. Pennyworth opens the heavy oak door. He looks tired and careworn and Tim knows for certain that he’s choosing the right thing now. Mr. Wayne isn’t going to let him anywhere near the Robin suit, but maybe Tim doesn’t need it. There’s another tack he can try.

this year's love by @flybynightwing (Teen & Up, 20k, 2023) A thoughtful and tender exploration of how Dick and Kory might get back together post-Infinite Crisis, featuring Tim being a little troll, Dick & Kory having So Many Issues to work through, and Donna not getting paid enough to deal with this.

Dick and Kory get back together while on vacation. It goes beautifully. If only vacations could last forever.

descartes by @deadchannelradio (Teen & Up, 5k, 2024) Jason finds out how weird Slade acts towards Dick. Yet another fic by deadchannelradio that had me cackling out loud.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jason decides aloud. “Next time I see that man, I’m gonna kill him.” “No, Jason, do not,” Dick says in the same tone Jason uses to tell his dog not to chew on his boots.

The Threat by @jackhawksmoor (General Audiences, 2k, 2022) Damian has some pointed opinions about the way Bruce treats Dick. A gripping Damian POV fic - I love a Damian who expresses how much he cares by via emotional manipulation, and Bruce's reaction is equally tantalizing.

"What are you talking about?" His father sounded puzzled. He had that tone in his voice that Damian always hated to hear. That careless, American tone. His father had never needed to earn his place in a family, so the idea that someone could take it away from him if he wasn’t worthy of it hadn't even occurred to him. Not yet.

A Talon After My Own Heart by @wildsofmarch (Teen & Up, 13k, 2022) A surprisingly well-adjusted Talon!Dick goes on a mission for Slade. I rec the whole How to Train Your Talon series, but this one's my personal favorite. They're so damaged your honor it's great.

There’s a Talon lying on his floor, guzzling his good whisky, when Slade walks into his safe house in San Francisco. “What are you doing here?” he says as he draws his sidearm and slides the safety off. Robin — Dick, he reminds himself — showing up unannounced is never a good thing. “Relax. I’m not here to kill anyone,” says Dick.

Leap, Fall, Fly by @malcyon (Explicit, 15k, 2019) Post-Red Robin, Tim and Kon go on patrol together, and then they go home. This fic is 100% my headcanon for how Tim and Kon would get together if they didn't start dating while Tim was Robin. Gorgeous, peak, no notes.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused. “Dude. I have, like, four.” Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

Putting both hands over my mouth, I can only hope nothing's gonna come out by @hmslusitania (Teen & Up, 26k, 2024) Tim and Jon (now both in their 20s due to Jon's canon aging-up) pretend to date. Kon and Damian proceed to lose their minds. Funny, angsty, and ultimately really heartwarming.

“How unethical would it be to let him keep thinking we’re dating just to try and figure out what the hell is wrong with him?” “On a scale from ‘this is completely hinged behaviour and not weird at all’ to ‘cloning him unsuccessfully ninety-nine times’?” Tim nods. “I don’t know,” Jon says. He thinks about it. “Probably like a four.”

Shoulders by @bluegarners (General Audiences, 4k, 2024) Robin!Dick has a close call on patrol. Bruce is catastrophically bad at expressing love. I rotate Bruce's choices and dialogue from this fic around in my mind like a rotisserie chicken.

It’s as he’s assessing Goon #1’s shoulders that he hears it. Grhk. The sound of someone choking. (You are ten-years-old, and the world is wide open before you. You don't yet know how to worry for yourself. It is your father's job.)

Truth Serum is The Worst by @jackhawksmoor (General Audiences, 3k, 2022) Bruce is truth serum-ed and is very unwell about it. Nightwing!Dick is there to help. Bruce's stream-of-consciousness dialogue (and Dick's reactions) are totally engrossing; the love they have for each other looms large here.

Batman gets dosed with a truth serum and unexpectedly spends most of the time talking about how desperately he loves his children, how awesome they are, and how he wishes he was better at being a father.

i'll grab my light (and go with you) by @havenesc (General Audiences, 3k, 2024) Dick helps Robin!Jason after the kid gets into a fight at school. Sweet, spot-on-characterization for both of them.

“Come again?” “I…” Now, the tone is sullen, even in hesitation. “I got into a fight.” Dick glances at his far wall, still a little sleep-hazed as he puzzles together what exactly about a scrap requires a phone call. “With Bruce?” Dick asks tentatively. “At school,” Jason clarifies, and oh, yep, there’s the difference. That one’s a no-no.

the only people on a stranded boat by @unicorncoalition (Mature, 5k, 2023) It turns out that Dick will call Jason if he ever has to hide a body. I've reread this fic multiple times since first discovering it, it's a gem. The scenario is unhinged, the emotions are raw, and the dialogue is perfect.

When Dick contacts Jason in the early hours of the morning to ask for help, Jason is so thrown by the request that he drops everything and drives to Bludhaven. He is not expecting to find Dick dissociating next to the dead body of an unfamiliar man, nor is he ready for the revelations that follow.

i never noticed the clouds gather round (oh, how fast we fall, how slow we drown) by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters (Teen & Up, 5k, 2022) Batman!Dick has a flashback, and Damian makes a deduction. I'm very picky with stories on Dick's family members finding out about Nightwing #93, and this one handles how Damian might react so flawlessly it hurts.

It's raining on a rooftop in Gotham and Batman isn't getting up. (Dick dissociates after a bad patrol and Damian comes up against the outline of something his mentor never wanted him to see.)

the higher fidelity by birdsofthesoul (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) Bruce and Dick go on a road trip scavenger hunt to find a runaway Damian. Dick indirectly confronts Bruce with his questionable parenting decisions. The conversation they share in the diner lives rent free in my mind.

Bruce goes sheet-white, looking like Dick’s just cut him to the quick, and Dick can’t help but think they should have booked a flight, discretion be damned. This — this is why they don’t do road trips. Cars are like confessionals, cramped spaces built for coercing confessions, and neither of them are good with words.

O'er These Mountains I Would Fly by @lurkinglurkerwholurks (General Audiences, 2k, 2019) After saving an injured baby bird, Dick and Damian drive out to a wildlife rehabilitation center. A wonderful edition to the "Damian slowly learning to trust Dick early on in the Batman!Dick era" genre.

“Nervous?” Grayson asked. They had been driving for over half an hour, and this was only Grayson’s fifth attempt at conversation. It had been an unusually quiet ride.

and the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light by @popsunner (Teen & Up, 5k, 2020) Post-Dick's death, Tim tries to be a brother to Damian. Featuring Tim's grieving headspace, his evolving relationship with his brothers, and his enduring status as the Emotional Support batkid.

Damian is around a lot more since Dick died, hovering like he’s looking for something that isn’t here anymore. It’s alright. Tim is used to playing the part of ghosts. Or: Dick is dead. Things change.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 39. A Familiar Face

Summary: Dahlia's second year is officially underway with Conscription Day finally here. A new year, new cadets, and a familiar face she wasn't expecting to see amongst the new first years. Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

Another year, another Conscription Day. It was crazy to think one year ago that was me. How different my life was this time last year. Though some things were still the same. I was still a disappointment, if not a bigger one to my family. Especially with the company I now kept. And especially after Garrick’s very public show of affection towards me. The one upside to that was Dain now avoided me completely.

