#i really care about my playlists and it shows

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader there's no smut in this one just a sliiiight mention of it, this is just drama and angst because this chapter will tell a lot about their future relationship! contains mentions of anxiety too.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[5.5k words ]♡― i can't believe that so many people like gameboy, like, that's crazy! thanks for everyone's support. to those who ask to be added to the taglist, it warms my heart. if you want to talk about the story or anything else, i'm open to questions and conversation! don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three]

You're scared of heights, that's vertigo You wanted lights, go see a show You ran away, that's touch and go You're scared of love, well, aren't we all?

What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into two days, then three, then four. Before you even realized it, seeing him had become part of your routine, like breathing—natural, inevitable, and far too easy to justify.

Today, though, your mind was anywhere but on him. Mrs. Baek had scheduled a meeting, nothing more, nothing less. You and Hyunjin were goofing around, hands clasped as you twirled like a chaotic, offbeat version of Jack and Rose at a third-rate ballroom. Seungmin doubled over laughing, because of course he did. That was just your dynamic—ridiculous by nature, friends for life.

Then, everything stopped. A chorus of surprised gasps cut through the room, followed by an eruption of chatter that made your spinning halt. Confused, you glanced around, searching for the source of the commotion—until you saw her. Mrs. Baek stood at the front, and next to her…

No. Absolutely not.

Your stomach flipped as your eyes landed on him. Standing there with his head tilted slightly downward, one hand gripping the opposite arm—ridiculously muscular, by the way—Bangchan looked unfairly good in a black T-shirt that was doing the bare minimum to cover anything.

Your gaze flickered to Hyunjin, then to Seungmin, silently demanding an explanation, but before either of them could speak, Mrs. Baek’s voice cut through the haze of your disbelief.

“…which is why we now have a new student to take care of the sound design. Welcome, Bangchan.”

And then—anger.

The girls whispered like they’d just witnessed the famous idol in the world. Bangchan basked in the attention, grinning at them, then at the guys. And then, of course, his eyes found you. One brow lifted, pure challenge.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Sound design? Since when?” you weren’t really expecting an answer, but Hyunjin, ever the dependable sidekick, squeezed your shoulder and offered a half-smile.

“It’s kinda his and Jisung’s thing,” he said, arms crossed as he observed Bangchan effortlessly charm his way through the group. “Jisung’s drowning in work this semester, so I guess that’s why.”

Oh, how nice. How convenient. You couldn’t care less. It was one thing sneaking around with him in secret. It was another for him to invade your space. Your special space. And worse—acting like he belonged there.

As soon as the group began to break apart, you made your exit, feet moving fast. The last thing you needed was—

“Running away already?”

You stopped dead, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Spinning on your heel, you found Bangchan standing there, arms crossed, smirking like he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you shot back.

“Ouch.” he clutched his chest, faking a wince. “You look angry.”

“Oh, do I?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “That’s because I am.”

Lucky for him, the corridor was empty—just the theater crew lingering in the distance.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

“Gonna need you to be more specific.”

You inhaled sharply. “Seriously? Sound design? You don’t even like theater.”

He took a step closer, brows furrowing.

“How would you know? We’re not friends.” the way he said it was off—something about his tone made your stomach twist. But you ignored it. “And if you actually bothered to find out, you’d know that, shockingly, I do this for real.”

You hated being proven wrong. But you especially hated being proven wrong by Bangchan.

“Look,” you sighed, arms crossing. “I don’t know what your game is, okay? But just… don’t mess things up. I like them the way they are.”

Bangchan nodded, slow and deliberate. But something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable. His stomach clenched, and he didn’t like the reason why. Because the way you said it, like having him here without sex was some kind of inconvenience, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” his voice dropped an octave, sharp and cold. He met your gaze head-on, not an ounce of warmth left. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

And just like a punch to the gut left hanging in the air, he was gone. No rush, no glance back—just the weight of his words lingering between you.

Things were a mess, and you needed to get a grip. Studying, focusing—doing something that wasn’t theater or… well, him. The last few days had blurred together, your attention split in ways you weren’t used to. And you hated it.

The library was too quiet, the kind of silence that crawled under your skin. Three art history books sat open in front of you, mocking your lack of focus. It was ridiculous. How the hell had you let some guy scramble your brain like this? That wasn’t you. It had never been you.

Frustration boiled over, and before you knew it, you snapped one of the books shut, the sharp thud cutting through the silence.

“Jesus. What did the book ever do to you?”

The voice came from behind you, smooth and amused. You barely looked up before Mingyu’s face came into view. It hit you then—how distracted you’d been at the fundraiser. Otherwise, you definitely would have noticed him before. That annoyingly charming, white-knight smile. Tanned skin. Muscles for days.

He grinned, leaning over your table, arms flexing just enough to be intentional.

“Sorry. My head's a mess.”

Mingyu nodded, taking in your exasperated, borderline fried expression. “Yeah, you look like it,” he said with a knowing half-smile, sliding into the empty chair across from you like he belonged there. No permission needed.

You sighed, gesturing vaguely at the books. “Just trying to focus.”

His smirk deepened. “Right. Because nothing says laser focus like slamming a textbook shut like it just insulted your mother.”

You huffed, but the corner of your mouth twitched.

“Well, since you’re clearly on the verge of a breakdown, I have an idea.” He leaned back, stretching in a way that was both casual and strategic. “A coffee. On me.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your phone vibrated against the table, barely visible beneath the stack of books. A quick glance at the screen. One new message.

Bangchan: my dorm. 30 min.

Your pulse jumped. Short. Direct. No room for misinterpretation.

“Everything okay?” Mingyu’s voice pulled you back, his eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah, yeah.” you laughed, maybe too lightly. “Just… distracted. Coffee sounds good.”

His grin widened. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

“Just let me put this back…” you grabbed one of the books, heading for the shelf when your phone buzzed again.

Bangchan: ignoring me?

You exhaled, fingers hovering over the screen.

You: I can't. I have plans.

A pause. Then—

Bangchan: ok.

You pressed your forehead against the bookshelf, inhaling deeply, willing away the strange tightness in your stomach. It was ridiculous. It was just a text.

When you returned, Mingyu was still at the table, casually texting someone. He looked up as you approached, grinning. “Everything good?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, forcing a smile.

He was nice enough to grab your bag and help carry your notebooks, the easy charm of someone who had probably been effortlessly handsome his whole life. The café wasn’t far—just a short walk from campus—but the crowd made it feel like the busiest spot in town.

Mingyu picked a table near the entrance, the air thick with the smell of espresso and fresh pastries. Strawberry sponge cake. Cinnamon rolls. Chocolate mousse cupcakes. The kind of place that made you want to abandon all responsibilities and drown yourself in sugar.

And yet, as you sat down, all you could think about was the ok.

Mingyu ordered coffee for you both but went the extra mile, adding a slice of strawberry shortcake to share.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” you smiled, wrapping your hands around your cup, already feeling the caffeine seep into your system like a lifeline.

He shrugged. “I wanted to. You looked like you needed something sweet.”

You caught the double meaning but let it slide. He was being nice, and you weren’t in the mood to overanalyze. “Right. So… football?” Smooth. Real smooth.

Mingyu didn’t seem to mind. “Going well. We’re set for the next game, and if we keep this up, the next university sponsorship should be ours.”

“That’s great, Mingyu.”

“Yeah, but I heard drama class was saved. Good news, huh?”

“Great news. We’ve got enough for now.” you took a bite of cake, letting the sugar melt on your tongue. Mingyu watched you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’m happy for you. Getting the basketball team to sell brownies half-naked must’ve been a real passion project.”

You laughed. “It was, but that wasn’t me. That was Bangchan.”

It felt strange, saying his name out loud. Different when he wasn’t there.

Mingyu frowned, arms crossing over the table.

“Bangchan did that?” his brows knitted together, skepticism lacing his tone.

You shrugged, taking another bite of cake. “That’s what I heard. Why? You guys friends?” the idea alone made your stomach twist in an oddly unpleasant way.

“No. Not even close.” he laughed, shaking his head as if the thought was ridiculous. “Just curious.”

“Well, instead of wasting brain cells on him, you should try this.” you pushed the plate slightly toward him. “It’s actually amazing.”

Mingyu picked up a fork, took a bite, and let out an appreciative groan. You grinned, clapping your hands as if you had just won a bet, then promptly stole another piece for yourself.

Being with him was easy—effortless, even. A surprising friendship you hadn't expected but didn’t mind one bit.

Back at the dorm, Eunji and Sohee were curled up on the couch, sharing a bucket of popcorn while a movie played on the laptop. Your casual entrance was met with two pairs of curious eyes locking onto you like detectives sniffing out a case.

“Where have you been?” Eunji narrowed her eyes, her fingers pausing mid-popcorn grab.

“Why?” you laughed, kicking off your shoes.

“You’ve been acting weird,” she accused, tilting her head. “Always busy, barely around.”

“Sorry, I... I've just been very busy. The theater is eating me up. And there's the exams...”

Sohee smirked. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“What?” you instinctively sniffed your shirt, the rich aroma of espresso lingering faintly.

Eunji gasped, scandalized. “You totally went out with someone!”

Sohee just shook her head knowingly, already seeing through you. “Liar.”

“Alright, fine! I got coffee with Mingyu. Happy now?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Sohee’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Mingyu from the soccer team?”

Eunji, on the other hand, nearly leaped off the couch. “Girl, you rocked it! I knew you had game, but Mingyu? That man is fine.”

You groaned, already regretting your life choices. “It wasn’t a thing, okay? We’re friends. We had coffee. That’s it.”

Eunji scoffed, dramatic as ever. “Honey, nothing with Mingyu is just coffee. That man doesn’t do casual.” she clasped her hands together like she was already planning your wedding.

You sighed, exasperated. “Make her stop.” you turned to Sohee, your last hope. 

But Sohee just smirked. “I mean… she’s not wrong.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Oh my God.”

“Look, you’ve been drowning in rehearsals and exams. Maybe this is a good thing,” Sohee added, ever the voice of reason.

A good thing. That uneasy feeling crawled up your spine again.

Because the problem wasn’t Mingyu.

Because you had met someone. Someone who already occupied every corner of your mind. Someone who texted you with demands instead of invitations. Someone who kissed like it was the only language he spoke.

And that someone sure as hell wasn’t Mingyu.

“Alright, I’m done.” you grabbed your things and stood up. “I’m taking a shower. Goodnight.”

Before they could say another word, you ducked into your room, shutting the door behind you.

Now, if only you could shut off your thoughts just as easily.

It was lunchtime, and the table was buzzing with chatter. It had been nearly two days since you’d heard from Bangchan. Odd, right? The silence felt almost intentional. No texts, no glances that said too much.

You were sharing a basket of French fries with Hyunjin when suddenly, that topic came up. Jisung was DJing at another party this weekend, and everyone was planning to go. Of course, Eunji—bless her heart and big mouth—decided now was the time to bring up the perfect subject.

“You should invite Mingyu, now that you’re going out and all.”

You nearly choked on a fry, coughing like you’d just inhaled a cloud of smoke. Hyunjin slapped your back, but you could feel all eyes on you as the table went silent, then turned to look in your direction.

Bangchan, seated across from you, slouched in his chair like he didn’t care. But you knew better. The tension radiating from him was like a ticking time bomb.

“You’re seeing Mingyu?” Hyunjin’s voice dripped with mock disbelief. “How am I your best friend, and this is news to me?”

Great. Just great. The whole table was waiting for an answer, and suddenly, everything felt like it was about to spiral out of control.

“Going out with Mingyu? Really?” Changbin raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “I thought you had better taste, bro.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not dating anyone!” you shot back, finally managing to catch your breath after the shock of the conversation.

“Sure, sure. But you two went out the other day, didn’t you?” Eunji grinned, clearly enjoying every second of it.

You felt it before you saw it: Bangchan’s eyes, burning into the side of your head. His silence wasn’t just a void, it was a warning, sharp and heavy. You should’ve felt guilty—after all, you had brushed him aside for Mingyu.

“But we’re not together,” you quickly clarified, hoping to quell whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes. “And he’s practically at every party anyway. It’s not like he’s not going to show up.”

Eunji wasn’t buying it. “Still should invite him, though.”

Hyunjin tossed an arm around your shoulders, all casual but still sorta protective. “Alright, stop messing with my girl,” he said, voice light but you could tell he wasn’t having it.

You muttered a quick ‘thank you,’ relieved when the focus shifted away from you. Your thoughts drifted as you nibbled on the end of your fry, mind half on your food, half on the tension buzzing at the table. 

Bangchan, though, wasn't as distracted. He sat there, twisting his tongue inside his cheek, fighting off the surge of frustration coiling in his gut. The thought of you with Mingyu? It hit him like a wrecking ball. Not just because you had ditched him for the guy, but Mingyu.

He could hardly keep his anger in check. Only his closest friends knew the history between the two of them—and no one, especially not you, would ever guess how deep that hatred ran.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. Without a word, he stood, breaking the rhythm of the conversation.

“Leaving already?” Changbin asked, raising an eyebrow. Lunch still had half an hour left, but Bangchan didn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, gotta handle something,” he muttered, his voice sharp enough to make everyone shut up for a second.

The group barely noticed his departure. You certainly didn’t. After all, it wasn’t like anything was out of the ordinary. Right?

The days were flying by, and with every one that passed, the auditions loomed closer. The lineup was finally set—each student would perform next Friday, the day before Jisung’s party. No pressure or anything. Your nerves were on high alert, and anxiety was practically gnawing at your bones.

And then there was Bangchan. Or rather, the lack of him. You hadn’t heard a word from him in days. During the rare times you actually sat with the guys for lunch, his seat was just... empty. And you pretended not to care, stealing quick glances and keeping your mouth shut.

Most of your free time was spent holed up in the library, pretending to study, or locked in your room, trying to convince yourself that, yes, you could totally make it through the semester without crumbling under stress. Mingyu had texted you a few times, but you’d dodged his messages so hard that even you felt guilty about it.

Not that he seemed to care. The guy was persistent. He still wanted to take you out, get to know you, charm his way into... whatever he was aiming for. Just today, he’d invited you to join him and the soccer team at some bar near campus. Apparently, they were celebrating a big win—not that you had a single clue who they even played against.

You needed to get out. Desperately. But showing up solo to a team hangout? That was a level of confidence even you didn’t have. So, naturally, you did what any sane person would—you called your emergency contact.

Hyunjin picked up before the second ring.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to return from the dead,” he drawled.

“Yeah, yeah. Roast me later. Right now, I need a favor.”

“Hm. Depends.”

“There’ll be drinks,” you baited, already knowing his answer.

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I go, you have to give me the full rundown on whatever mess you’ve got going on with Mingyu.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back like the universe was punishing you. “Ugh. Deal.”

Satisfied, you threw on a black fit—strappy top, skirt, boots, plus a long-sleeved cardigan for balance—and grabbed your phone to text Hyunjin.

And that’s when you saw him.

Bangchan.

Walking toward his dorm, jacket slung over his shoulder, bag in one hand. The second he spotted you, it was like his brain hit a hard reset. Blue screen. No thoughts, just you.

You, on the other hand? You just…froze. Phone still hovering mid-air like you were trying to signal the mothership.

He looked good, annoyingly so—tired, sure, but with that effortlessly undone look that made you want to fix things that weren’t even broken. And judging by the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you looking this good either.

You could practically hear the battle happening in his head. Logic telling him to keep walking. Instinct screaming at him to drag you somewhere private and remind you exactly why you shouldn’t be ignoring him.

But no. Neither of you moved. Just standing there, locked in some ridiculous silent standoff from across the way.

That is, until a hand brushed against yours.

“Took you long enough,” Hyunjin teased, but his voice trailed off the second he noticed who had stolen your attention. His steps slowed, eyes flicking between you and Bangchan like he’d just walked into the middle of a soap opera.

You bit back a smirk, shoving down the weird twist in your stomach. “Shall we?”

Hyunjin hesitated, still piecing things together. Then, with a last glance at Bangchan—who looked like he was about two seconds away from saying something he’d regret—he sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, brows still furrowed. “Let’s go.”

The moment you step into the bar, Mingyu zeroes in on you like a man on a mission—half-drunk, half-thrilled, and entirely shameless about how his gaze drags over you. He grins, tells you how gorgeous you look, and hands you a shot of soju like it’s a requirement for entry.

Hyunjin, of course, fits right in immediately, the social butterfly that he is. Meanwhile, you start to relax, the initial nerves fading as the drinks flow and the unfamiliar space becomes less intimidating. Mingyu’s friends are nice—too nice. The kind of nice that feels like they're sizing you up, like you’re some kind of prize waiting to be claimed. Mingyu’s prize.

The room is loud, buzzing with alcohol-fueled laughter and drunken debates, but your thoughts are fixated on something else. Someone else. And damn it, Mingyu is right there, flashing that easy smile, brushing his fingers against yours like it’s an accident every single time. Complimenting you in ways that should make your stomach flip.

But all you can think about is the guy who hasn’t spoken to you in days. The one who supposedly doesn’t want you anymore.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

With a frustrated sigh, you push back your chair and stand. You’re not even tipsy, but everything suddenly feels too hot, too suffocating.

“I need water,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else, and head for the bar before you do something stupid.

Mingyu appeared at your side, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world.

"All good?"

You forced a smile, gripping the cool glass of water like it could ground you. "Yeah. Just needed something cold."

"Glad you came," he said, smirking slightly as he looked down at you.

He’s the one you should want, the one who actually wants you.

Your gaze flickered to his lips. A bad idea waiting to happen.

Mingyu caught the hesitation, eyes darkening as he glanced between your lips and your eyes. You barely had time to register what was happening before your hands found his shoulders, his lips pressing against yours.

The guys erupted in cheers, their drunken approval ringing out across the bar.

And after that, a blur of stolen kisses, too much soju, and voices too loud to ignore.

The night air was crisp against your flushed skin as you and Hyunjin walked back toward campus. The distant hum of the city buzzed in your ears, the alcohol still warm in your veins, though the high of the night had started to fade. Your heels clicked against the pavement, and Hyunjin, ever the gentleman, walked just a step closer in case you stumbled.

“You good?” he asked, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

You hummed a response, not trusting yourself to say anything else. Your mind was a tangled mess of soju, Mingyu’s lips, and something deeper—something you weren’t ready to admit.

Hyunjin let the silence settle for a moment before he spoke again. “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. Here it comes. “If it’s about Mingyu, I—”

“It’s not.” he cut you off, tone softer than before. “It’s about Bangchan.”

Your stomach twisted.

You stopped walking, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your hands fidgeted, grasping for something—anything—to ground you. “Why would you ask that?” you muttered, trying to play it off, but even you could hear the slight tremble in your voice.

Hyunjin tilted his head, studying you. “I figured it all out.”

A sharp inhale stung your chest, and before you could even think of a response, it hit you. The overwhelming, suffocating weight of everything you’d been trying to bury. The frustration, the confusion, the way he made you feel like you were something and nothing all at once.

“Oh, shit,” Hyunjin muttered, eyes widening as the tears spilled over. “Come here.”

He pulled you into his chest, letting you press your face into his shoulder. You clung to his jacket, shaking as silent sobs wracked through you. Half-drunk, half-heartbroken, you let yourself break in the only safe place you had at that moment—Hyunjin’s arms.

“I don’t— I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” you mumbled against the fabric of his hoodie, voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin sighed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

But it wasn’t okay. None of it was.

After a few minutes, he gently pulled away and wordlessly handed you a bottle of water he’d bought from a vending machine nearby. You took it with shaky hands, gulping down the cool liquid as if it could wash away the lump in your throat.

As you wiped your eyes, Hyunjin leaned against the streetlamp, watching you carefully. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you and Bangchan?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I wish I knew.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

With a deep, shaky breath, you finally let it spill. “It started as something casual. No expectations.” your fingers tightened around the water bottle. “But then he started pulling away. And I don’t know if it’s because he got bored, or if I did something wrong, or if this was always the plan. I don’t even know if I want more, but the fact that I’m this messed up over it?” you scoffed, blinking back fresh tears. “That has to mean something, right?”

Hyunjin exhaled, his gaze thoughtful. “Damn.”

You let out a wet laugh. “That’s all you got?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? That doesn’t sound casual to me.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew that. You knew that. But hearing it out loud made it real in a way you weren’t ready for.

You swallowed hard, voice small. “I got myself into this mess. I was the one who asked him to keep it a secret.”

Hyunjin frowned, his posture shifting. “Why?”

“Because I was scared,” you admitted, the words raw in your throat. “Scared of what people would say. Scared of the judgment. You know how it is—girls get torn apart for way less. And I worked too hard, cared too much to be reduced to just that girl who’s hooking up with Bangchan.” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “And now? Now I don’t even know how to deal with it. Because I was supposed to hate him, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, his usual teasing gone. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But you also don’t have to go through this alone.”

Your throat tightened. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” he bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re just in deep.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into his warmth as you both started walking again.

“Look, I don’t have the answers. But I do know you’re not crazy for feeling this way.” he squeezed your shoulder. “And if he’s too much of an idiot to see what he has, then maybe you should let him be the one losing sleep over it.”

You sniffled, managing a weak smile. “You’re my soulmate, Hyun.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing you a grin. “Now drink your water before you pass out, drama queen.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and for the first time that night, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

The day had finally arrived. Showtime. No matter how many times you’d done this, stepping on stage always felt like a first-time, heart-in-your-throat kind of thing.

Up in the audience, Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Sohee were posted a few rows above Mrs. Baek, waiting for you to do your thing. No pressure.

Backstage was quiet—eerily so. You sat there, taking slow, deep breaths, wiping your sweaty palms against your thighs like a seasoned pro in pre-show anxiety management. You were next. Three minutes. One shot. No room for mediocrity.

You’d chosen a song that wasn’t just sentimental—it was a statement. A vocal rollercoaster that climbed from deep, rich lows to a falsetto so clean it could cut glass. If you were going to go down, at least you’d do it swinging.

Reaching into your bag for your water bottle, you were mid-sip when movement in the distance caught your attention.

And just like that, reality glitched. Bangchan.

It was almost ridiculous how unreal he looked, like a mirage conjured from some fever dream. You hadn’t seen him in days, and yet here he was, strolling in like he hadn’t been living rent-free in your mind this whole damn time.

Laptop in hand, fingers flying across the keyboard, looking every bit the sound tech genius he was. You hadn’t expected him to actually show up for this gig, but—oh, look—there he was, punching buttons like he was defusing a bomb.

Then, he saw you. And something shifted.

His fingers stilled, tightening around the laptop.

The air was heavy. The tension was palpable. Whatever was going on between you two didn’t need words—it was written in every sharp breath, every stolen glance.

And just like that, your pre-show jitters had a new contender.

"Hi," you muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Bangchan gave you a small, polite smile—too polite. Something about it felt off. The usual spark in his eyes? Gone. And that was all it took for reality to sink in.

So that’s it, huh?

The game was over. You had your answer. He was done, and honestly? You couldn’t even be mad—because weren’t you just as much to blame?

Mrs. Baek’s voice cut through the buzzing in your head, thanking the student who had just finished performing. You’re next.

You turned away from Bangchan, unscrewed your water bottle, and took a long sip, willing yourself to focus. Breathe. Lock in. You’ve got this.

Then it happened. A warm touch on your waist—his touch.

Your body betrayed you instantly, heat rippling through your skin like a live wire. It had been days, and yet, all it took was this—a single touch—to remind you how much you’d missed him.

You spun around, frowning, swallowing hard as your gaze locked onto his.

Bangchan didn’t back down. If anything, he doubled down.

His arm lifted, caging you in the small space between you and the backstage wall, pulling your bodies so close it was downright insane. His head tilted slightly, studying you, reading every little reaction like he already knew the ending to this story.

Without warning, Bangchan crashed his lips onto yours, his free hand gripping your waist like he had no plans of letting go. His palm slid up your back, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt, branding heat into your skin.

You barely had time to process before his tongue was in your mouth, claiming, demanding—like he was making up for every second of distance between you.

A sound slipped past your lips—a mix between a sigh and a moan, involuntary, unstoppable.

God, you hated how easily he unraveled you. And worse? You loved it too.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatshirt, yanking him closer—like you needed him just a little closer, just a little longer. Your lips moved in sync, deepening the moment, drowning out everything else.

Then—

Mrs. Baek’s voice rang through the backstage, shouting your name.

Then reality crashed back in.

But instead of nerves clawing at your stomach, instead of the suffocating pressure you’d felt moments ago, there was something lighter—something electric. Like a field of wildflowers blooming where anxiety used to sit.

You pulled back, panting, heart racing, but this time? You were smiling. Bangchan, just as breathless, leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Break a leg," he murmured.

And just like that, you knew you would.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely

[kiszjuli]

PERFECT EXCUSE .ᐟ

✸ playful!chenle x fem!reader | genre. fluff | w.c 2.2k | ♡

↳synopsis. you never cared much for valentine’s day. it’s not that you needed to, because school was more important. however, when you get roped into a (stupid) day at the valentine’s day fair, with the annoyingly charming zhong chenle, maybe your perspective will change.

↳playlist. good days - sza. the perfect pair - beabadoobee. bad - wavetoearth. rainbow - nct dream. sunflower - swae lee. love countdown - nayeon.

valentine’s day at college was a disaster waiting to happen. at least, that’s how you’d always viewed it. all the heart-shaped decorations, the excessive amounts of candy, the couples holding hands like they were somehow more in love because of the date on the calendar. it was just a lot of noise—unnecessary noise at that. your life was perfectly organized, your time always scheduled, and you certainly didn’t need some manufactured holiday reminding you that romance existed.

but, of course, your best friend mia had other plans.

“please, just come with me,” mia begged, standing in your dorm doorway, her eyes wide and pleading. “you know i can’t go alone, and honestly, i need you to go so i can be with felix. i’ll owe you, i swear. just this once. for me?”

you rolled your eyes. felix was mia’s crush—one of your other friends who had a thing for always being the center of attention. you couldn’t really say no, knowing how much it meant to her, especially since she’d been talking about him nonstop for weeks. if she wasn’t your best friend, you would’ve said no.

“fine,” you muttered, sighing, setting your textbooks down. “but i’m only coming because you’re clearly desperate, and i’m not staying long.”

mia’s face lit up as if you’d just given her the world. “you’re the best! i’ll make it worth your while, i promise.” she ran to you, attacking you in a hug.

—

so here you were, standing outside the valentine’s day fair on campus, which, unsurprisingly, looked like cupid threw up. balloons floated lazily above booths, and the scent of cotton candy and fried food was everywhere. people roamed around in pairs, couples wrapped in the gooey sweetness of the holiday, while you tried your best to keep the grimace off your face.

“i’m going to go find felix,” mia said, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. “you’re fine here. i’ll text you in a bit.” she dashed off before you could even say anything in protest. your words dying on your tongue as you sighed deeply.

great, you thought. now you were stuck in the middle of this chaos, alone and—if you were being honest—irritated. you wandered toward the game booths, wondering how long you could fake having fun, a familiar voice called out from behind you.

“hey, you’re not trying to sneak off and study, are you?”

you turned to find zhong chenle leaning against one of the booths, casually sipping from a drink, his bright smile practically glowing in the chaos around you. chenle was the kind of guy who could brighten up a room with barely any effort. always cheerful, always a little too playful, he had a way of dragging you into whatever ridiculous situation he was in—whether you liked it or not.

“chenle,” you said with a sigh, trying not to let your annoyance show. “what are you doing here?”

“i could ask you the same thing.” he grinned. “are you here for the lovey dovey atmosphere, or for the free candy?”

you crossed your arms. “neither. i’m here because mia begged me to come. and now i’m completely regretting it.”

he laughed at that, his voice like music, light and easy. “you know, it’s not so bad once you give in. the fair’s actually kinda fun, once you stop being all… ‘up tight’ about everything.”

you shot him a glare. “i’m not ‘up tight.’ i just have better things to do than waste my time at some cheesy fair.”

chenle raised an eyebrow and stepped closer. “you say that now. you’re already stuck here so…might as well make it worth your while.”

you didn’t know why, but his playful tone made you feel slightly… off balance. you’d never been good at letting go of your well-structured plans, but something about his easy confidence made you want to step outside your comfort zone. you shook the thought away.

“yeah, well, mia’s gone, and i’m stuck walking around by myself, in a place where i don’t really wanna be. not really my idea of fun.”