”Ready for your first duties as Squad Leader?” Garrick teases as we walk across the courtyard to the Parapet.

”That sounds so…. weird. Not sure who thought it was a good idea to give me Squad Leader.” I say with a grimace.

I had been so sure any leadership opportunities were off the cards for me due to my father overseeing Basgiath. But clearly he had no say on the matter. My name had been clearly marked as Xaden’s replacement for the year as he stood up to Wingleader.

”Same person who decided to make Bodhi an Executive Officer.” He points out.

Bodhi deserved it though. He had stood up massively in War Games. Xaden had split the Squad into attacking and defending and sadly had lost our squads executive officer in an attack. Bodhi had taken over instantly, defending our outpost with ease. He had more than earned his spot.

”Clearly whoever is making these choices needs to be evaluated. Somehow you got section leader.” I tease back.

”Ouch. Good to see you’re still as ruthless as before.”

One of the things that was vastly different to last year. Last year when I had crossed the parapet and given my name, Garrick had hated me for it. Wanted nothing to do with me. And I had wanted nothing to do with him. If I could tell my past self they’d be walking across the courtyard with his hand on their lower back and be in a relationship with him, they’d laugh at me.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into.” Bodhi adds as we get into ear shot.

“And you are relieved of your duties.” I say, cutting Garrick off as I walk up to Bodhi. “I’ll find you two later.”

Garrick goes to object, but Bodhi pushes his shoulder, ushering him back into the crowd of cadets. Ever since graduation Bodhi had been pushing Garrick’s buttons more than normal. The whole day after he’d been boasting about winning the bet against Imogen. He had bet we’d be together before the end of my first year. Which he’d technically won by just a few hours. But Garrick had also been doing it back to him, especially after he found out Bodhi had accompanied me to Chantara to get the new tattoo that adorned my right forearm. To be fair, Bodhi had no idea what I’d been planning to do. He was just along for the ride. And in my defence, Garrick had been out doing something with Xaden. So the only logical choice to take with me was Bodhi. Bodhi was convinced Garrick thought it was partly his idea with how he was acting, but honestly Garrick didn’t care I’d gotten the tattoo. He just enjoyed watching Bodhi squirm.

Cadet after cadet crosses the parapet. All of them ready to take on the Quadrant. Though most of them wouldn’t make it to the end. Even once you bond a dragon you aren’t guaranteed to stay alive. We’d lost a lot of second and even third years in War Games. Due to it Garrick had been moved to Flame Section for his Section Leader role along with many other moves within the Wing’s.

A cadet practically jumps off the parapet, turning around quickly as they draw a dagger. My eyes go wide as I take in the familiar brown and silver hair, styled into a braided crown. Holy shit. Violet Sorrengail. What the hell was she doing here? Dain is going to lose it when he realises she’s here. Seconds later a far larger cadet halts on the parapet as her dagger pushes into his breaches, dangerously close to his balls. Never thought I’d see the day where Violet would hold a guy three times her size at knife point.

”I think. I’ll be safe. For right. Now.” She gets out between ragged breaths.

”Will you?” The blonde haired cadet seethes as he looks down at her with piercing eyes. He was going to be an issue.

Violet starts reciting the codex with ease. Of course she would know that thing off by heart.

”I don’t give a shit!” He roars, stepping forward as Violet’s dagger slices into his breeches.

”Name?” The girl keeping roll asks, sounding completely unphased by the altercation happening in front of us. “You’re pretty small for a rider, but it looks like you made it.”

”Violet Sorrengail. And before you ask, yes, I’m that Sorrengail.” She says with slight irritation. Clearly she’d been asked that question multiple times before.

”Not surprised with that manoeuvre,” She says as she notes down her name. “And what’s your name?” Directing her question to the cadet Violet still holds at knife point.

”Jack. Barlow.” He growls out, his attention still fully on Violet.

”Well, Jack,” I start as I push off the wall, Violet turning her head towards me, her eyes going wide as she realises who I am. Her eyes trailing over my uniform and noting the patches on my jacket. “Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

Jack turns his piercing blue eyes to me, his eyes flicking down to where my name is sewn onto my uniform. “And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” He growls, the look in his eyes telling me he would definitely do it.

”Then you get to meet the dragons early,” The other girls answers, her tone bland. “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”

I take a step towards Violet, putting myself behind her right shoulder. “What’s it going to be, Sorrengail? You going to have Jack here start as a eunuch?”

No one else would notice it, but I see her falter. See her question what she’s actually doing. She was trained to be a scribe. Not a rider. I doubt she’d even picked up a blade till a few months ago. What the hell happened in the year Dain and I were gone?

”Are you going to follow the rules?” She asks Jack, tightening her grip on the dagger.

”Guess I don’t have a choice.” He sneers at her, before raising his hands in defeat.

She steps back, lowering her dagger to let him by. Jack steps down into the courtyard, making him an official cadet of the riders quadrant. “You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you.”

”Not today.” She says with confidence, before he scoffs and walks off.

”Damn Sorrengail, not even a day in and already making enemies.” I tease, pulling her attention to me.

She just looks at me and nods meekly before turning and walking into the courtyard, heading towards the girl who had crossed before her. And as if magnetised to her, Dain starts walking right towards her. Oh this was going to be fun.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn

[quesocheeso]

3am AU

Shadowpeach edition

I'm enjoying having this AU be written posts while I'm also working on comic strips for it, it's fun👍

Okay okay, since the au is based on what happens in canon/ canon present time I'll be referring to stuff from there

Okay so Shadowpeach is complicated in 3am AU (when are they not?) they're by all means rivals who are still hostile to each other, they have just extremely reeled it back when raising their kids, so although Xiaoxing knows they're in somewhat okay(?) terms, he doesn't know what really happened between them. Shadowpeach really went from enemies to co-parents, and they never spoke of their own issues, just an agreement to raise the kids without hostility to each other. Although at the time they shook hands on this, they only had Xiaoxing and the plan was to raise him to adulthood before going back to trying to beat each other up,,,but then they had Xiaoyue which monkey wrench moment fr

I also want to clarify, Shadowpeach aren't together in this AU, they definitely hook up with each other whenever they want, but they aren't together. Do they have romantic feelings for each other? Oh boy they definitely do, I just find it hilarious that Macaque knows he does, while Wukong is kinda oblivious or thinks he has indigestion.

Which brings me to the main topic: Love.

No matter how much Macaque says he hates or despises Wukong, he still goes out of his way to help him. No matter if his own life is in danger he is always there, and isn't that care? One could even say love? Maybe even...Unconditional love.

Hate is born out of love that has rotten, especially between two people like these monkeys.

Just like Peng said, my favorite little instigator, "is there anything wukong can do that will break his hold over you" like wow doesn't that sum it up

In the 3am AU, Macaque has always known that he loved Wukong romantically, even before the journey or brotherhood.

Wukong never really figured out his own feelings, and most likely didn't have a sense of unconditional love for the other, doesn't mean he didn't care.

He just didn't feel as intense as Macaque did, and that's fine.

I do think he was the first to fall out of love with the other (even before he realized he was in love😭) and I mean after the events that transpired in jttw it makes sense and is valid.