“stuck?” chenle tilted his head, as if considering your words. “you don’t have to be stuck.” his grin widened. “here, how about this? us. you. me. valentine’s day fair.”

you blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “what?”

“no, seriously,” he said, his voice dropping to a playful, almost firm tone. “i’m asking you out. right here, right now. us, enjoying the fair.” his grin was wide, but there was an edge of sincerity to his words that caught you off guard.

you almost laughed, half in disbelief. “you’re asking me out—here? now?”

chenle shrugged, unfazed. “why not? where better to then here? what else is valentine’s day about if not taking chances?”

you stared at him for a long moment, your mind racing. it wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed chenle’s charm or the way he made everything seem easier than it was. but asking you out here? it was so out there, so unlike the controlled life you were used to.

“i don’t know…” you said slowly, shaking your head. “i have a lot of work to do, and—”

“hey, hey.” chenle cut you off, his voice almost pleading, but still playful. “come on. just one day, no homework, no plans. just us and some fun what do you say?”

you felt yourself still hesitating. for all your plans and your need to be in control, something about the way he said it made you think that maybe, just maybe, you could let go for once.

“i see it, you’re giving in,” he smirks pointing at you.

“fine,” you said, a little too quickly, surprising yourself. “one hour. and i’m nothing cheesy,”

chenle’s grin was so wide, you swore he was glowing. “deal.”

and just like that, you found yourself swept up into whatever mess chenle had in mind for the day.

—

“you won’t regret this,” chenle says, grinning as he tugs you forward, weaving through the crowd. his grip on your wrist is light, like he knows you could change your mind at any second. and honestly, you might.

it was way too loud for your liking. screams and yells ring through the air, couples walking past hand in hand, some holding oversized stuffed animals, others sharing pink cotton candy like something straight out of a cliché rom-com. exactly the kind of thing you didn’t sign up for.

“i already regret it,” you mutter, adjusting your bag strap.

chenle hums like he doesn’t hear you—or, more likely, like he’s choosing not to.

then he stops, turning to face you with a dramatic flourish. “so, where should we start our date?”

you groan, smacking his arm. “this is not a date.”

chenle only laughs. “alright, alright. how about something simple? games?” he gestures toward the ones with flashing lights and prizes hanging from the ceilings—rows of giant plushies, novelty heart pillows, and even a ridiculously large teddy bear.

you eye the setup warily. “you mean the games that are totally rigged?”

“that’s loser talk.” he slings an arm over your shoulders before you can protest, steering you toward the booths. his warmth is distracting, and you hate how easy it is for him to act like this—like this whole thing is normal.

he stops in front of a classic ring toss booth, plopping down a few bills. “three tries,” the vendor says, handing over the rings.

chenle smirks, holding up a ring between two fingers. “watch and learn.”

you cross your arms. “you’re gonna lose.”

“you doubt me? me?” he presses a hand over his chest in mock offense. “that hurts. deeply.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch, barely holding back a grin. and maybe you’re just a little curious to see if he can actually win.

the first ring bounces off the bottle. the second does the same.

you glance at him, smug. “loser talk, huh?”

chenle exhales, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to take the final shot of an nba game. then, he tosses the last ring.

it lands perfectly.

the booth lights flash, and the vendor claps once. “winner!”

chenle throws his arms up like he just won an olympic gold medal, then turns to you, triumphant. “see? skill.”

you shake your head, unimpressed. “that was luck.”

“skill,” he repeats, accepting the prize. a heart-shaped plushie. he turns to you, eyes twinkling, and before you can react, he presses it into your arms.

you blink down at it. “what—”

“you did say no cheesy stuff, but, y’know.” he shrugs. “couldn’t help myself.”

your fingers tighten around the plushie despite yourself. you tell yourself it means nothing. that he’s just being his usual, annoying self.

but when you look up, he’s already watching you, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.

and for the first time tonight, you don’t have a quick comeback.

—

you don’t know when it happens—when the reluctant acceptance of being here turns into something else, something dangerously close to enjoying yourself. it had been at least an hour by now, you didn’t notice, not keeping track anymore.

maybe it’s when chenle insists on buying you a strawberry milkshake, claiming it matches the “valentine’s aesthetic” before promptly stealing half of it with a smug grin. or maybe it’s when he drags you to the dart booth, loses spectacularly, and then pouts at you until you give up your last attempt—only for you to actually win, leaving him in stunned silence before he bursts into laughter.

“i can’t believe this,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “this is the worst day of my life.”

you snort, sipping the remnants of your milkshake. “you’re just mad i’m better than you.”

chenle lowers his arm, watching you with that ever-present amusement in his eyes. “nah, i’m just mad i have to give you all my future winnings now. gotta keep my girl’s record clean.”

you freeze.

he doesn’t, not even for a second, like he didn’t just say something that sent your brain into overdrive. instead, he steps closer, leaning in slightly. “huh. no comeback?”

your fingers tighten around the stuffed bear he won for you earlier, and you tear your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. “shut up.”

he laughs, the sound rich and full, and for once, you don’t mind being the reason for it.

the realization hits you then—soft but certain. you like being here. you like chenle. you had for a while; behind all the sourness you felt towards him, hearing his laugh, bubbly personality, and seeing his stupid smile. and the worst part? you don’t even want to fight it anymore.

—

the sun has nearly set, casting the fairgrounds in a golden haze, and you swear the air feels different—softer, warmer, like the world itself is urging you to stay in this moment a little longer.

“okay,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “this wasn’t terrible.”

chenle turns to you, grinning like he’s just won the biggest prize of the night. “that’s it? that’s all i get?”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “okay, fine. i had fun, okay?”

he hums, clearly satisfied, and nudges your shoulder with his. “good. now let’s end on a high note.”

you don’t even have time to question it before he’s steering you toward the ferris wheel. the line is short, and before you can put up a fight—not that you’re sure you even want to—he’s already handing over tickets, tugging you into one of the cars.

the ride begins, slow and steady, lifting you above the fair, above the laughter and music, until all that’s left is the quiet hum of the night and the soft glow of carnival lights below.

chenle leans back, stretching out like he owns the place, but then he turns his head, watching you carefully. “so?”

you glance at him. “so what?”

he tilts his head, eyes warm, knowing. “so, am i growing on you?”

you’ve always thought of chenle as loud, unpredictable, a little too confident for his own good. but here, in the quiet, you see something else—the way his eyes search yours like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, the way his fingers tap idly against his knee, like he’s waiting for something.

you let out a breath of laughter, but your heart betrays you, beating faster than it should. you should have a snarky response, something quick and teasing, but all you can do is hold his gaze, the space between you charged with something unspoken.

he shifts closer, not enough to cross a line, but enough to make it clear—if you wanted to close the gap, he wouldn’t stop you.

your fingers tighten around the stuffed bear in your lap.

“maybe,” you whisper.

chenle’s smile softens, and then he gently reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering just a second too long.

the ferris wheel slows, grounding you, but as you look at him, at the way he’s watching you like he’s memorizing every detail, you realize something—

maybe you don’t mind falling, after all.

—

taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpufffck @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yomaman @yukisroom97

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ

[tinrange]

Gelboys Thoughts 1

Zoom classes wow my eye just started twitching.

Blocking on spotify as the first move what 17 yr old was involved in the writing team ctfu.

07s in 10th grade... okay so that places the timeline of show uncomfortably close to my own graduation so this might make me spiral.

This ITSAY mirror moment. Boss Only knows how to make reflective work!

I love making the characters so sticker laden, thats exactly what 2022 felt like and it makes their insecurities starkly apparent when they attempt to cover them with vibrancy.

Google maps mention. So charming to have a show that cares to integrate technology as life.

Actually as springboard thats why i loved the blocking montage from earlier. Nothing is really over until youve released them from your circle and ousted them from your life, and robbing people of the ability to See You online is such a statement of intent even if you end up caving later on in person.

Finding someone on ig using the location tag. Okay this is getting real scurry.

Purposely liking someonee oldest pic to show interest is Nasty FIEND behavior. Run!!!!!!!

The stylization of the chargers just made my eyes well up with tears almost. Its indicative of how gently the production is treating their interior lives, everyones charger is different and vibrant just like their lives and these phones serve as points of contact to each other in more ways than one. Theyre gathered and theyre a Group.

Getting caught eavesdropping and watching through your phone so you pretend to take a photo. #real #beenthere #theyweretakingnotesfromme

Absolutely obsessed over the editing of this show, its as maximalist and overbearing as all feelings are in highschool. Emotions spill out of you at that age and the overbearing nature of them can be as blinding as all that neon and all these fast cuts.

Heard that this was filmed on phone and I love that in some scenes theres a conscious decision to allow it to be Phone Quality.

Chian is such a problem cryingggg

I really love how this show respects that social media is an extension of self for youth, and in doing so how it shows respect to a younger generation. A majority of highschool media now is created by those who had to come of age as technology became accessible without regard to how thats changed. Chian following Fou4mod is framed as a big deal because it is; if its not an exchange of accounts the act of following is never casual. You had to think of the person, find their account, and put yourself in the vulnerable position of being caught thinking of them. Online accounts as a barrier carry a weight thats often dismissed but this story cannot work without allowing this moment to have heft. If a follow is just a follow then situationships (like hes probably about to be in with Chian) cannot work, Chian showed his cards and made Fou4mod feel like he has less to lose because he took such an Important Step. Lesser shows have made fun of that step!

Thats all to say Chian is definitely a problem and he probably needs to get his ass whooped in the near future (^-^;

Chian barely follows anyone... hes true to this life unfortunately. My thoughts are with Fou4mod this is about to be a life altering relationship (Extremely Negative).

The iphone change has been taking me out like highschool really is about being a follower until youve carved an identity.

Watching it put to screen wow social media really did change dating into an intricate ritual bc i audibly groaned when he asked for the air drop... like no u cant be seen caring! Thats bad! We need to save the youth from this reality Every queer person must uninstall hinge now.

CHIAN IS SO SINISTER OMG SAVE FOU4MOD

"I'll let you know" "you can go first" girl i gotta turn this off now im breaking out in hives.

Playlist sharing to flirt... they were watching me edate in HS

I feel strangely emotional after watching that. There is such a dearth of television about the youth of people in mid genz who were in highschool or beginning uni during the pandemic. Every show produced and set in high school recently has been extremely nostalgic, set in a recent past, or almost out of time in a world where social media is not as important and COVID didnt fundamentally change communications and relationships as a whole.

As someone who spent a longer time in highschool than most people do, I dont think I've seen something so insightful since American Vandal. That show understood the slow nature of highschool in the later 2010s, it understood the uncomfortableness that lurks beneath your skin as a teenager and showcased it with that perpetually hazy and lazy filter that the soundcloud rap era felt like.

This show takes the exact opposite approach, COVID made all the teens and kids view technology As Them. A teenager in 2020 and 2021 was their phone because to take that away from them was to cut off any and all outside connection they had, something that was especially true for queer youth who already felt that alienation in their identity. Its lovely to see traces of that put to screen and treated with kindness, and it allows for the aesthetic maximalism to be justified through the sheer desperation they have to Truly Participate in life once again.

Really excited to watch this continue, I think its really funny how instead of ITSAYs longing and self flagellation (which was also extremely late 2010s) gelboys is fast moving and almost refuses to dwindle on their internal worlds so far, these teens just want to be out there doing things. The changed public life for kids directly after the pandemic and before the conservative pendulum swing is such a fun period to explore, I loved this first ep immensely.

[redge]

Things I read on the internet that's a declaration of hate for Kana and my reaction (hoping I feel better after typing them all out)

"Kana makes everything about herself"

Did she want to be an idol? Did she want to be a center girl? (Girlie don't even know what a center girl is hahahaha). In Tokyo Blade, did she want the spotlight? That one time Kana wanted anything for herself is when she told Aqua her new dream. She did not even have a graduation concert. She did not have that movie that director told her about. In 137, she was praised for being a handy actor that can uplift others and improve herself and was described as "lacks opportunity" and many chapters after that, she still did not have an opportunity for herself. Kaburagi said they'd sell her as genius actor but that was not addressed anymore. So where is that she makes everything about herself when nothing was sbout her anyway? Not the idol career. Not as an actress. Not as a human loved back by the one she loves. She did not become anything she ever wanted so really how was this all about her? No I really want to know, how did Kana make everything about herself? Like I am really curious where this is coming from ah why do you hate Kana so much? 🥺

"___ best girl compared to Kana who only cries all the time"

Why can't we just go with the "____ best girl." period. Why do you need to put down a character to praise another character I am genuinely curious. I mean my favourite character has always been Kana but not ever did I hate on Akane or Ruby or anyone because why would I when all these characters have different stories of their own? And why do these girls need to compete with each other anyway?! Who's giving out the crown and sash? What's the point??? Your favourite is the best girl for you. Okay! Other's favourite is best girl for them. Okay, too! That's perfectly normal so why are you fighting each other I do not understand 😭

"despicable for slapping a corpse"

Kana slapping Aqua was something that belonged to them. No one knows that conversation except Aqua and Kana (and us, the readers). Miyako's reaction was very valid because she does not know anything about that conversation. Which is why when Kana told that to the dead Aqua, Miyako's reaction wasn't angry anymore. Miyako was in tears. I honestly would have killed Aqua twice if I were Kana really so a slap is nothing compared to the emotional wreck being in their lives brought her. Kana deserves to be slapped for hurting a corpse yes I agree but Aqua deserves that slap too for thinking that him dying is the great solution to whatever problem they're trying to solve.

"Kana is useless"

And what a heartbreak that is. Kana is perservering, patiently working on all the things she want to happen and absolutely nothing went her way. Kana is a representation of someone that tried and tried patiently but everything she did just made her feel useless. She grabs every opportunity, creates opportunity for herself but she is never enough. If killing one's self was a contest, I'd definitely compete Arima Kana as candidate. I would even forgive her if she just goes feral all of a sudden with all of the things that happened to her. She's useless, you say, but was that her fault?

"Kana does not deserve to be happy"

and why not? I say everyone in Oshi no Ko deserves to be happy. So why deny that to Kana?

But really. Why is she getting so much hate?

[iholli]

robot,,, bf,,, my beloved,,,

[self-spaghettification]

anyone else have a playlist of just a few songs that in the context of the dragon prince emotionally wrench them like a lot or just me 😃

[snorfbin]

.

[fushitoru]

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying. 

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college. 

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice. 

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants. 

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

 but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order. 

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?” 

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless. 

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t. 

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back. 

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance. 

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason. 

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence. 

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age.  “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.”

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself. 

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim. 

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you. 

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily. 

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class. 

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo. 

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit. 

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like. 

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill. 

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

 they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles. 

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them. 

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle,  you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details. 

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds. 

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over. 

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see  someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge. 

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since. 

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged.  but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof. 

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you. 

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion. 

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry. 

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him. 

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?” 

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around. 

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your  hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you.  “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?” 

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants. 

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single. 

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet. 

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down. 

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?” 

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness. 

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.  

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”  

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”  

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”  

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.  

“do what?”  

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”  

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”  

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”  

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”  

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.  

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.  

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.  

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.  

your breath catches. “satoru…”  

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.  

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.  

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.  

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.  

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.  

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.  

that’s when he freezes.  

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.  

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.  

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”  

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”  

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”  

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”  

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”  

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.  

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”  

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.  

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole. 

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink. 

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up. 

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours. 

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake. 

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him. 

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts. 

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you. 

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

 “satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you. 

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.” 

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

 satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.” 

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

[samwisethewitch]

Homemaking, gardening, and self-sufficiency resources that won't radicalize you into a hate group

It seems like self-sufficiency and homemaking skills are blowing up right now. With the COVID-19 pandemic and the current economic crisis, a lot of folks, especially young people, are looking to develop skills that will help them be a little bit less dependent on our consumerist economy. And I think that's generally a good thing. I think more of us should know how to cook a meal from scratch, grow our own vegetables, and mend our own clothes. Those are good skills to have.

Unfortunately, these "self-sufficiency" skills are often used as a recruiting tactic by white supremacists, TERFs, and other hate groups. They become a way to reconnect to or relive the "good old days," a romanticized (false) past before modern society and civil rights. And for a lot of people, these skills are inseparably connected to their politics and may even be used as a tool to indoctrinate new people.

In the spirit of building safe communities, here's a complete list of the safe resources I've found for learning homemaking, gardening, and related skills. Safe for me means queer- and trans-friendly, inclusive of different races and cultures, does not contain Christian preaching, and does not contain white supremacist or TERF dog whistles.

Homemaking/Housekeeping/Caring for your home:

Making It by Kelly Coyne and Erik Knutzen [book] (The big crunchy household DIY book; includes every level of self-sufficiency from making your own toothpaste and laundry soap to setting up raised beds to butchering a chicken. Authors are explicitly left-leaning.)

Safe and Sound: A Renter-Friendly Guide to Home Repair by Mercury Stardust [book] (A guide to simple home repair tasks, written with rentals in mind; very compassionate and accessible language.)

How To Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis [book] (The book about cleaning and housework for people who get overwhelmed by cleaning and housework, based on the premise that messiness is not a moral failing; disability and neurodivergence friendly; genuinely changed how I approach cleaning tasks.)

Gardening

Rebel Gardening by Alessandro Vitale [book] (Really great introduction to urban gardening; explicitly discusses renter-friendly garden designs in small spaces; lots of DIY solutions using recycled materials; note that the author lives in England, so check if plants are invasive in your area before putting them in the ground.)

Country/Rural Living:

Woodsqueer by Gretchen Legler [book] (Memoir of a lesbian who lives and works on a rural farm in Maine with her wife; does a good job of showing what it's like to be queer in a rural space; CW for mentions of domestic violence, infidelity/cheating, and internalized homophobia)

"Debunking the Off-Grid Fantasy" by Maggie Mae Fish [video essay] (Deconstructs the off-grid lifestyle and the myth of self-reliance)

Sewing/Mending:

Annika Victoria [YouTube channel] (No longer active, but their videos are still a great resource for anyone learning to sew; check out the beginner project playlist to start. This is where I learned a lot of what I know about sewing.)

Make, Sew, and Mend by Bernadette Banner [book] (A very thorough written introduction to hand-sewing, written by a clothing historian; lots of fun garment history facts; explicitly inclusive of BIPOC, queer, and trans sewists.)

Sustainability/Land Stewardship

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer [book] (Most of you have probably already read this one or had it recommended to you, but it really is that good; excellent example of how traditional animist beliefs -- in this case, indigenous American beliefs -- can exist in healthy symbiosis with science; more philosophy than how-to, but a great foundational resource.)

Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer [book] (This one is for my fellow witches; one of my favorite witchcraft books, and an excellent example of a place-based practice deeply rooted in the land.)

Avoiding the "Crunchy to Alt Right Pipeline"

Note: the "crunchy to alt-right pipeline" is a term used to describe how white supremacists and other far right groups use "crunchy" spaces (i.e., spaces dedicated to farming, homemaking, alternative medicine, simple living/slow living, etc.) to recruit and indoctrinate people into their movements. Knowing how this recruitment works can help you recognize it when you do encounter it and avoid being influenced by it.

"The Crunchy-to-Alt-Right Pipeline" by Kathleen Belew [magazine article] (Good, short introduction to this issue and its history.)

Sisters in Hate by Seyward Darby (I feel like I need to give a content warning: this book contains explicit descriptions of racism, white supremacy, and Neo Nazis, and it's a very difficult read, but it really is a great, in-depth breakdown of the role women play in the alt-right; also explicitly addresses the crunchy to alt-right pipeline.)

These are just the resources I've personally found helpful, so if anyone else has any they want to add, please, please do!

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[021894s]

TANGLED DESIRES- p.sh

PAIRING: enemy!sunghoon x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: At a prestigious private school, you and Park Sunghoon are locked in a constant rivalry. During a party at your friend Karina’s, a heated argument between you two escalates into an unexpected, passionate encounter. The next morning, you wake up in his arms, forcing both of you to confront the new, complicated tension between you. As you navigate the fallout and shifting feelings, you start to question if your biggest enemy might actually be something much more.

GENRE: enemies to lovers, rich kids au

WARNINGS: smut (unprotected sex, oral sex) rivalry, hurt feelings, angst. ALL ARE OF AGE

wc: 15.4k

You attend the most prestigious school in Korea, where the sky-high tuition fees are only accessible to those born into pure wealth. This elite institution is a playground for the richest families, and your name is synonymous with success. Your family, being the owners of one of Korea’s top corporations, you seem to have everything at your fingertips—a glamorous life of luxury, an enviable social circle, and endless opportunities.

To the outside world, you’re the quintessential rich girl: impeccably stylish, effortlessly popular, and seemingly flawless. Yet beneath this polished veneer lies a different reality. Despite your privileged upbringing, you’re kind-hearted, fiercely intelligent, and deeply dedicated to everything you do. Your friend group, including Jake, Jay, Heeseung, Sunoo, Niki, Jungwon, Yuna, and Karina, forms a close-knit circle that navigates the pressures of their world together.

But there’s always been one glaring exception: Park Sunghoon. The feud between the two of you is infamous, an unspoken tension that pulses beneath the surface of your otherwise harmonious friendships. No one really knows how it started, and no one seems to care enough to unravel it. Instead, everyone just tolerates your constant bickering.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The lunch table is alive with conversation, the usual chatter amplified by the excitement of the latest gossip. Karina sits comfortably beside Heeseung, leaning into him with an easy confidence that only she can pull off. She’s in the middle of talking about her parents’ latest venture—something about opening another resort somewhere exotic—when she casually drops the bomb.

“So, they’re gone for the whole weekend,” she says, her voice loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. “And you know what that means…”

Jake perks up immediately, his eyes bright. “Party?”

Karina grins. “Obviously. Saturday night, my place. No theme this time, just show up and bring your best energy.”

Yuna claps her hands in excitement. “Finally! It’s been forever since the last one. I was starting to forget what a real party looks like.”

Jay laughs. “As if you’d ever forget. You practically live for these things.”

Yuna sticks her tongue out at him, but her smile doesn’t waver. “Guilty as charged.”

Heeseung wraps an arm around Karina’s shoulders, looking amused. “You’re not worried about your parents finding out?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, they won’t even notice. And even if they do, what’s the worst that could happen? They’ll just buy me something to make up for being gone.”

“Must be nice,” Niki mutters, leaning back in his chair.

Sunoo nudges him with a grin. “Oh, come on, don’t act like you’re not excited. You were the first one to ask about the music last time.”

Niki shrugs, but he can’t hide his smile. “Yeah, well, only if it’s not Sunghoon’s terrible playlist again.”

You glance across the table, catching Sunghoon’s eye. He’s lounging back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “My playlist was fine, thank you very much,” he retorts. “It’s not my fault you have no taste.”

You snort. “Please, Sunghoon, your taste in music is as bad as your taste in everything else.”

He looks over at you, eyebrow raised. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Nothing, just that your definition of ‘good’ is highly questionable.”

He chuckles, the sound low and irritatingly smug. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Karina cuts in, sensing the rising tension. “Alright, let’s not turn this into another one of your little spats. Save it for the party, okay?”

Sunghoon smirks, still looking at you. “Looking forward to it already.”

You roll your eyes but can’t resist shooting back, “Don’t get too excited, I might just ignore you all night.”

“Oh, the horror,” he replies, his voice dripping with mock terror. “How will I ever survive?”

Jay laughs, nudging Jake. “You know, one day they might actually get along.”

Jake shakes his head, grinning. “Nah, where’s the fun in that?”

Karina steers the conversation back to the party details, running through a list of essentials while Heeseung nods along, offering suggestions. “Invite whoever you want,” she says, “oh except luci, last time I caught her giving mark head in my parents bedroom, I haven’t been able to go in there since.”

You laugh and nod in agreement, trying not to notice how Sunghoon is still watching you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you wonder what’s going through his head, but then you push the thought away. Whatever it is, it’s probably nothing you need to worry about.

Karina claps her hands, bringing the attention back to her. “So, everyone’s in?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and the table erupts into a mix of laughter and excited chatter as plans start to form. You glance over at Sunghoon one more time, catching his eye for a brief second before looking away. This party is already shaping up to be interesting… and you have a feeling that’s an understatement.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The lunch buzz still lingers in your ears as the group makes its way back across the pristine campus grounds. The sunlight reflects off the sleek, modern architecture of the school’s main building, and you can’t help but admire the way everything here seems to sparkle—like even the bricks and mortar are aware of the school's prestige.

You find yourself walking beside Karina, who’s still chatting excitedly about the party, while Heeseung stays close, throwing in a comment or two. Yuna and Sunoo are a few steps ahead, their heads bent together as they giggle over something on Sunoo’s phone. You catch Jake and Jay trailing behind, still debating something about sports cars or the best summer destinations.

Just as you’re about to reach the entrance, you feel a presence beside you. You don’t need to turn your head to know who it is; Sunghoon always manages to sidle up to you when you least expect it.

“What, are you following me now?” you ask, not breaking your stride.

He chuckles. “Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself. It just so happens our lockers are in the same direction.”

“Right,” you drawl, rolling your eyes. “Like you don’t go out of your way to annoy me.”

He glances at you, smirk still firmly in place. “Maybe I just like seeing you get all riled up. It’s entertaining.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can fire back a retort, the group reaches the main hallway. The chatter from the student body fills the air, a mix of excitement and post-lunch drowsiness. The smell of expensive cologne and designer perfumes lingers in the air, an unmistakable signature of the school’s elite.

Karina stops at her locker, Heeseung leaning against it with a casual arm draped over her shoulder. She turns to you, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “So, you’re coming early on Saturday, right? I need a hand setting things up.”

You nod, grateful for the distraction from Sunghoon. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Great!” She beams. “And maybe you can help me make sure everything stays under control. You know how things can get with this crowd.”

Heeseung laughs softly. “Good luck with that. I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to keep Sunoo and Niki under control for more than five minutes.”

As if on cue, Sunoo pops up beside you with a grin. “I heard that, Heeseung! I’m an angel, thank you very much.”

Niki appears at his side, raising an eyebrow. “An angel of chaos, maybe.”

The group laughs, and you feel the tension in your shoulders ease. It’s moments like these that make all the bickering and drama feel worth it.

But then, just as you’re about to make another comment, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the noise. “So, Y/N,” he says casually, “what are you going to wear to the party? Let me guess… something that screams ‘trying too hard’?”

You whip your head around, narrowing your eyes at him. “And what are you planning on wearing, Sunghoon? Something that screams ‘I own everything but a personality’?”

There’s a collective gasp from your friends, followed by a chorus of laughter. Sunghoon raises his eyebrows, feigning a look of hurt. “Ouch, that one actually stung a little. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You cross your arms, feeling a triumphant smile tug at your lips. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Try me.”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that only you can hear. “Maybe I will,” he says, his eyes flicking over you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. “But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to get under my skin.”

You’re about to retort when a voice interrupts. “Can we get through one day without you two turning everything into a competition?” Jay sighs, looking exasperated. “Seriously, it’s exhausting just watching you.”

Jake nods in agreement, though he’s grinning. “You guys need to find a new hobby. Preferably one that doesn’t involve verbal sparring in the middle of the hallway.”

You shrug, unable to resist the urge to keep poking at Sunghoon. “I’m open to suggestions, but I doubt Sunghoon has any better ideas.”

Sunghoon leans back, crossing his arms with a playful smile. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas. But I think you’d be too scared to try them.”

Before you can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Karina groans. “Ugh, saved by the bell. I guess we’ll have to pick this up later.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

As everyone starts to disperse to their respective classes, Sunghoon gives you one last look, a challenge in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is beating just a little faster. You can’t help but wonder what exactly he’s planning… and why a part of you is actually looking forward to finding out.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The day of the party arrives with a crisp, clear sky and a hint of excitement that seems to permeate every corner of the city. You wake up early, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous energy. Karina had texted you the night before, reminding you to come over in the afternoon to help set up for the party. You agreed eagerly, knowing that any opportunity to help would give you something to focus on and take your mind off the strange tension building between you and Sunghoon.

When you arrive at Karina’s mansion, the house is buzzing with activity. Karina’s housekeeper greets you at the door with a warm smile, directing you to the large, open-plan living area where Karina is already busy coordinating the decorations with a small army of helpers. The space is being transformed into a glamorous party venue with twinkling lights, elegant table settings, and a dance floor that looks like it’s straight out of a high-end club.

Karina spots you as soon as you walk in, her face lighting up with relief and excitement. “Y/N! Perfect timing. I’m so glad you’re here. We could use an extra pair of hands.”