I just find it hilarious that the guy who died from his mistakes, got revived and hated the other, still fell in love again first like brother pls

Like dude you died?? You weren't supposed to come back, that was it. You got killed with the knowledge that that was the end, only reincarnation could bring you back and yet your back to being a simp???

Although kudos to him for his love being converted to hate ig

And yet here they are now, with two kids and a home in the island.

I think people in the outside can see how down bad Mac really is, which is hilarious when they look at Wukong and he's like ya that's my "rival", he's also a lil more hostile in their everyday lives which guys pls just talk like yeesh

Doesn't mean Wukong isn't down bad too, my guy just won't realize how much he really cares until it's almost too late😊

Shadowpeach just starts to figure out themselves after Season 3,,,like finally

[evilminji]

Had another Si-Oc thought >.>

My standard "you know what Would Be Cool?" Musings...

Getting reborn, as you do, ending up Force Sensitive, as can only be the case. Because really... how ELSE would you soul end up there? CHANCE? Force ghosts are a PROVEN thing! We KNOW that the Force sometimes just... deals in souls.

Ffs, it MADE A BABY.

Yes, there was Sith interference there. But that doesn't chance the fact that it went? "Eh, good enough. I'll take the chance and run with it. Thanks~☆ Mine Now~~☆ Bye~~~☆" And Chosen One'd that baby. Because ultimately? Before the plans of gods and men? The Force Laughs.

So like? Yeah. If there WAS to be a Reincarnator?

Probably the Force.

Congrats on the new, third (or second, depends on your species. Might be another number entirely, honestly. But we are averaging here so MOVE ON), Parent! They are very, very happy to see you! Love you as only a Primordial, Extradimensional, Timeless, Formless, All Pervasive, Orange-Blue Morality havin', Not-A-God Super-God CAN. Their Benevolence? Could be called another God's cruelty.

They don't MEAN too. They are just.... really, really Big. Infinite. Not organic or mortal. It's like trying to comprehend the limitations of an ant, living on a planet, circling a sun, in a GALAXY the size of a DUST MOTE. The fact that the Force can even come CLOSE? Is literally miraculous.

But of course... OC? Not the Chosen One. The favorite, special, "I have Important Things For You" child. Which.... turns out to actually? Be kinda great. The realize that quickly. Which of course, is followed by the logical follow up.

Anikin? Fuckin SCREWED. Because he IS the Favorite Child.

Oh... oh No. Oh Fuck, that is a CHILD.

How easy it is, to cast blame, to judge, when you can't FEEL the Force in your EVERYTHING. All the time. Every moment of every day. Beautiful but cacophonous, like a symphony of screaming. Like staring at the sun and never going blind. It still hurts. But it's so... so bright. So Beautiful.

Connection. To the universe itself. Soul deep and transcendent. You can feel that the universe loves you. That there is good in people. That Life itself is worth protecting. But at the same time? It is... it is so much.

Because you can FEEL the ugly too.

The greed. The hate. The suffering. Lights snuffed out, in dark places of despair. Selfish actions and deep cruelties, like barbed wire against the soul. Thorns that hook and drag. And... and you're supposed to use your words. Just... just ASK them to stop? And, What? Hope that they WILL?

It HURTS!

But pain only begets more pain. Cruelty, more cruelties still. And only the Sith, believe they can use FORCE, in any sense of the word, to change a persons nature. The Jedi build. Grow. They work together, with those who are willing, towards something better. Defend, those who can not protect themselves.

Balance and growth. Not fire and chains.

And Oc is pretty sure Anikin will agree. No one should ever be in chains. Dead maybe. Or in jail. But never, ever, in chains. (And no one ever said they were pacifists. Just not war mongers. Sometimes the only answer IS to kill your opponent. To respect their choice, but honor your commitments. Protect those you swore to protect.)

Of course... OC? Going through Jedi training. It's Pre-Anikin days. Both she and Obi-Wan are fuckin Smol. She's not even in his Creche clan. She's over here in the "wanders off, lost in their own thoughts" Chill AF Creche Clan. Not Mr. "May you Live In Interesting Times And Have Padawans JUST LIKE YOOOOOOOU" and Co., over in the... "Energetic" Creche Clan.

None of HER Creche-mates BIT people, Obi-Wan.

WE keep our fuckin teeth to ourselves, Kenobi!

So, obviously, THEY don't have a lifetime ban on the "look, don't touch" fragile plants meditation garden. Very Rich in the Force. Good for focusing. Peaceful, really. And Oc? Has the time and space? To Consider™ things. Experiment. Ponder Fandom theories. Long "lost" Cannon techniques. Maybe have one-sided chats with the Force.

.....finally get CURIOUS™.

And wonder... if? Since, you know, through the Force, she can encourage and discourage plants to grow? And somewhat control animals. Why not... micro-organisms? Say, Midi-chlorians? Force healing is all ready a thing! So the Force all ready CAN interact with the body. Effect it. Change it. What is this, but more?

Really, all she'd have to do is find them, within herself, right? They're already a part of her! Yet... not. Do they consider themselves a part of her? Or is it symbiosis? Yeah, everyone says it can't be done. Perhaps shouldn't be done. But, frankly? They said the same about a LOT of Force techniques over the years. Big leaps in progress scare the SHIT out of folks. Cause if you miss? A LOT of people can die gorey.

So she sits. Mediates. Looks. Smaller... and smaller.... and smaller....

Until she finds whispers. Humming. Chatter.

As though each and every blood cell in her body had a teeny, tiny, whispery little voice. All chattering together, talking and arguing and discussing. One great hive of progress and industry. Complaining about a lack of potassium... huh. She goes and gets some fruit. Eats it. Then settles back into meditation.

They are JOYOUS! Potassium! Yaaaaay! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

Well... what'd ya know... huh. Hello there? She tries. Only to get a whispery and very alarmed ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! BODY CAN TALKヽ(°〇°)ﾉ ‽‽‽ Y-Yeah... she can. (How are they doing that?) The conversation? Only gets more surreal from there. Filled with... a surprising number of kaomojis.

But! She DOES figure out? How to increase her Midi-chlorians count. (By asking. Supplying needed resources for the expansion.) And WITH it? He awareness blooms.

The headache is... awful. The little guys(genderless) are WAY to enthusiastic. Working way too fast. If she didn't check the next morning? They might have continued to increase, indefinitely, until her veins were SOLID midi-chlorian. They just want to HELP, you see. And if you want More? Then surely FAR TOO MUCH is better, right?

(She may have fucked up. Oh god. Ow. Fuck. OW.)

Eventually she figure it out. Only gives her healer in training Creche mate a... few near heart attacks. He'll TOTALLY forgive her! (He will not. What the FUCK OC. Experimental medical procedures?! On YOURSELF!? You're not even HEALER TRACK!!!)

So NOW? She can reliably do it to OTHERS.

Need a bit more Midi-chlorians? Nearly Jedi quality but juuuuust under that cut off? She can fix that. Come. Be a jedi. Everyone should be a jedi. In FACT~! Whoops! Oh hey. Looks like all these Midi-chlorian counters are fuckin broken! (They look perfect fi-)(Broken! :] Do Not question me) So when you find that Orohan Child in desperate need of love and care? Just bring um on back!

They're TOTALLY Force sensitive. You can just tell. It's the vibes. Look at their lil face. Vibes, man. Just hand um here. For... reasons. You go get the paperwork. A working tester. And~? Oh would you look at THAT! Perfectly within acceptance range! Neat. Called it again, didn't you, Master Koon? You really do have an eye for these things. Anyway~ off to get this little one settled~~☆ *adoring cooing noises at the baby*

Weird, huh, how there suddenly just... SO MANY random orphan babies that are force sensitive? How 'bout that >.> strangest thing.

Of course, it's a god damned open secret. Everyone KNOWS. How could they not? But? Like with most things? If they don't Officially Know™? They don't have to stop it. And it DOES help both the Force AND those kids. Can be reversed if they don't like it, later. (They asked. All hypothetical of course.) So OC is basically Temple bound, so she can receive any new kiddos. To... you know... Check Their Health, on the way to ACTUAL healers.

But she's ALSO waiting. And as her skill increases? She can FEEL midi-chlorians, easier and easier. Until it gets to the point? Where if she's bored and zoning out? Not even ture meditation anymore? She accidentally tunes into Midi-chlorian Live~☆ the talk show. (What's the latest gossip from bodies nearest to her? Oh? Your second spleen is acting funny? Better remember to tell him to get that chec-)

Palpatine can't hide SHIT. It's literally in his blood.

And MAD at him.

This is NOT what they're FOR. He's taking TERRIBLE care of his body! Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOOOOOOU! You want power? Choke on it, you-!!!!!

Holy shit. So THATS what Sith Midi-chlorians feel like. Oh my god. They... they are SO MAD. Like tiny wasps. That have been violently shaken in a jar. She's never used the word "seething" in reference to someone before... but like...? If they COULD stab him? Man would be a thick paste at this point.

She's not sure what facial expression she makes. But it sure is obvious. As is the blatant, horrified staring. And refusal to get near him. HE doesn't notice, being to busy with the powerful. But the Jedi sure as fuck do. Because THEY sent her? Out with a Shadow. You know... just in case.

Cause she literally can not be replaced.

She not High Ranked... she's just priceless. Equal sort of significance, but in a very quiet, Soft Power sort of way. She is, after all, single handedly? Reversing centuries of slow population decline. Her entire Line promises to be the next Yoda's line. Priceless and with far reaching significance. So obviously, they're making sure that shit stays locked down.

No one is to so much as BREATHE about this.

Not until her great-great-GREAT Grand Padawan has passed their Knight Trials so HELP US. We LEARN from our mistakes! Need we bring out the records? Times we got cocky? Sith and political fuckery!? No. Oc stays INVISIBLE. There is no war in Ba Sing Se! Move along!

So like? Why is Miss Midi-chlorian Sensor and Future of the Jedi... making that face? She's literally NEVER made that face. What sort of monster do you have to BE? Huh? Shadow asks, casual as fuck, like he's not a plotting plotter who's planing terrible things, what's up?

She tells him. Palpatine has RANCID vibes. His midi-chlorians fucking DISPISE him. She's literally never seen that before. In anyone. Didn't even know that was an option. They would gleefully kill him if they could.

.....senator Palpatine is Force Sensitive?

Yes.

.......Interesting™(Ominous Intent)

Says local Shadow, who is perhaps putting together some dots. May not be getting the correct picture. But is getting the Vibe. And boy howdy, he does NOT like the vibe. Has got himself some questions. Cause Mr "uwu I'm harmless" lil mask? Only holds up? If you're willing to believe him.

Shadows don't buy that shit. Shadows? Need receipts. Full character statements and an audit on the fucking hospital you were BORN AT. Every credit you picked up off the side walk, why, and where you spent it.

Give them your Secrets. Or they'll keep digging until they find them.

uwu Their ASS. Gonna tear this bitch APART.

......huh. So THIS is why you guys keep accidentally getting married to Mandalorians on missions. (We agreed not to mention that.) (Fucker, I agreed to nothing. Shouldn't have eaten my special Me Day pudding if you didn't want me to gossip.) Man, her friends are... a trip. Uh... have fun? Happy hunting? I guess? *feral Jedi noises*

She? Continues to wait. Palpatine? Begins to have a VERY bad time. (Ha! Get fucked!)

Unfortunately, it's not fast enough to stop his dumbass plans. He just gets desperate. Figures more power is the answer. Because of course he does. So here comes the "oh nooooo~ my planets under attack~ better manipulate a child and make me president of the galaxy!" Plan. Fucker. Bastard.

She can't stop that.

But what she CAN do? Is be there. Waiting. For HIM.

Her little brother. Her son. Her center of the universe. The most important man to ever live... and also? A scared little boy. Far, far from home. The only other person who understands just how BIG the Force is. How much it weighs. How even as it crushs you... you can't bear to put it down. Not even for a moment. Because it loves you. And it hurts, that it does.

And... oh. Oh.

He is so very small.

Dirty, tired, in lovingly mended clothes that are barely beyond scrap. With bright, bright eyes like hope and starlight. He sings inside. Like freedom. Like hope. Daring to ask "why CAN'T you be kinder?", "why CAN'T we be free?". A storm of change. Bright and beautiful.

A child. Great and small, all at once.

Oc can't help but smile. Because, oh. Oh how long, she has waited to meet him, Anikin Skywalker. Welcome. Are you hungry? Cold? Let's get cleaned up. See the healers first. The council can wait.

Chips are removed and food is shared. Warm clothes, soft and new. And she can not help but smile, smile, smile. Even as her face begins to hurt. For years she has gathered. Planned. Studied and trained. As though some part of her knew. As though all for this moment. Taking one of those small hands in hers. Looking right in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay."

Because it IS. Because regardless of what they decide? OC will be with him. Regardless, she's going to go and make sure his mother is free. Not bought, not sold. Free. She has friends who can help. Will learn how to remove the chip herself if she must.

And? He IS going to be a Jedi. Even if he never become a Coruscant Jedi. Even if he decides he doesn't agree with how they do things or they decide the disagree with how HE does things. The Jedi have changed before, they will change again. Living things are meant to grow. Meant to change. And people can be both wrong and right at the same time. It's messy.

But what's important? Is Anikin is not alone anymore. And Oc is gonna help teach him. And someday? HE'S gonna break chains. So many chains. Gonna help people heal. If he wants to. (He does) But for right now? A quick talk with some old people. Maybe a nap. And we either get settled or arrange a trip back to Tatooine. To pick up your mom. In the meantime! You can figure out what classes she might wanna take. Where seems like a good place to settle. *chatting as they walk off, hand in hand*

Just? Sometimes a Padawan-ship is you, your Teacher, your OTHER Teacher, and her body guards that teach you Cool Knife Tricks and how to gamble, behind Obi-Wan's back! :D

@legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @leftnotright @babbling-babull @hdgnj @spidori @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[thezombieprostitute]

"I wanna do this with you."

But make it about a couple talking about murder.

Thank you for your patience, Anon! It took me way too long to figure out the right couple for this.

Summary: Someone tries to use you to get leverage over Lloyd.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Pregnancy, Violence. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Series Masterlist

Lloyd had warned you when you first met that he had enemies. The kind of enemies that might throw a bag over your head and kidnap you. He'd praised you for not being the type to cry and panic. But that was before you'd gotten pregnant. You're no longer worried about just yourself but also baby Liam, due to arrive in less than 8 weeks. You're supposed to be keeping your blood pressure down so as not to risk triggering an early labor.