You smile, rolling up your sleeves. “What can I do to help?”

Karina hands you a stack of neatly folded napkins and points towards a table covered with party favors. “Start by setting these up on the tables. I want everything to look perfect tonight.”

You get to work, organizing napkins and arranging snack trays, chatting with Karina about the last-minute details. The hours fly by as you work alongside her, the room gradually coming together into a setting that is unmistakably Karina’s style—classy, sophisticated, and just a bit over the top.

As the afternoon drifts into evening, Karina claps her hands and gathers you for a brief break. “Alright, it’s time for a quick change. You’ve been working so hard, and I want you to look as fabulous as the rest of the evening.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-teasing. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Karina waves her hand dismissively. “you don’t want me to answer that. cmon you’re hot, why not show off a little?”

Before you can protest, Karina ushers you into her bedroom and pulls out a sleek, little black dress from her closet. The dress is short and simple with a cut that accentuates your figure without being too revealing.

“Put this on,” Karina insists, handing you the dress. “Trust me, you’ll look amazing. And don’t worry about the hair and makeup; I’ve got that covered too.”

You change quickly, admiring the way the dress fits and the way it makes you feel more confident and glamorous. When you step out of the room, Karina is waiting with a professional-looking makeup kit and a few hair tools.

As she works on your hair and makeup, she chatters away, filling the room with her usual upbeat energy. “you look sexy”

You smile at her reflection in the mirror. “Thanks, Karina. You don’t think it’s a bit much? It’s definitely more out there than I usually go for”.

Karina beams, finishing up with a final touch of lipstick. “babe there’s no such thing as too much. And who knows, maybe you’ll catch someone eye tonight,” she tells you with a wink.

With a laugh and a final look at yourself in the mirror, you feel a surge of excitement. The dress feels perfect, and the makeup and hair make you look polished and ready for the night. As you head back downstairs, you catch sight of Karina’s smile of approval, and you can’t help but feel a bit more confident about the evening ahead.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The music starts pumping through the walls as you and Karina make your way back downstairs. The final touches have been set, and the room looks like a scene straight out of a teen movie: fairy lights strung up in every corner, a couple of disco balls catching the light just right, and a dance floor that practically begs people to let loose. Karina surveys everything with a grin that stretches from ear to ear.

“See?” she says, nudging you with her elbow. “This is why I always go all out.”

You chuckle, glancing around. “Okay, okay, you were right. This does look kind of amazing.”

The doorbell rings, and Karina practically bounces on her toes. “That must be the first guests! Come on, we have to greet everyone in style.”

The two of you rush to the front door, and soon enough, your friends start streaming in. Sunoo is the first to arrive, with Niki and Jungwon right behind him. They all look ready to have the best night ever, and Sunoo immediately zeroes in on you, his eyes going wide.

“Oh. My. God. Y/N!” Sunoo exclaims dramatically, clutching his chest. “Look at you in that little black dress! Who is she?!”

You roll your eyes, fighting back a grin. “Alright, Sunoo, calm down. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s not just a dress,” Niki interjects with a grin. “It’s the dress. Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

Jungwon nudges Niki. “Yeah, spill. Is there someone you’re hoping to catch the eye of?”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “Oh, please, like I’d tell you guys even if there was.”

More of your friends arrive, and soon the room is buzzing with chatter and laughter. Jake and Jay show up not long after, both of them effortlessly cool as always. Jay immediately gets to work DJ-ing from his phone, while Jake heads to the makeshift bar, already concocting a round of mixed drinks.

Then, just as you start to relax, you see him—Park Sunghoon. He steps in, looking annoyingly good in a casual black button-down and jeans. His eyes scan the room until they find you. For a split second, he looks almost surprised, but then his trademark smirk appears.

“Well, well,” Sunghoon says as he strolls over to you, hands casually shoved into his pockets. “Look who decided to play dress-up. You got a hot date tonight or something?”

You scoff, giving him a look. “Oh, please, Sunghoon. Unlike you, I don’t have to try so hard to impress everyone.”

Sunghoon chuckles, leaning in just slightly. “Right. Because you just show up looking like that for fun?”

Before you can shoot back a retort, Karina swoops in, looping her arm through yours. “Hey, Sunghoon, quit being a troll. Y/N looks amazing, and you know it. Now go get a drink and try to be nice for once!”

He holds up his hands, his grin widening. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave... for now.”

You watch as he saunters off to join Jake at the bar, and Karina gives you a knowing look. “Don’t let him get under your skin tonight, okay?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, even though you’re still buzzing from his teasing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The party is in full swing now—music thumping, people laughing, and the lights twinkling overhead like stars. You find yourself swept up in the fun, moving from one conversation to the next, the earlier tension with Sunghoon momentarily forgotten. You’re by the snack table, popping a few chips into your mouth when Haechan sidles up next to you with his signature grin.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says smoothly, leaning in a little closer than necessary. “Looking good tonight. That dress is seriously working for you.”

You smile at him, amused by his blatant flirting. “Thanks, Haechan. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, playing along. He’s always been a harmless flirt, and you don’t mind the attention tonight.

He grins wider, clearly pleased. “I try. But seriously, I can’t believe I’m just now noticing how stunning you are. Were you hiding this whole time or just waiting for the perfect moment to make your grand entrance?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, you know me. Always dramatic,” you joke, and he chuckles, leaning in a bit more.

“You’re full of surprises, Y/N. Makes me want to know you better,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, and you can’t help but laugh at his over-the-top delivery.

What you don’t notice is that from across the room, Sunghoon has been watching the entire interaction with a growing frown. He’s leaning against a wall, a drink in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches Haechan lean closer to you, flashing that charming smile. His jaw tightens, and his grip on the cup becomes visibly tighter.

Heeseung, who’s been standing beside him, follows his line of sight and notices the tense look on his friend’s face. A knowing grin spreads across Heeseung’s lips as he leans over to Sunghoon, nudging him with his elbow.

“Someone looks like they’ve got their feathers ruffled,” Heeseung teases, keeping his voice low so only Sunghoon can hear.

Sunghoon scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Heeseung laughs. “That’s why you’ve been glaring at Haechan like you’re ready to knock that grin off his face.”

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away, but his eyes remain fixed on you and Haechan. Heeseung watches with amusement, clearly enjoying the show.

“Just admit it, man,” Heeseung continues, his tone light. “You’re jealous.”

Sunghoon finally looks away from you, giving Heeseung a dismissive look. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t like seeing him act like a fool.”

Heeseung snorts. “Right. Because you’re so worried about Haechan embarrassing himself.” He claps a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Come on, dude, just go talk to her. Or are you afraid she’ll turn you down?”

Sunghoon shoots him a glare. “Shut up, Heeseung.”

Heeseung just laughs harder, clearly unbothered by Sunghoon’s mood. “Alright, whatever you say. But just so you know, glaring at Haechan isn’t going to do anything except make you look more obvious.”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer, but Heeseung’s words seem to hit a nerve. He turns his attention back to you, his expression unreadable, though there’s still a flicker of something in his eyes—something more than just casual interest.

Meanwhile, you’re still chatting with Haechan, completely unaware of the little drama unfolding across the room. But you can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching you, and when you finally glance up, your eyes meet Sunghoon’s for just a second. He quickly looks away, and you can’t help but wonder what that was all about.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The party continues to buzz around you, but after a while, the noise and energy start to feel a bit overwhelming. You decide you need a break, a moment to yourself away from the chaos. Without saying anything, you slip out of the crowded living room and head toward the balcony, where the air is cooler and the music is just a muffled hum in the background.

You push open the glass doors and step outside, letting the crisp night air hit your face. It’s a welcome change from the warmth inside. You lean against the railing, taking a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. The stars are faint above the city lights, and you can hear distant sounds of traffic, a reminder of the world continuing outside this little bubble of a party.

You close your eyes for a moment, just enjoying the quiet. But then, you hear the soft sound of footsteps behind you. You turn, half-expecting to see Karina or maybe Sunoo, but your heart skips a beat when you see Sunghoon stepping out onto the balcony.

“What do you want, Sunghoon?” you sigh, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

“I could ask you the same thing” he replies, his voice closer than you expected. You feel the warmth of his body behind you, jus inches away. “Running away from the party?”

”Hardly.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “Just needed a break from all the fakes and liars inside.”

His lips curl into that familiar, infuriating smirk. “And here I thought you thrived on that type of thing. Who knew Y/N had limits?”

You roll tour eyes, turning back to the view. “Yeah, well, believe it or not I do. But you wouldn’t know anything, would you?”

Sunghoon steps closer, his breath brushing against your ear, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine. You feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks and something else you refuse to acknowledge. “You don’t know anything about me, Sunghoon. And id keep it that way if I were you.”

He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes your skin prickle. “I think you like it when I get under your skin. Why else do you always react like this?” You scoff, turning to face him, only then realizing how close he actually was. “Maybe i’m just tired of you acting like you’re gods gift to the world. newsflash: you’re not.”

His grin widens, and he takes another step closer, invading you’re space entirely as if he wasn’t already to begin with. “Admit it.” he says, his voice dropping lower. “You like our little games. You like the way I push your buttons.”

Your heart is pounding now, and you hate that he’s right, that there’s something about him that gets to you in a way no one else does.But you refuse to five him the satisfaction of knowing it. “In your dreams,” you snap, though the breathlessness in your voice betrays you.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm, and you feel a jolt of heat at the contact. “Is that so?” he whispers, his lips dangerously close to yours now, his eyes dark with challenge. “Because I think you’re lying. I think you want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re frozen, caught in his gaze. The intensity in his eyes makes your pulse race, a mix of anger and undeniable attraction. He’s so close now that you can feel his breath your lips, and before you can stop yourself, you grab his shirt, pulling him the last few inches towards you.

“Maybe I just want to shut you up,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “Then do it,” he taunts, his lips brushing against yours, almost but not quite a kiss. It’s all the encouragement you need. You close the distance, your mouth crashing against his. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you press against him, fueled by a mix of anger and desire.

The kiss is intense, a battle of wills as much as it is anything else. His lips are firm, demanding, and you meet him with equal force, neither of you willing to give an inch. Your hands move up to his hair, tugging slightly and he groans against your mouth, deepening the kiss.

You’re lost in it. Lost in him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. His hands slide up your back, his touch sending sparks through you, and you hate how much you crave it, hate how much you want him despite everything.

You’re breathless when you finally pull back, your heart hammering against your ribs. Sunghoon’s lips are parted, his breaths coming in ragged, and his eyes are dark with something dangerous—something you know you shouldn’t be entertaining.

His hand is still on your waist, his thumb brushing the exposed skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, and you swear every nerve in your body is on fire. He leans in close, his lips grazing your ear, and his voice comes out in a low, almost pleading murmur. “Come back to my place.”

It isn’t a question, but there’s something in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine, a combination of hunger and desperation that mirrors what’s coursing through your veins. For a moment, you’re tempted—so, so tempted to just say yes and give in to whatever this is. But logic fights its way to the surface, and you pull back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Are you serious?” you ask, your voice wavering more than you’d like.

His expression doesn’t falter, his eyes locked onto yours. “Dead serious.” He swallows, his grip on your waist tightening, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “I don’t want this to end here.”

You hesitate, your mind racing. This is Sunghoon—Park Sunghoon—the guy you’ve spent so long arguing with, glaring at across rooms, doing everything in your power to avoid. But there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you now, something raw and real that makes it hard to think clearly.

“I don’t know,” you say, trying to sound firm, though your resolve is crumbling by the second. “I mean… this is crazy.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, his voice still low, still laced with that edge of desperation. “But I think you like crazy.” His lips curl into a half-smile, that familiar cockiness tempered with something else, something softer.

You bite your lip, weighing your options, feeling the tension between you both—hot, magnetic, impossible to ignore. “This is a bad idea,” you whisper, though even you can hear the lack of conviction in your words.

Sunghoon steps closer, closing the distance again, his forehead almost touching yours. “Probably the worst,” he says, his breath hot against your skin. “But if you don’t say yes, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, can feel how fast it’s racing, and you know he means it. Part of you is screaming to walk away, to leave now before you make a mistake, but there’s another part—a louder, more reckless part—that’s screaming for you to stay, to see where this goes.

“Just one night,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours again, barely a kiss, just enough to make you shiver. “No strings, no expectations. Just… us.”

You close your eyes, fighting against every instinct telling you to run. But when you open them again, his gaze is still locked onto yours, and you can’t deny the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your skin tingles with every touch.

“Fine,” you breathe, barely louder than a whisper. “One night.”

His grin is immediate, but there’s relief in it too, and he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours again, this time harder, more insistent. “Let’s get out of here,” he says against your mouth, his hand sliding to intertwine with yours, and you know there’s no going back now.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You manage to sneak past your friends to leave Karina’s mansion, the partygoers and scattered distractions making it all that more simple.

The drive is quiet, both of you caught in your own thoughts. The city passes by in a blur of neon signs and headlights, the streets quieter than they were earlier. You steal a glance at him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the wheel like he’s counting down the seconds.

Sunghoon pulls up to his mansion, its sprawling, modern architecture framed by towering trees and high walls that ensure absolute privacy. The wide driveway curves up to the grand entrance, where soft lights cast a warm glow over the marble steps and tall double doors. You glance around, taking in the sheer size of the place—not because it surprises you, but because you’ve never been here before.

Your own family’s estate is nothing to scoff at, but there’s a distinct style to his home—something sleek and almost understated, despite its size. You tilt your head slightly, noticing the details: the way the garden is meticulously maintained, the sharp lines of the building softened by the greenery that surrounds it. It’s impressive, in a way that’s different from what you’re used to.

He takes your hand to lead you inside, you follow him down the dimly lit corridor, decorated with family pictures and modern art that costs a fortune. He pauses at his bedroom door, his hand still holding yours, and turns to look at you one more time. “Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, though his thumb strokes the back of your hand, a comforting gesture.

You take a deep breath, then shake your head. “I’m not changing my mind.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Good,” he whispers, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

You step inside, and he follows, closing the door behind you. The space is dimly lit, warm, and there’s an unexpected coziness to it—minimalistic but comfortable. The air feels thick with everything unspoken between you.

Sunghoon turns to you, his gaze intense, and he steps closer, his hand moving up to your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he admits quietly, his voice almost a growl.

Your breath catches, and you feel the heat rush to your face. “Then stop talking,” you murmur, your own voice breathless.