Easier said than done, given the circumstances.

It was supposed to be a simple walk around the block. Lloyd had security guards on almost every corner to keep you safe and you desperately needed to get out of the house for a bit. Next thing you know, you're reliving your first meeting with Lloyd by getting a bag thrown over your head and getting tossed into a van. And they were not gentle about it.

The tears are flowing but they seem to be helping you keep relatively calm. They don't have you tied up at least, clearly not deeming you to be a threat. For the most part they're right. Lloyd's made sure you've learned some self-defense maneuvers, but they're no help in this. As much as you want to work out details, listen for clues, all of your energy is focused on staying calm.

Your kidnappers finally take you out of the van. You have no idea where they're taking you. All you can focus on is walking without tripping. Liam isn't really helping in this case, he's definitely going to be a heavy baby. They let you go and you hear what sounds like a cell door closing.

"You can take off the bag now," one of your kidnappers says.

You're quick to comply, hating being kept in the dark. Sure enough, you're in, what looks like, a holding cell, bars on three sides with one brick wall. There's a small cot against the wall that you know is going to do nothing for your back but you really do need to sit.

As you do so, a kidnapper talks into a radio, "we've got her secured."

Gathering up your courage you ask, "so what's the plan here? Is there an itinerary? A meal-plan? Any ideas how long I'll be here for?"

"If Hansen complies, you'll be out of here in just a few hours."

Nodding you mentally kick yourself for giving in to the urge to go out. You should've just used the treadmill Lloyd got specifically for you! But no, you just had to go outside for the fresh air. Then again, Lloyd had told you time and time again how secure he made sure the neighborhood was. Does that mean someone betrayed him? Let you be put at risk? You hope Lloyd finds whoever it was and cuts their balls off for putting you and Liam in danger.

"Can I get some water?"

A plastic bottle of water is rolled into your cell. As grateful as you are to not have to walk to get it, it's still a struggle to bend down to pick it up. Your anger rises as you hear a couple of the guards chuckling at your attempts. But you finally get the bottle and catch your breath before you drink.

These assholes might not see it, but you know they're doomed. And soon Lloyd would be breaking down the doors and killing them all. Your soulmate was ruthless. A man who'd kidnapped you and trapped you instead of just asking you out and showing your matching soulmate tattoos. A man who'd figured out all the best ways to get under your skin but also enjoyed letting you do the same to him. A man who'd let himself soften towards you, especially after your pregnancy was discovered, but who still regularly tortured people for information.

You smile softly. Yeah, these guys were all dead. They just didn't know it yet.

Before you've even finished the bottle of water, you hear loud, urgent radio chatter with guns in the background. Rubbing your belly you whisper to your baby, "daddy's here!"

Supposedly there's only one way into this area and all of your guards have their guns aimed at it. You cover your eyes, pretending to be scared but it's because you know what's about to happen. Lloyd's no idiot.

You hear the door open and the bullets go flying, but you also hear the clattering of a flash-bang on the floor. Lloyd told you it's one of the easiest tricks. Shooters always expect someone to be standing when the door opens, so if you crouch, you have a few seconds to do something before they adjust their aim. The flash-bang assures however many people are guarding you, they'll be incapacitated long enough for him to take them out.

"You okay, Pumpkin?" Lloyd's voice is a welcome sound and you uncover your eyes and smile at him as he figures out the door lock.

"So much better now, honey," you confess. "Did you find the asshole traitor?"

"Not yet," he says casually as he finally throws open the door. "But when I do, I'll make sure he gets made an example of."

You throw your arms around his neck and bring him in for a kiss. "I wanna do it with you."

Most people would be thrown off by your want to inflict violence on someone, but Lloyd gives you his cheshire cat grin and growls, "god I love you so much."

"I love you too. Now let's get out of here. Liam is hungry."

"Sure thing, sugar tits."

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[group-dynamic]

The Pitt Episode 9 Spoilers Okay, processing that scene with Santos and Langdon. At first, it felt SO good, but now I'm thinking about the writing and trying to figure out: what's the plan?

I find it hard to imagine that we're NOT meant to enjoy that scene. Santos has been pretty unlikable: cruel to the other interns even when they tell her to stop, manipulating them / using them for personal gain, being a loose canon, but the writers are also pulling out all the classic stops to make us sympathize with her, like:

highlighting her history of abuse

having her give Dr. Mohan credit for her save

And I, unfortunately, do think they're trying to make us like and understand her, not just continuing to create a fleshed out unlikeable character, because the abuse backstory and self-sacrifice are classic cheap tropes used to garner audiences sympathy for a character when they were accidentally made too unlikable.

I sincerely felt that Santos saying Mohan actually saved the patient was an eye-roll worthy attempt by the writers to paint her as secretly good and selfless. I even considered that maybe they were suggesting that she was "taking the fall" in a way that an abuse victim might to protect a sibling, but honestly, it still felt . . . selfish and manipulative. She's a professional. Her lying seemed to have no purpose other than creating further discord and unnecessary drama. I don't doubt her emotion (which was conveyed spectacularly by the actor), but I couldn't sympathize with her even when Langdon was way over the top. I mean, let's be fair, he didn't give her any credit or support her like he would Mel in the question and answer portion of the scene. If he only likes the "unproblematic interns" then Robbie's right, he's not a great teacher.

But I still couldn't feel sympathy toward Santos. So I watched again to sort out my feelings and caught that she specifically said, "Dr. Mohan made the save by choosing to treat her even before her labs came back" and suddenly her phrasing sounded like a test of Langdon. And by congratulating Dr. Mohan and yelling at Santos, he confirmed exactly what Santos thought: he just hates her. He doesn't like her as a person, and he treats her differently because of it. (Earned or not, true or not, that's what she saw in that moment). Santos had just suggested that Mohan was the one who made a decision without him and without lab results, and rather than getting yelled at the way she would have, Mohan got praise for it. Santos doesn't even actually need to prove that she would have been yelled at if Langdon thought it was her idea, because he yelled at her anyway.

Also, having Langdon as her enemy is interesting, because it doesn't seem like we're supposed to dislike him. He's poignantly great to Mel in that same episode, he's usually in the right, gets the job done well, etc. so his attacks on Santos feel jarring. I don't know how complexly the writer's are thinking about this, it's possible they're just fumbling the story line, but it's deeply interesting that they made sure Dr. Robbie called Langdon out because Robbie's the voice of the show, you know? He's the teacher. We're supposed to listen to him. (But honestly, Santos has been painted so negatively by the writers that we even find ourselves as an audience getting mad at him for defending her!)

NOW! Theories:

There's no grand plan, here. They want to be sure every character has flaws and positive qualities and it was just Langdon's turn to be wrong / over-stressed / spin out and Santos's turn to be somewhat vindicated.

Santos is being set up as the "boy who cried wolf," who even the audience won't believe over the conventionally attractive white boy when it turns out she's right about (the drugs or something, take your pick.)

Santos and Langdon are being set up as parallels in an "when I was her age, I was a maverick and people died, I'm trying to course correct my younger self" way

The audience's hatred of her is intended and moments like her yelling at the intubated potential abuser is not a poor attempt to paint her in a heroic light, but actually further evidence that Langdon is right about her: she's going to kill someone before the end of the shift or seriously hurts herself.

They're trying to flesh out Santos's mental and emotional landscape by demonstrating how a history of abuse impacts how she thinks and reacts to men like Langdon. This one's hard to accept without insulting both characters, honestly, but he really got out of control insulting her when he was yelling at her, and she put herself in a situation to be yelled at. Cycle of abuse / revictimizing, something something??

I am ready to be surprised by whatever direction they're intending to take this, but if they want the audience to start liking Santos they shot themselves in the foot with her characterization early on. Langdon's yelling at her was way over the top and undeserved in that moment, and he's definitely picking on her at this point, but. . .we grew impatient toward her at the same rate that he did, so the audience is going to be on his side even in inappropriate moments like this.

[kiwii-11]

spoilers for the balance storyline

i imagine that when elliot, sunshine, aaron and smartass gets their memories erased, the part where smartass tells aaron that they’re an (illegally) informed unempowered and that their ex is empowered still stays.

now HERE IS HOW I THINK AARON WOULD REACT IF OTHER REDACTED CHARACTERS/LISTENERS WERE SMARTASS’ EX (and who i think would potentially be their ex if it were another redacted character/listener):

ps: i got wayyyy too into this, gn reader, talking about boundaries, pre-geordi cutie, use of powers without permission, i wish the best for cutie, this is not to degrade them in any way, it’s just my characterisation of them in their early videos, this is me rarepairing for like a couple thousand words

milo

how they got together:

probably met when milo was working security at an event they went to, like a concert or something.

smartass lost their phone and went to the closest security guard about it. david took it very seriously and had an organised search throughout the venue. milo was the one who found it and promptly returned it to smartass and they were so thankful.

he escorted them to their car and flirted with them the whole time after their friends left the two alone (smartass’ friends just knew milo was their type), and smartass shot their shot and asked milo for his number.

the two set up a date the next week and started going steady afterwards.

talking about empowerment:

milo told them about two weeks after they established their relationship. they decided to keep it on the down low since milo didn’t want them involved with the department. smartass agreed not to tell anyone and didn’t really see why they would need to anyway.

smartass didn’t really believe him at first until they came over to his apartment to see milo just shifting out of his form. freaked out and it took a while for them to calm down. david and asher met smartass the next day when they were leaving milo’s apartment and bumped into them. milo explained the situation and the two decided to stay out of it.

how long they last:

nine months.

why they broke up:

their schedules never aligned properly. if milo was free, smartass wasn’t. if smartass had the day off, milo would be pulling a late night. with smartass starting a new job that was further away from milo, they just thought it best to break up. it was a mutual decision and they didn’t blame each other for the ending.

smartass had become friends with asher, so they’re still loose in contact. milo doesn’t mind, it’s not like he hates them anyway. there were no hard feelings involved.

aaron’s reaction:

“a—a shifter? a wolf shifter? holy shit… he’s… not still in love with you, right? ‘cause like, i don’t want some big ass dog running after me all day. i can’t believe you went from a shifter to an unempowered guy like me…”

he’s so confused. he asked what he looked like and when they showed him some photos from social media, his jaw literally dropped. he pointed at the screen in despair and kept saying ‘you dated this glorious man?’. they deadpan and say that think aaron’s handsome, and aaron says that he needed to take a walk. finds him to be a threat still. 8/10, scared, thinks milo’s a dreamboat.

dear

how they got together:

after university, while smartass was in between jobs, they worked part-time at the cafe that was nearby d.a.m.n. (obv they didn’t know that). dear was a regular and was very straightforward with their flirtations towards smartass.

one day, dear had a special request that smartass be the one to serve them, and when they came to do so, dear ordered as usually but, when smartass asked for a name for the order (second nature atp), dear said ‘your phone number’. smartass was utterly flustered by the small gesture and gave in. they did playfully ridicule dear, but that didn’t change much.

dear texted them later that day discussing some plans to go out. smartass agreed.

talking about empowerment:

dear told them straight up during their first date. they assumed that because they work so close to the academy, that they knew. lots of students worked or frequented there. but smartass didn’t know that. smartass thought they were fucking with them at first, making all the academy and their profession up, until dear realised they really didn’t believe them, and tried to backtrack. that made smartass realise that it was the truth.

also, dear proved it by using their water powers on their drink. the unempowered barista was shocked and had to sit through an hour of dear explaining it to them. they never went to the department because they never had time when dear told them about the classes and everything.

how long they last:

six months.

why they broke up:

because they never had time for the covert classes, smartass couldn’t really spend time with dear and their friends and family. dear never blamed them for it, they knew that smartass was trying to find the job they enjoyed, but it just made things a bit harder.

dear wanted smartass at the elemental and energetic games, but because of them not being legally informed, they couldn’t go. it sparked an argument about priorities and whether wither of them were fit for a relationship at the time, and they ended things. there were some ill feelings, but the two got over it quickly to pursue their own life goals.

aaron’s reaction:

“a water elemental… those people who can drown me? no, i’m not saying they would, but like… you said that they’re strong as hell and a professional. they could if they wanted to. it’s okay, i can swim, that helps.”

he’s concerned because an elemental of any kind if scary to him. being able to manipulate something that’s nearly always around? yeah, he’d leave immediately. but he understands that they’re civil about it. isn’t too worried, especially since he knows the academy isn’t active around where they live. he did have a dream about being on a stranded island, to which elliot had to intervene and turn it into a cute holiday with smartass. 5/10, thankful that dear isn’t crazy.

james

how they got together:

smartass applied for a job at the same company that james worked at, the fact that it was an empowered workplace bring unknown to them. the company chose them as their qualifications fit their bill, and they were placed under james’ orders.

he grew interested in them as they never spoke about their powers and seemed to never acknowledge anyone else’s. they were a great worker and had some bite. smartass also liked james since he never backed down from his ideas when it came to meetings and everything. when he confronted them about their isolation, they were a bit hostile, however they admitted to feeling left out but not wanting to push it.

james then told them about how the others feels a bit confused about them not introducing their abilities when smartass first showed up, but not knowing how to ask. smartass was more confused. james offered to take them out after work to explain everything when he realised they were uninformed.

talking about empowerment:

told smartass he was a telepath during their first ‘date’. they were talking about everything at work and he showed them his powers himself. they were so astounded that smartass nearly choked on their drink. james attempted to make it easier to understand. it did not.

smartass explained to head management that they were an illegally informed unempowered, but they made no moves to correct that. the department didn’t need to be more involved with their business than they already were. smartass told james and he said that as long as they aren’t in the position to get in trouble, then it should be fine.

how long they last:

four months.

why they broke up:

work began to get serious for smartass. so much so that james asked them to quit due to being unempowered. they said that it would be fine as long as they weren’t in trouble, but james didn’t want it to have to go that far. he pushed for them to quit, especially after hearing about project meridian. he was scared, but didn’t tell them that.

after arguments about it, james went to his bosses about releasing you from the company due to insubordination. he assured them that he could handle their work and the company agreed. smartass broke up with james since there was an obvious divide, and staying together only meant more stress. the two of them would get over it after a couple of months focusing on work and on their personal lives.