His lips are on yours in an instant, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s all-consuming, filled with all the tension, the want, the frustration that’s been building for so long. You kiss him back just as fiercely, hands sliding up his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding beneath your palms.

Sunghoon's hands roamed over your body, squeezing your tits. You let out a small involuntary moan, a grunt leaving him immediately after. His lips move down to your next, trailing up and down before reaching that sweet spot right behind your ear.

It all feels to fucking good, your panties sticking to your core. He moves to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling you into his lap before catching your lips once again. His growing hardness is poking at you. “You look so fucking sexy in this little dress,” He tells you in a low tone that makes you clench around nothing, the ache between your legs growing. You start grinding on him, his hands grabbing your ass, encouraging you to keep grinding against his clothed length. “That’s it baby, grind on me, keep rubbing that pretty pussy over my cock.”

Your head is thrown back, lip in between your teeth, his words encouraging your quickening movements. “Need you so bad, Hoon,” you manage to get out.

“Yeah baby? tell me what you need.” He tells you. It’s almost embarrassing how much you wanted him. “Need your cock.” Without another word you feel his hands back on your ass, lifting you up and throwing you down on his bed. He looks up at you with mischievious eyes, hovering over you as his hands roam down the sides of your thighs to them hem of your dress. “Can i take this off?” he asks, caressing the soft, exposed skin there.

Eagerly, you nod quickly, reaching for the hem to help him pull it up and over your head. Luckily you opted for a pair of black lacy panties and opposed to your more comfortable ones. He audibly sighs and your exposed figure, “You’re so beautiful,” He tells you, his fingers working to slide your panties down your legs and tossing them to the side, revealing just how much you wanted him.

“Shit baby you’re so wet.” He leans down, placing soft, wet kisses just below your navel, dangerously close to where you wanted him most. “Hoon please,” you murmur out. He straightens out, unbuckling his belt to pull down his pants and boxers all in one go. While he wasn’t remarkably long, he made up for it in girth. You lick your lips at the sight, anticipation and heat pooling.

He pumps himself a couple times before he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He takes his time, making sure to smear your slick between your clit and his length. You feel his tip parting your folds, your breath hitching in your throat. “You ready?” his eyes meet yours for assurance. No words come out your mouth, all you do is nod.

He enters you carefully, a strong contrast from his words earlier in the night. The last thing he wants is to rush, just because of how unpatient and horny he is. You close your eyes, holding in the gasp that threatens to escape your lips. “Relax baby, I got you.”

“I know,” you breathe out. The sudden stretch has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. The burn quickly turning into a delicious one. “That’s it,” he praises you continuing to slide in until he’s nestled completely between your walls. “You take me so well,” he grunts, his length twitching inside of you.

“Fuck me, Hoon” you murmur, your walls clench around him, throwing his head back at the feeling. Before you know it he’s pulling out of you, only to smack his hips back against yours. It knocks all the oxygen out your lungs, leaving you breathless as he repeats the same action over and over again. “Fuck,” you breathe out, focusing on how good he looks above you.

You’re in a complete feeling of euphoria. Sunghoon’s skills topping those of the few guys you’ve slept with before. In that moment, all the bickering and years of back and forth leave your mind completely. The only thing closing your mind is how good him of all people is making you feel.

“Hoon… faster,” you let out, his hips snapping in a faster pace on command. Your back arches off the bed, hands grasping the sheets in small fists. He notices and reaches for them to thread his fingers through yours, pinning them above your head. “You like that baby? love how good you feel… fuck you’re so tight. Gonna make you cum so hard.”

“I’m so c-close, fuck,” you breathe out. His thrusts become messier and you know he’s close. “Cum on my cock pretty,” he grunts, hands letting go of yours to grip your hips. Clenching around him, it takes a few for pumps before you’re both coming undone. His cock twitching inside you as he fucks his cum into you.

He drops his sweaty forehead against your shoulder, quick, deep breaths meeting your skin and he comes down from his high. It takes you both a while before your breathing steadys. “You good?,” he asks you, settling on the bed beside you. “mhm,” is all you say in response, unsure as to where this leaves your relationship. It all felt to good to ignore. “Are you good?” you ask him after a moment of silence. “Better than I have in a long time.”

You’re not sure when you fall asleep. The exhaustion taking over you all at once.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The morning light filters softly through the heavy curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. You wake to the sound of birds chirping outside, their songs a peaceful contrast to the intensity of the night before. The bed is warm, and you’re nestled comfortably under the covers, Sunghoon’s arm draped over you.

You shift slightly, the movement causing Sunghoon to stir beside you. He mumbles something incoherent, tightening his hold on you before settling back into a deeper sleep. You take a moment to just lie there, letting yourself absorb the strange, surreal comfort of the situation. There’s an odd serenity in the room, a calm that feels almost unreal given the whirlwind of emotions that led you here.

As you slowly become more aware, you gently untangle yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. You sit up and stretch, glancing around at the elegant room that’s now your temporary sanctuary. The soft morning light highlights the sleek lines and modern decor, giving the space an almost ethereal quality.

You slide out of bed and make your way to the bathroom, feeling a little self-conscious but determined to gather yourself. You glance at yourself in the mirror, trying to process the whirlwind of the past night. The evidence of sleep lingers in your eyes, and you smooth your hair, mentally preparing yourself for whatever comes next.

When you return to the bedroom, Sunghoon is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You take a moment to just watch him, the vulnerability in his expression softened by sleep. There’s a part of you that feels a pang of something—softness, maybe even affection—though you’re still trying to fully understand what it all means.

Deciding not to linger too long, you quietly gather your things and start to get dressed. You’re pulling on your clothes when you hear a rustling behind you. You turn to find Sunghoon blinking awake, his gaze immediately locking on you with a sleepy, yet intense look.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

You smile softly, trying to keep things light despite the previous night's intensity. “Morning. I didn’t want to wake you.”

He stretches lazily, a smirk forming on his lips. “And here I was thinking you’d sneak out before I even woke up. Not very considerate of you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to tiptoe around your mansion.”

He chuckles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yeah, well, you should be lucky you’re not being kicked out for your unexpected visit.”

You roll your eyes, pulling on your shirt. “Oh, please. It’s not like I forced my way in. You made it pretty clear you wanted me here.”

His smirk widens. “True. And now I’m faced with the charming aftermath of our little escapade. How do you intend to handle that?”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual. “I think we both know this doesn’t exactly change things. We still don’t like each other. This was… a one-off.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A one-off? That’s what we’re calling it now? What happened to all that intense ‘hate’ from last night?”

You narrow your eyes at him, feeling a bit defensive. “It’s complicated. We both know that. I’m just here to sort myself out.”

He stands up, stretching with a yawn. “Well, I suppose if you’re done with the morning-after drama, I should at least make you breakfast.”

You look at him skeptically. “Breakfast? You’re really pulling out the stops now?”

He gives you a mockingly hurt look. “Don’t sound so surprised. Even enemies deserve to be fed after a night like that.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Fine. Breakfast it is. But don’t think this means I’m sticking around for a whole lot of chit-chat.”

He grins, clearly pleased with your response. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just a quick meal and then you can be on your way.”

As he leads you to the kitchen, you both fall into a familiar rhythm, trading barbs and jabs that feel almost comfortable in their own way. The awkwardness of the night before is still there, but it’s tempered by the humor and banter that defines your relationship.

In the kitchen, Sunghoon starts pulling out ingredients, his movements confident and efficient. You watch him, feeling a strange mix of irritation and appreciation. Despite everything, there’s something almost endearing about the way he’s trying to play the gracious host.

“So, what’s the plan after breakfast?” you ask, grabbing a coffee cup and filling it. “Are we going to pretend like nothing happened, or do you have some other grand gesture in mind?”

He looks over at you with a smirk. “Maybe I’ll just enjoy the novelty of seeing you eat my food. Consider it a small victory.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a genuine smile on your lips. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’m not here for long.”

He chuckles, placing a plate of food in front of you. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you leave right after. I’m sure we’ll find new ways to annoy each other soon enough.”

You take a bite of the breakfast, shaking your head in mock exasperation. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As you eat, the tension from the night before begins to ease, replaced by the familiar dynamic of your interactions. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s familiar—a small reminder that despite everything, some things never really change.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bell rings, signaling the end of the period, you gather your things and stand up, eager to leave the classroom and escape the strange tension that’s been hanging between you and Sunghoon all day. You’re heading toward the door when you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn around to find Sunghoon standing close, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Sunghoon leans in, his face just inches from yours. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his proximity even though you try to back away slightly. “You look cute today,” he whispers, his voice low and deliberately teasing.

You freeze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as his words sink in. You’re taken aback by the unexpected comment, feeling a rush of irritation mixed with something you can’t quite define. You quickly compose yourself, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, trying to keep your voice low so that no one else hears. “Now you’re trying to play nice? How pathetic.”

Sunghoon pulls back slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just making an observation,” he says innocently, though the amusement in his eyes betrays him.

You roll your eyes, your frustration evident. “Yeah, well, save it for someone who actually cares. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

As you turn and walk toward the door, you hear Sunghoon’s laughter behind you, light and mocking. You try to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks as you make your way out of the classroom, determined not to let him get under your skin. Despite your efforts to stay composed, his words linger in your mind, adding to the awkwardness and confusion of the day.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Lunch at school is a lively affair, with the cafeteria buzzing with the chatter of students and the clatter of trays. You and your friends—Yuna, Karina, and the rest—settle into your usual spot at the table. Sunghoon and his group are seated across from you, and you can feel his gaze lingering on you, even as you try to focus on the conversation with your friends.

Karina is mid-sentence, animatedly discussing the latest school gossip when Sunghoon's voice cuts through. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can't actually believe that nonsense.”

You glance up, catching Sunghoon’s eyes. He’s smirking, clearly enjoying the opportunity to poke at you. “And what’s so ridiculous about it?” you retort, trying to keep your voice steady despite the irritation brewing inside you.

“Seriously?” Sunghoon’s grin widens. “It’s just a bunch of exaggerated stories. You’ve always had a knack for falling for that kind of thing.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a familiar annoyance bubbling up. “Says the guy who’s always spouting off about how everything’s ‘not worth his time.’”

Sunghoon leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “At least I don’t get caught up in every little bit of drama that comes my way.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I’m not the one who spends half his day looking for ways to pick fights. Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with making everything a competition, you’d see things more clearly.”

Yuna and Karina exchange glances, trying to stifle their laughter as the two of you go back and forth. Karina nudges you playfully. “Looks like you two are back to your old routine.”

You shoot her a sidelong glance, annoyed but unable to hide a small smile. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Meanwhile, Sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on you, his smirk never fading. Every time you catch him looking, you feel a mix of frustration and unease. His gaze is unrelenting, and despite your best efforts to ignore it, you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

“What are you staring at?” you snap, catching him in the act.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, his expression innocent. “Just observing. Is that a problem?”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “Maybe if you had something better to do than harass me, you wouldn’t have to be so nosy.”

He chuckles, leaning forward with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy watching you get all riled up. It’s entertaining.”

You glare at him, feeling your irritation spike. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a compliment.”

Sunghoon shrugs, still smirking. “Suit yourself.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

After lunch, you head to your next class with a sense of relief, hoping to escape the tension of the cafeteria. As you settle into your seat, the classroom buzzes with the usual pre-class chatter. You glance around, hoping to avoid any more interactions with Sunghoon, but he’s in the same class, sitting a few rows behind you.

The teacher arrives, and the room quiets down as the lesson begins. You try to focus on the lecture, but the lingering effects of the lunchtime bickering keep your thoughts scattered. Every now and then, you can feel Sunghoon’s eyes on you, though you avoid turning around to confirm it.

Halfway through the class, you feel a small piece of paper land softly on your desk. You glance down to find a note with neat handwriting:

*“Can we at least pretend to be civil? I promise I’m not plotting your demise.”*

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. You scribble a quick reply:

“Why start now? It’s more fun to keep you on your toes.”

You fold the note and toss it back over your shoulder, hoping it will reach him without drawing too much attention. A few moments later, you see Sunghoon’s hand reach forward to grab it, his expression unreadable.

The rest of the class proceeds in a blur of lectures and notes. The occasional glances you and Sunghoon exchange are filled with unspoken tension, but you both manage to keep your interactions to a minimum.

At the end of your lecture, you pack up your things and make your way out of the classroom. You’re heading down the hall when you hear Sunghoon’s voice behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You stop, turning to see him catching up with you. He’s wearing a casual expression, though there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

“Seriously? What now?” you ask, trying to keep your tone even.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you, and he seems to consider his next words carefully. “So, I was thinking… why don’t you come over to my place later?”

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “For what? We already had our… whatever that was.”

Sunghoon gives you a knowing look, his smirk widening. “Come on, you know you’re curious. Besides, you know you want me.”

You feel a rush of heat at his words, and you try to maintain your composure. “And what happened to it being a one-night thing? Are you trying to make this a regular thing now?”

Sunghoon’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just want to spend more time with you. Either way, I think you’re interested.”

You hesitate, feeling the pull of his words. The desire that was ignited the night before is still burning strong, and you find yourself tempted despite your better judgment.

With a sigh, you give in, unable to resist the allure of what he’s offering. “Alright, fine. I’ll come over. But just to see what you have in mind.” Sunghoon’s smile broadens, clearly pleased with your decision. “Great. see you later.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Later that night, you stand outside Sunghoon’s, house, or rather mansion. With a deep breath, you ring the doorbelll, and a moment later, Sunghoon opens the door. His eyes rake over you, and there’s that cocky familiar smirk on his face. “Youre here,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. There’s no hint of surprise, just a kind of smug statisfaction, like he knew you’d come.

“Yeah,” you reply, stepping inside “so what’s this all about?” Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately. He just walks past you, heading into the foyer. You follow, your curiosity piqued, but you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker back to you with that same intent look. He turns around suddenly, before you can even process what’s happening, he’s closing the distance between you, leaning in like he’s about to kiss you.

“Woah wait,” you say quickly, pressing a hand against him firm chest to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sunghoon pauses, eyebrows raised, but there’s no real apology in his expression. “What do you think in doing?” he counters, his voice low, almost daring him to challenge you. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. “I didn’t come here just to… you know.”

He smirks, leaning in just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath. “Then why did you come here?”