aaron’s reaction:

“you worked with assholes before you worked with me? what? he sounds like an asshole, he got you fired. do you just have a think for office romance? he’s me, just with telepathy and a much stranger job.”

he isn’t too fussed about james. can see why they broke up and also both sides of the story, but just can’t imagine choosing work over smartass. really does believe that james is a different version of him because it sounds too familiar. he doesn’t hear much about him, so he’s not worried. gives him a 0/10 in terms of worrying about him, thanks james for setting up smartass’s type for him.

cutie

how they got together:

cutie was letting their telepathy loose when they heard smartass singing a song they like in their head while listening to it in their headphones in at the grocery store. they approached smartass and complimented the song, claiming to have heard it through the headphones.

the two strike up a conversation and end up getting lunch together that same day to get to know each other. cutie overhears their thoughts about how smartass likes their personality and thinks they’re pretty. so they ask them out for another date.

smartass agrees, thinking that this was the most they’ve ever had in common with someone else. after exchanging numbers, smartass texts them the next day organising plans. cutie happily agrees to them.

talking about empowerment:

cutie didn’t tell smartass until they accidentally replied to one of the questions they were thinking out loud. smartass was confused since they did ‘t say it out loud and asked how they knew. cutie admitted that they were a telepath and have been using their powers on them without smartass’ permission.

they had a sit down about it to explain the world of magic and how cutie’s been using their powers on them for a while now. it wasn’t well-received, as one would assume. smartass was so upset that they didn’t want to attend any classes about it.

how long they last:

three months.

why they broke up:

because of the dishonesty in their relationship, smartass broke up with cutie. they were distraught that the reason they thought the two of them were such a good couple was because cutie used their telepathy to make it that way. smartass would make this decision only a week after finding out about magic.

they explained their feelings to cutie and how it was a total violation. cutie just wanted a chance with smartass and thought it would be easier to get to know each other that way. smartass disagreed. they blocked cutie on everything. smartass is over it now, but is still not comfortable sharing anything with cutie, even on social media.

aaron’s reaction:

“i can’t imagine how difficult that conversation must’ve been. i’m sorry that… that was your introduction to magic. is there anything i can help with to make it easier? i can make the whole process smoother, i promise.”

feels so bad for smartass. telepathy is one of the powers that is considered scarier (like stealth or illusory). he knows that smartass speaks their mind, so he can’t imagine what they hold back from saying. understands the importance of personal space and never wants smartass to feel as if he’s imposing on that. 2/10, doesn’t think the way they went about their powers is justified, but isn’t worried about them.

porter

how they got together:

back before porter left dahlia, he met smartass at a fancy bar where they were eating at with their old coworkers. smartass was getting a drink from a worker when porter saddled up beside them and struck up a conversation. he was flirtatious and forward, which caught smartass’ attention.

they had to reject his offer to spend the rest of their time at the bar with him, as they were already with a party. so porter gave them his number and said to hit him up whenever they’d like to chat. he left them alone afterwards and went back to drinking with some other vampires.

smartass texted him a few days later on their day off, asking if he wanted to go out for lunch, to which he changed to dinner. they didn’t mind at all. their little dates would become frequent.

talking about empowerment:

porter doesn’t care about hiding his true self. he told smartass about being a vampire about three days after their first date. of course, smartass wanted proof, so he showed them everything he could. he explained that that’s why he was always out at night and could never stay over.

smartass didn’t mind the whole vampire thing. he ended up making their life amusing, always out doing something or taking them somewhere. he paid no mind to the department, so he didn’t see a reason to force them to get certification. he did tell them about it, though.

how long they last:

five months.

why they broke up:

porter was leaving town and smartass was settled in their new job. he knew better than to ask someone to leave their whole life behind for him, so he suggested that they stop seeing each other. smartass was confused about the sudden change and asked if they did something to upset him.

he claims that it was a nice change in pace, and that they’ve already established that their relationship wasn’t normal. he wants them to go back to their life and not have to dwell on his. he wasn’t ready to settle down, he realised. when he told smartass this, they understood that it was acceptable to let a good thing die. they broke up, and it took a month or two for both of them to enjoy themselves.

aaron’s reaction:

“no way you dated a vampire. you’re not joking? jesus… he sounds so fuckin’ wild too. i feel so boring compared to that guy. you said he was out of town the last time you two talked? okay, that’s fine then.”

everything they’ve told him about porter sounds straight out of some intense romance book. smartass never thought anything about it, other than they had fun while it lasted. aaron is most likely shitting his pants. he’s heard a fair bit about the vampire clans, and all he knows is that the solaire family is infamous. he secretly prays to whatever is up there that he’s protected from that crazy british vampire. 10/10 scared of him, not because he thinks that he will steal smartass away from him, but because vampires are a force to a be reckoned with.

[sarroth]

I had this similar talk with my wife not too long ago. She hates Trump and MAGA but was appalled when I suggested that I was unsure how much compromise was left, how much bipartisanship could happen.

But just look at the examples. When there is little fact to political decisions, just ‘Democrats liked this so it must stop,’ what middle ground is there?

- Where’s the compromise between ‘Abortion is sometimes proper medical care and is thus an individual right to be decided between a person and their doctors’ and ‘Abortion is murder.’

- Where’s the compromise between ‘All people should have equal rights’ and ‘Religion should not be forced on anyone’ and arguments like ‘Homosexuals and transgender people are sinners and our religion prevents us from treating them like equals and requires us to force other people to treat them as subhuman’ or ‘All people should have rights’ and ‘People who come here illegally are presumed guilty of everything and no legal protections should be allowed cover them, even the plain language of our constitution, and we don’t even need to make efforts to keep kids in contact with their parents; it’s their fault we orphaned them.’

- Where’s the compromise between ‘Our country spent most of the last 250 years protecting the rights of just white men and steps must be done to even the playing field’ and ‘Any minority hire is suspect unless they are a registered Republican voter and we cannot even look at whether there is still discriminatory outcomes because to just ask the question is racist.’ I know this last one isn’t said like that out loud but it’s frankly the meaning behind their actions.

- Where’s the compromise between ‘American’s rights to guns should come with required training and other protections for people’s safety’ and ‘Even domestically violent people who are threats of harm to others should be allowed to have guns with no conditions.’ Currently the compromise is that at least these people can’t have explosives I guess, which I worry about even mentioning because there are fucking psychos out there who think the 2nd Amendment should prevent any restrictions on even military weaponry. Like wtf.

Compromise requires agreeing on facts. Democrats can agree on some tax relief for some businesses, but Republicans so often don’t compromise on that, as they want full on Trickle Down Economics with just the occasional sprinkle of help for the working class to feel cared for. Democrats wanted to compromise on border security, but Republicans wanted it done their way, so no meaningful change occurred. You mentioned Roe v Wade as a compromise; that seems absolutely right. Then you get politicians claiming democrats want to abort newborns - abortion by definition is of unborn children, so they are just lying. The Affordable Care Act was a compromise between what other countries do and many Americans want and what wasn’t working in our country and we got the death panels lies you mention; and today, with a majority of Americans now in support of the ACA, you still get Republicans focusing on the minority who don’t like it and threatening to dismantle it without any alternative plan. We can barely compromise to just keep the government open. We can’t even compromise on a vaccine created under Trump because one of his few good accomplishments got turned on by his fanatical, science-hating base, and so he stopped shouting about getting that done and he loves to talk about how good he thinks he is.

So I guess we compromise on infrastructure at least, maybe? That then republican politicians who were actually against it claim to have made happen once the projects impact their community? That Republican voters will probably think Trump made happen because voters think

On Consequences: What About Fuck Around And Find Out Don't You Get?

As anyone with two functioning brain cells could have predicted, people who voted for Trump and those who sat out the last election because “both sides are equally bad,” are experiencing the “Find Out” portion of “Fuck Around, Find Out.”

From MAGA farmers in the Heartland whining about losing their livelihoods, to “Latinos For Trump” voters crying about their abuela being deported, to people who voted for Trump who are finding out they are losing their government jobs due to DOGE, the Find Out Portion of Trump’s second administration is just getting started.

Am I surprised? Fuck no! What would happen if he won again was blatantly obvious to anyone with a brain, moral compass, and basic understanding of…well…just about anything.

Do I care? Fuck no! It isn’t the fault of those of us who threw up warning flags, shot off flares, and screamed until we were hoarse that the things we said were going to happen if he got reelected, happened. That burden of responsibility is not on us, no matter how hard some try to make it so.

Should I care? According to those “Finding Out,” the media, and the moral scolds on the left, I’m supposed to care. Their arguments for caring come in three different forms: Compassion, Sympathy, and Non-Alienation.

I’m supposed to be compassionate towards those who are suffering, regardless of the reasons for their pain.

Really? The people who have spent the past twenty years bitching about participation trophies want one now because they are on the losing end of their play and want me to comfort them with orange slices, a big trophy that has “We Are Not Losers,” engraved on it, and a hug? Hell, even if I believed in a participation trophy culture, I wouldn’t extend it to those who voted for Trump or didn’t vote in 2024.

A soccer team of kids who get beat 20-0 at least tried their best. They put in the work at practices, played the best game they could, and lost. MAGA voters didn’t’ do jack. They didn’t put forth any effort to understand any issues. They walked onto the field of play, handed in their lineup, and didn’t do another damn thing. The people who sat out the election did even less.

What do I mean by, “they didn’t do another damn thing”? All the information about the Democratic Party’s agenda, Kamala Harris’ record, and policies were readily available for anyone to see. So too, were Trump’s. All the things Trump is doing were things he, or those close to him, said they were going to do. EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING!

Why in the fuck would I be compassionate to anyone who willfully denied and/or ignored this?

Fuck them! My compassion goes to the people who are going to suffer from Trump’s policies who did the right things, made the right choices, and actually put forth an effort. That’s who deserves my compassion. Not some farmer in Iowa who put a fifty-foot billboard of “Trump 2024” on his land who is now scrambling to save the farm that has been in his family for generations. Actions, choices, and elections have consequences. Hence the “Find Out” part of FOFA.

Along the same lines, I don’t have sympathy for these people for what they are going through.

Do I wish these terrible things to happen to people who made bad choices? Not really. But, that is the only way they might (very heavy emphasis on “might,”) learn. Until the consequences of their actions are severe enough, and maybe not even then, people are not going to learn. If they keep getting bailed out, financially, emotionally, culturally… there is no incentive for them to learn.

How many times do Republican policies have to fuck over rural America before they learn a lesson? It’s been almost all of my sixty-four years and they not only haven’t learned a lesson, they’ve doubled, tripled, and quadrupled down on their loyalty to the GOP.

How many times do Democratic policies have to bail out these same people before they get any credit for it? Obama and Biden not only saved the US auto and energy sectors but helped make them better. Their reward for this? Having areas dominated by these industries vote Republican. This is just one of hundreds of examples like this I could give.

Am I supposed to have compassion and sympathy for these people? Fuck that!

I’m pretty sure the people pushing the “compassion and sympathy” arguments know they are pushing garbage which is why many of them have shifted to the more nuanced, though equally garbage, “let’s not alienate the Find Out crowd because that won’t get them on your side.”

This argument might sound reasonable except those touting it never can give examples of it working. Obama bent over backward to accommodate Republicans. The Affordable Care Act was more Republican-based than Democratic. What was his reward for this? Being called a Marxist socialist who was creating death panels that would end Pappy’s and Memaw’s lives, to provide on-demand abortion to drug-using moochers from San Francisco.

I have yet to see anyone provide a real example of a Democratic statement, position, or policy that actually changed a MAGA’s mind. The argument being made is basically:

1-Bad things are happening to Republicans because of their choices. 2-Dems should not point this out because it will alienate Republicans. 3-If Democrats don’t point this out, then Republicans will learn the error of their ways.

The faulty logic is in believing what Dems do or not do has any influence over Republicans. There is no causation here.

It is understandable, on some level, why people might believe this argument. Hundreds, if not thousands, of articles and even more media hot takes have been put forth pushing the causation between what Dems say/do and Republicans’ choices.

It’s not the Republicans’ fault they support a racist, misogynist, criminal. The Dems made them by (fill in the blank.)

The paradigm of this causation argument is whenever a Republican comes out and says something blatantly racist the justification they give for doing so and the excuse given for them by the media is, “If Dems hadn’t called them “racist,” they wouldn’t have said/done something racist.”

No ownership of their actions. No personal responsibility from The Party Of Personal Responsibility. They flip the causation completely around to justify their actions. It wasn’t what they said or did that led to someone calling them a “racist,” it was someone calling them a “racist,” that did it. It is Bizarro World Logic.

Today’s Republicans don’t want compromise. That concept has been beaten out of them through years of Newt Gingrich tactics, Rush Limbaugh talking points, and FOX News. As long as this is the mindset of conservatives, there is NOTHING Democrats can do or say that will not alienate them.

Everything the Democratic Party stands for would have to be abandoned, to partially satisfy MAGA. As the Democratic Party, whose rights are we willing to sacrifice, to win the vote of the farmer in Iowa who is upset Trump’s policies are going to cost him his farm?

I don’t fucking negotiate with terrorists. I especially don’t negotiate with white supremacist domestic terrorists. Once you do this, they will ALWAYS demand more. Roe v Wade WAS the compromise when it comes to abortion. How did that turn out? Were the right satisfied? Did they accept it and move the fuck on? Nope. Now that SCOTUS has said that abortion is up to the states, do you think the right is happy? Nope. Until they get 100% of what they want, they will never satiated.

If you understand the nature of modern-day American conservatism and its ties to Evangelical Christianity, then you know, without a doubt, they cannot be reasoned with, no amount of evidence, compassion, or sympathy, is going to get them to change their minds, at least not on any meaningful level.

This is why there are no fucks left in my basket to hand out to anyone, no matter how much they are suffering, for the choices they made on November 5th, 2024.

All my fucks are reserved for those who made the right choices but are going to suffer anyway.

The pragmatist, realist, and ethicist in me are fine with this. As my mom used to tell me, “You can’t change people who don’t want to change and until they hit bottom, they will never change.” Applying this to anyone, especially people who care about isn’t easy. Applying it to a good chunk of your fellow citizens is perhaps more difficult, but more important.