You hesitate, caught between wanting to play it cool and the undeniable pull you feel toward him. “Maybe I was curious.” Sunghoon chuckles, “You’re here because you want this, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand grazing your hip lightly, testing your boundaries.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

His smirk widens. “I know enough.” He leans in again, and this time, his lips brush against your neck, a bold move that sends a jolt of heat through you. You bite your lip, figuring the urge to melt into his touch. “I didn’t say you could—“

“Then stop me,” he challenges, his voice a whisper against your skin. Your mind races every logical thought battling against the desire that’s been simmering between you since the other night. You hate how easily he gets under your skin, how is arrogance is both infuriating and strangely alluring. But instead of pushing him away, you find yourself lingering, testing the r limits just like he is.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, half annoyed, half breathless. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression smug but hungry. “Yet I don’t see you walking away.”

You hate that he’s right. Instead of anything else, you meet his gaze head on, feeling that dangerous spark between you flicker into something more. “Just shut up and kiss me,” you say, finally giving in, if only to wipe that smug look off his face. And he does—without hesitation, with the kind of intensity that makes your head spin. It’s heated, unrestrained, and nothing like you imagined, and yet somehow it’s exactly what you wanted.

With a frustrated sigh, you put a hand on his chest and push him back a step. “Okay, seriously, what is this?” you demand, trying to keep your tone steady. “We can’t just keep… doing this whenever we feel like it. It’s stupid.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking way too amused for your liking. “Why not? You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just… I don’t want this to get messy.”

He smirks, clearly entertained by your struggle. “Messy? You mean you don’t want people to know you like kissing me?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I don’t like anything about you, Sunghoon. But if we’re being honest, there’s… something here, and I don’t see it going away anytime soon.”

His grin widens, and you want to slap it right off his face. “So, what? You’re proposing a deal?”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe. Friends with benefits. No strings attached, no drama, no catching feelings.”

Sunghoon chuckles, but there’s an edge to it. “Friends? I don’t think we’re even close to that.”

“Fine,” you snap, annoyed that he’s right. “Enemies with benefits then. Just… an arrangement. To get this out of our systems.”

His gaze darkens, and for a second, you think you see something flicker there, something unreadable. But then he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “And what makes you think I’d agree to that?”

You raise your chin, meeting his challenge head-on. “Because you want this just as much as I do. Maybe more.”

He pauses, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he says, his voice low. “But here’s the deal: we do this my way. No whining, no complaining, and you definitely don’t get to pretend you don’t want it.”

You scowl, hating how cocky he looks, how certain he is that you’ll cave. “Fine,” you bite back. “But don’t think for a second that this means I like you.”

He laughs, the sound rich and mocking. “Trust me, I’d hate it if you did.”

You feel your blood boil at his arrogance, but there’s a thrill in it too, in the way you both seem to enjoy this game. “Deal,” you snap, holding out your hand.

He takes it, but instead of shaking, he pulls you in closer, his lips just inches from yours. “Just remember,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours, “this doesn’t change anything. I still can’t stand you.”

You smirk, matching his intensity. “Right back at you.”

And before you know it, his lips are crashing against yours again, and all that frustration and anger blurs into something reckless and wild. For now, you’ll play his game, but you know this is far from over.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few weeks, the “arrangement” with Sunghoon becomes a twisted game of secrecy and tension. You find yourself sneaking glances in class, meeting him in darkened hallways between periods, and exchanging heated looks across crowded lunch tables. The two of you are constantly dancing on the edge of discovery, and it’s becoming harder to hide the intensity simmering between you.

It starts small. The accidental brush of fingers when passing by in the hallway, the way his eyes linger a little too long when you’re speaking. But then, it escalates. The stolen moments between classes turn into late-night texts and spontaneous meetings wherever you can find some privacy. Empty classrooms, deserted stairwells, even the back of the library—places where no one would think to find the two of you together. The more time passes, the harder it gets to keep up the charade.

You’re starting to notice the way his friends glance between you two, confused by the sudden silences or the shared looks you forget to hide. Jay catches you one morning when you’re walking out of the library with Sunghoon following a few steps behind, your hair slightly mussed, your lips redder than usual.

“What’s going on there?” he asks, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “You and Sunghoon plotting world domination or something?”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. “Please. He’s too much of an idiot for that.”

But Jay looks unconvinced, his gaze flicking back to where Sunghoon is standing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching you with a smirk that’s all too knowing. “Sure,” Jay says, dragging out the word like he’s not buying it.

At lunch, it’s even worse. Sunghoon sits across from you, his foot nudging yours under the table. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to send a jolt up your spine. You kick him back, hard, and he just chuckles, leaning back in his chair like he’s thoroughly enjoying the game.

“What are you two whispering about?” Yuna asks, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. You’re both quick to cover it up, but it’s obvious that your friends are starting to catch on.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon says smoothly, his voice annoyingly casual. “Just telling Y/N that she looks like she needs more sleep. Those dark circles are really showing.”

Your jaw clenches, but you force a sweet smile, playing along. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll sleep just fine once I stop seeing your face every day.”

He grins, but there’s a flicker of something more heated in his eyes, something you recognize all too well. “Yeah, right.”

Karina frowns, sensing the tension that seems to hang in the air whenever you two are in the same room. “Seriously, what is up with you guys?” she asks, tilting her head.

You wave it off, laughing a little too loudly. “We’re just being our usual selves. You know how it is—can’t stand each other.”

But your friends are starting to notice the little things. The way Sunghoon’s gaze always seems to drift in your direction, the way you keep sneaking out of group study sessions with flimsy excuses, only to return looking flustered and breathless. Sunoo even catches you and Sunghoon exchanging hushed words in the corner of the hallway, too close for comfort, and he raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

“Are you two planning a secret mission, or is there something else we should know?” he asks, his tone playful but probing.

Sunghoon just shrugs, but you can feel his eyes on you, daring you to say something. “No mission,” he replies coolly, “unless it’s trying to survive Y/N’s terrible attitude.”

You force a laugh, but the heat in your cheeks gives you away. “Yeah, well, some of us have better things to do than deal with you, Sunghoon.”

But it’s getting harder to pretend, harder to keep the fire between you from spilling over in front of everyone else. Every time he’s near, it feels like the world narrows down to just the two of you, a constant push and pull that’s impossible to ignore. The stolen kisses, the midnight texts, the moments of heated bickering that seem to blur into something more—it’s becoming too much to hide.

And it’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You grip the sheets of your bed, lip caught between your teeth as sunghoon is under your duvet, tonguing your wet entrance, heat pooling in your belly, felling the intensity of your orgasm creeping up on you.

It’s all cut short when your door bursts open without warning, and Karina barges in, her voice already raised. “Y/N, I swear I’m going to lose my mind—!”

You freeze, your heart stopping in your chest. “Karina!” you squeak, quickly yanking the sheets up to your chin. “What happened to knocking?”

Karina stops mid-rant, blinking at you. “Oh, come on, like I ever knock?” she scoffs, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Anyway, you will not believe what Heeseung just did—”

She’s moving closer to the bed, and you panic, shifting slightly to keep Sunghoon hidden beneath the covers. You can feel him tense up, and his hand slips to your thigh under the sheets, pinching you playfully. You bite your lip to stifle a gasp, kneeing him as a warning.

Karina continues her rant, oblivious. “I mean, he had the nerve to ditch me for practice again, and I’m just—ugh, I needed to vent to someone who understands!”

Your mind races, desperately trying to keep her attention away from the suspicious lump between your legs. “That sounds… really frustrating,” you say, a bit too brightly. “But maybe just, you know, talk to him?”

Karina flops down on the edge of your bed, dangerously close to Sunghoon’s concealed figure. “Oh, I’ll talk to him, alright. I’m just so sick of his stupid excuses—”

Sunghoon’s fingers press into your clit under the sheets. He’s grinning, enjoying the situation far too much. You jab him again, your heart racing.

Karina glances at you, finally noticing your tense posture. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird,” she says, her brows furrowing.

You force a laugh, your voice too high. “I’m fine! Just… woke up. Didn’t expect you to burst in like that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care if I burst in? And why are you so… red?”

You feel the heat creeping up your neck. “Uh, just… hot in here,” you stammer, shifting to keep Sunghoon completely out of sight.

Karina looks like she’s about to press further, but then she sighs, clearly more focused on her Heeseung drama. “Whatever, I just needed to get that off my chest. He drives me insane!”

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I get it. He’s… Heeseung, you know?” Karina gives you a small smile, her frustration easing. “Thanks for listening. And seriously, you look so weird right now.”

You laugh nervously. “Yeah, just tired.”

Finally, she stands up, heading toward the door. “Alright, I’ll leave you to… whatever you were doing. I’m gonna go call him and give him a piece of my mind.”

You nod eagerly. “Good luck with that!”

As soon as she leaves, you exhale in relief, lifting the cover to eye Sunghoon, who’s still grinning like an idiot. “What?” he whispers, amused.

“What?” you repeat, incredulous. “You almost got us caught, that’s what!”

He chuckles, pulling you back down under the sheets. “Relax. She didn’t notice a thing.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is still racing from the close call. “You’re lucky,” you mutter.

Sunghoon just leans in closer, his lips brushing your cheek. “You love the thrill,” he murmurs.

And damn it, you hate that he’s right.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It's late, the night air cool against your skin as you lean against the wall outside the school building, waiting for Sunghoon. You don't even know why you agreed to meet him here. Maybe because he seemed so insistent, or maybe because a part of you wanted to see him, even though you’d never admit it.

He arrives moments later, his footsteps heavy as he approaches. There’s a different energy about him tonight—something serious, something intense. His usual smirk is nowhere to be found, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He stops in front of you, a little too close, and you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

“What’s this about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze boring into yours like he’s searching for something, something he can’t quite find. You shift on your feet, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“Sunghoon?” you prompt, your voice wavering just slightly.

He finally speaks, his tone lower than usual. “I’ve been thinking… about us,” he says, the words almost hesitant, like he’s testing them out.

You blink, caught off guard. “Us?”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah, Y/N, us. You and me… whatever this is.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your face neutral. “I thought we agreed it’s nothing,” you reply, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Sunghoon’s eyes narrow, frustration flashing in his gaze. “Yeah, that’s what we said,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t feel like nothing to me anymore.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. You’ve never seen him like this—so open, so exposed. “Sunghoon, I don’t know what you’re getting at,” you say carefully.

He takes a step closer, his expression more intense. “I’m saying that I’ve caught myself… thinking about you. A lot. When you’re not around, I’m wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with. I hate that it bothers me when I see you talking to other guys, and I can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else.”

You feel a wave of panic rising in your chest. This is too much, too fast. You press your back harder against the wall as if trying to create more distance between you. “Sunghoon, this was never supposed to be serious,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I know, and I tried to keep it that way. But every time I see you, every time we’re together… I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it.”

You shake your head, refusing to let his words sink in. “You don’t mean that,” you insist, more to yourself than to him. “You’re just saying this because it’s… new or whatever. It’ll pass.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenches, and he moves even closer, leaving barely any space between you. “No, Y/N, it won’t. I’ve tried to stop feeling this way, but I can’t. And I know you feel something too, even if you won’t admit it.”

Your pulse quickens, and you feel your resolve starting to crumble. “I don’t—” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“Stop lying,” he says firmly, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. “You’re scared, I get it. But don’t pretend like this is all just a game to you.”

You feel a flash of anger, your defenses rising. “What if it is, Sunghoon? What if I don’t want anything more than what we already have?”

His expression falters for a moment, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. “Then I guess I’ve made a mistake,” he murmurs, taking a step back.

You feel a pang in your chest, a sharp, unexpected ache. “Sunghoon…”

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

For a second, you want to reach out, to say something, anything, to make that look on his face go away. But the fear of letting your guard down, of admitting that he might be right, keeps you silent.

He takes another step back, his expression hardening. “I won’t bother you about it again,” he says, his voice cold. “Let’s just go back to pretending like none of this ever happened.”

You nod, though you feel a tightness in your throat. “Yeah, let’s do that,” you say quietly, even though your chest aches with a feeling you don’t want to name.

Sunghoon turns and walks away, and you’re left standing there, the cool night air biting at your skin. You watch him go, feeling something inside you break just a little, and you wonder if maybe you’ve made a mistake too.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next morning at school, everything feels heavier. The halls are crowded, but it’s like there’s a spotlight following you, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows. You make your way to your locker, avoiding eye contact with anyone, especially Sunghoon.

You don’t see him at first, but you feel him—his presence looming in the periphery. It’s like he’s everywhere, watching you, and it makes your skin prickle with nerves. You busy yourself with rearranging your textbooks, trying to calm the storm inside your head.

“Hey, Y/N,” Karina chirps, appearing beside you. Her usual bright smile is there, but her eyes are curious, searching your face. “Are you okay? You seemed a little… off yesterday.”

You force a smile, gripping your locker door tighter than necessary. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”

She studies you for a second longer, then nods. “Well, you should have come to dinner with us last night. It was a total mess, as always, but fun.”

You nod absently, not really listening. Your eyes flick over Karina’s shoulder and catch Sunghoon’s gaze across the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Y/N?” Karina prompts, bringing your attention back to her. “You’re zoning out again.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Karina glances over her shoulder, following your line of sight. Her brow furrows slightly. “You’ve been weird around Sunghoon lately,” she remarks. “Did something happen?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly shake your head. “No, nothing. Why would you think that?”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “I don’t know… Just a feeling.”

You’re saved from having to respond when the bell rings. You grab your books and make a beeline for your next class, trying to ignore the heat of Sunghoon’s stare burning into your back.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Class drags on painfully. You can’t focus. Your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and annoyance. You thought sneaking around with Sunghoon would be fun, a game—a way to blow off steam. But now it’s getting messy, and you’re starting to feel the consequences.

When the bell finally rings, you bolt out of the classroom, desperate for fresh air. But as soon as you turn the corner, you’re yanked into an empty hallway.

Sunghoon.

His grip on your arm is firm, and his eyes are intense, searching yours. “We need to talk,” he says, his voice low.

You pull your arm free, glaring at him. “What’s there to talk about, Sunghoon? We agreed this was supposed to be casual. No strings, remember?”

He frowns, clearly irritated by your tone. “Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like that anymore, does it?”

You cross your arms over your chest, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s because you’re making it weird. Just… back off a little, okay?”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenches, and he takes a step closer. “Back off? You’re the one acting all paranoid, Y/N.”

“Maybe because you won’t stop staring at me like everyone else can’t see it!” you snap back, your voice rising. “This was supposed to be simple. But you’re turning it into something… complicated.”

He scoffs, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe because it is complicated. Or have you not noticed?”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, the way his closeness makes your heart race. “Don’t do this, Sunghoon,” you warn, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you’d like.

He pauses, his gaze softening just for a second. “Do what?”

“Make this more than it is,” you whisper, feeling a knot form in your throat. “Because I can’t… I won’t.”

Sunghoon’s expression hardens again, and he leans back, crossing his arms defensively. “Fine,” he mutters. “If that’s how you want it.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to stay composed. “Yeah. It is.”

He nods curtly, stepping away, his face unreadable. “Good. See you around, then,” he says before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you standing in the empty hallway with your heart in your throat.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few days are torture. Sunghoon keeps his distance, and you tell yourself it’s for the best. But every time you see him, every time you catch his eyes across the cafeteria or in class, there’s a hollow ache in your chest that you can’t ignore.

Your friends notice the tension. They ask questions, but you shrug it off, pretending everything’s fine. But you can’t stop replaying your last conversation with Sunghoon, the way his face looked when you told him to back off. You hate how much you miss him, even if you’d never admit it to anyone, especially not to him.

One afternoon, as you’re walking to your car after school, you spot him leaning against a tree nearby, talking to some girl you don’t recognize. He’s smiling, that same smile that used to be reserved for your private moments. Something sharp twists in your chest, and you quickly look away, anger flaring up.

He catches your glance and, for a moment, his smile falters. But then he leans in closer to the girl, laughing at something she says, and your stomach churns with a mix of jealousy and frustration.

You grip your bag tighter, feeling a sting behind your eyes. This is exactly why you didn’t want things to get complicated. You turn away, refusing to look back.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Sunghoon avoids you. He’s usually the first one to shoot a teasing remark your way, but he’s silent. The hallways feel strangely empty without his usual jabs, and your friends are starting to notice the shift between you two.

“Are you guys fighting again?” Karina asks, as the two of you walk to lunch. Her tone is half-exasperated, half-amused, but you know she’s genuinely curious. “You and Sunghoon, I mean. There’s definitely more tension than usual.”

You shrug, trying to seem indifferent, but your stomach twists with anxiety. “When aren’t we fighting?” you mutter.

She gives you a knowing look, but thankfully doesn’t push it further. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take without your feelings bubbling over. You’re determined to get through lunch without letting Sunghoon get under your skin, but when you enter the cafeteria, you spot him immediately.

He’s at your usual table, talking to Heeseung, but his gaze is elsewhere. The second you walk in, his eyes find yours, and there’s a fleeting moment of something unreadable in his expression. A flash of frustration? Longing? You can’t be sure.

You take a deep breath and head over, sliding into your usual seat. Karina sits next to you, and for a moment, everything feels normal. But then Sunghoon starts talking.

“So,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes locked on you, “Heeseung, heard you and Karina had another spat. What was it this time? You didn’t say ‘I love you’ enough?”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, but Karina just laughs, lightly smacking Heeseung’s arm. “Don’t listen to him, babe. He’s just deflecting from his own issues,” she teases.

Sunghoon smirks, but there’s no real humor in it. “I don’t have issues, Karina. Just people who like to make things complicated,” he says, glancing at you.

You feel your face heat up, irritation boiling over. “Oh, please,” you snap back. “Like you’re the picture of simplicity.”

He leans back in his chair, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Never said I was. But at least I’m honest about it.”

Your chest tightens. “Honest?” you scoff. “You’ve been playing games from the start, Sunghoon.”

He shrugs, feigning indifference. “Maybe I have. But at least I know what I want.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure. “And what’s that, exactly?”

He leans forward, his voice dropping low so only you can hear. “You. But you already knew that.”

Your heart skips a beat. For a second, you’re frozen, caught between wanting to slap him and… something else. Something you’re not ready to face.

“You’re such a—” you start, but before you can finish, Sunghoon’s foot nudges yours under the table, and your breath hitches.

You’re hyper-aware of the table between you, the curious glances from your friends, and the heat creeping up your neck. Sunghoon’s gaze is still on you, challenging, waiting for your response.

You can’t help the retort that slips out. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a small grin. “More than you know.”

Before you can shoot back another insult, heeseung cuts in, oblivious to the tension. “Okay, what is happening between you two? I feel like I missed an entire chapter here.”

Sunghoon doesn’t even glance at Heeseung. “Nothing’s happening. Right, Y/N?”

“Right,” you reply, forcing a smile, but your voice sounds strained, even to your own ears.

Heeseung and Karina exchange a look, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, whatever you say,” Karina murmurs with a smirk. “Just remember, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

Sunghoon’s lips twitch in amusement, and he finally looks away, leaning back in his chair as if nothing happened. But under the table, his foot is still lightly brushing against yours, sending sparks up your leg.

You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to let him see how much he’s getting to you.

But you can’t help it—the sensation, the frustration, and the undeniable attraction between you are all mixing into one chaotic storm.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and everyone begins to gather their things. You stand, trying to shake off the tension still lingering between you and Sunghoon, but Karina has other ideas.

“Hey, Y/N,” she calls, grabbing your arm just as you’re about to head out. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

You nod, feeling a knot form in your stomach. She leads you to a quieter corner of the hallway, away from the crowd. You can tell by the look on her face that she’s not letting this go.

Karina crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly. “Okay, seriously,” she starts, her voice low but pointed. “What the fuck was that back there?”

You blink, trying to feign ignorance. “What was what?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. You and Sunghoon… there was some serious tension at lunch. It was like watching a live soap opera, and I feel like I’ve missed a few episodes.”

You sigh, glancing around to make sure no one is listening in. “It’s nothing, Karina,” you insist, but even to your own ears, it sounds unconvincing.

Karina raises an eyebrow. “Nothing? Really? Because from where I was sitting, it looked like something. A big something.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how much to tell her. “Look, we… we just don’t get along. You know that.”

“Yeah, but this felt different,” she replies, not letting up. “Like, I don’t know, it almost seemed like… there was something more there.”

Her words hit a little too close to home, and you feel your cheeks heat up. “You’re imagining things,” you say quickly, but Karina’s not buying it.

She leans in closer, her expression turning more serious. “Y/N, I’m your best friend. I know when something’s up. And that? That was definitely something.”

You hesitate, torn between the urge to confide in her and the fear of admitting the truth. “It’s complicated,” you finally admit, your voice barely a whisper.

Karina’s eyes widen with intrigue. “Complicated how?”

You swallow hard, looking away. “I don’t even know how to explain it. We’ve just… been hanging out a little more lately. And things got… weird.”

“Weird how?” she presses, clearly not letting this go.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “We’ve been… hooking up,” you confess, your voice almost inaudible.

Karina’s mouth falls open in shock. “Wait, what? You and Sunghoon?” She looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or gasp. “Since when?”

“A few weeks,” you admit, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety now that the secret is out.

Karina blinks, taking a moment to process. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it would last this long,” you say defensively. “I thought it was just going to be a one-time thing, but then… it wasn’t.”

Karina’s expression softens slightly. “And how do you feel about it? About him?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “I don’t know. It’s confusing. Half the time, I can’t stand him. The other half… well, you saw how lunch went.”

Karina lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I did. It’s like you two can’t decide whether you want to kill each other or… not.”

You groan, leaning back against the wall. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

Karina nudges you with her elbow. “Just be careful, okay? Sunghoon’s not exactly known for being straightforward with his feelings.”

You nod, appreciating her concern. “I know. Trust me, I’m not expecting anything… much. It’s just… whatever it is.”

Karina gives you a knowing smile. “Alright, but just remember, I’m here if you need to talk. Or, you know, if you need me to kick his ass.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension ease. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

As you walk back to class, you feel a little lighter, but also more uncertain than ever. Because now that Karina knows, it feels more real. And that scares you more than you’d like to admit.

You pause for a moment, letting your thoughts catch up to your racing heart. Sunghoon had admitted it first, hadn't he? In his own cryptic way, he’d confessed he wanted more than just the back-and-forth, more than just the thrill of the chase. You remember the way he looked at you that day, his eyes full of frustration and something else — something softer, something you weren’t ready to face.

He’d said he wanted you. He’d practically dared you to deny that you wanted him, too. And ever since, you’ve been trying to convince yourself that it didn't matter — that it was just some passing thing, some fling to fill the boredom. But it wasn't. It never was.

You sigh deeply, leaning back against the wall of the building. The memory of his words still lingers like a brand on your skin: "I want you." It had sounded so simple when he said it, so sure. Like he wasn’t afraid of the mess that came with it.

You’ve been too afraid to admit it to yourself, but now… now it feels like you’ve been fighting a battle that’s already lost.

He confessed his feelings first, but you’ve been holding back, afraid to let yourself feel the same. Afraid of what it might mean, of how it could change things between you. You thought you could control it, could manage the situation and keep your distance, but all you’ve managed to do is dig yourself deeper into this mess.

You’re tired. Tired of fighting your own heart, tired of pretending you’re unaffected. Tired of feeling like you're caught in this tug-of-war between desire and denial.

*He’s already put himself out there,* you remind yourself. *He made the first move.* And that thought alone is enough to push you forward, to make you realize that maybe it’s your turn now. Your turn to decide if you want to keep running or if you’re brave enough to let yourself fall.

Pushing off the wall, you feel a wave of determination settle over you. If you’re going to do this, you need to find him and be honest. Not just with him, but with yourself.

Because you don’t want to keep this back-and-forth going, this constant dance of pushing and pulling. You want to know where you stand — with him, and with whatever this thing between you is becoming.

You take a deep breath and start walking, knowing exactly where to find him. And this time, you’re not going to let him get away without an answer.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You find Sunghoon by the lockers, leaning against the metal with that typical nonchalant pose he seems to have perfected. His head is tilted down, focused on his phone, but he looks up as you approach, sensing your presence. His eyes flicker with surprise for just a moment before his usual guarded expression returns.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice laced with that familiar arrogance, but there’s something else there, too—an undercurrent of curiosity, maybe even hope.

You don’t bother with pleasantries. “We need to talk,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You try to sound firm, but even you can hear the slight waver in your voice. Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, so now you want to talk?” he retorts, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “After avoiding me all day?”

You roll your eyes, feeling the tension bubble up again. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you snap, even though you both know it’s a lie. “I just needed… time to think.”

He straightens up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Think about what?” he asks, and his tone is a little softer now, less mocking.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your next words pressing down on you. “About this. About us,” you say, your voice steadier now. “I’m tired of all this back and forth, Sunghoon. I’m tired of pretending like there’s nothing between us when we both know there is.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, his guard slips. “I told you how I felt,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the one who kept pretending it was just… nothing.”

You feel a pang of guilt twist in your stomach. “I know,” you admit, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I was wrong. I thought I could just… push it away, ignore it. But I can’t. Not anymore.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens, just a little. “So what are you saying?” he asks, his voice careful, as if he’s trying not to hope too much.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay honest. “I’m saying… I want to figure this out. I want to try… whatever this is between us. But I need you to be real with me, Sunghoon. No more games.”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve been real,” he says, his voice low and intense. “I’ve been real since that night at Karina’s party, and I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, by the way his eyes seem to bore into yours like he’s trying to see into your very soul. “I’m here now,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

Sunghoon takes another step closer, and now he’s right in front of you, his breath warm on your skin. “So what do you want?” he murmurs, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Do you want me, or are you still trying to convince yourself you don’t?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. But then you realize you’ve known the answer all along. “I want you,” you admit, your voice steady, finally letting the truth slip past your lips. “But I don’t want to keep pretending like it’s nothing. I want to try… something real. But I don’t want it to be this constant push and pull, Sunghoon. I can’t keep doing that.”

Sunghoon’s lips curl into a small, almost relieved smile. “Then let’s stop playing games,” he says softly, leaning in closer. “Let’s see where this goes, no more pretending. Just you and me.”

You feel a strange sense of relief wash over you at his words, a weight lifting from your chest. “Okay,” you whisper, and it feels like the most honest thing you’ve said in a long time.

His smile widens just a fraction, and he closes the final distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that feels both familiar and new. It’s not the frantic, heated kisses you’ve shared before—it’s slower, deeper, filled with a promise of something more.

And for the first time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. Finally moving in the same direction.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few weeks, things between you and Sunghoon change in ways you never could have anticipated. At first, it’s subtle — small shifts that only the two of you notice. You spend more time together between classes, sitting closer at lunch, and texting late into the night. The playful bickering is still there, but it’s softened somehow, more like an inside joke than a battle.

Your friends don’t notice at first. They’re used to seeing you and Sunghoon together, arguing about this or that, so the extra time you spend with him doesn't raise any immediate red flags. But eventually, the signs become too obvious to ignore.

One day at lunch, you’re sitting next to Sunghoon, your legs brushing under the table. His hand casually rests on the back of your chair, his thumb occasionally grazing your shoulder. Jay, seated across from you, narrows his eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes curious.

You glance over at Sunghoon, who just smirks. “What do you mean?” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant, but you can feel the flush creeping up your neck.

Jay gestures between the two of you. “This,” he says, waving his hand. “You two. You’re being weird. Weird even for you two.”

Karina, who’s been listening in, gasps. “Oh my god,” she says, her eyes widening with realization. “Are you guys… together?”

The table goes silent for a second, everyone turning to look at you. Sunoo’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jake leans forward, looking like he’s trying to solve a particularly complicated math problem.

Sunghoon leans back, crossing his arms over his chest with a grin. “Depends,” he says casually. “What do you think?”

You elbow him in the side, rolling your eyes at his vague answer. “Yes,” you say, looking at your friends. “We’re… together. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Sunghoon echoes, feigning offense, and you shoot him a playful glare.

“Yes, kind of!” you insist, turning back to your friends, who are now staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re secretly an alien. “It’s… new.”

Heeseung chuckles. “I mean, I’m not totally surprised,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You two have been like a powder keg waiting to explode for years.”

Yuna nods eagerly. “Honestly, it was about time,” she adds, and you can’t help but laugh at her bluntness.

Jungwon, however, looks mildly concerned. “So, you’re serious?” he asks, glancing between you and Sunghoon. “Like, actually serious?”

Sunghoon looks at you, his smile softening just a bit, and he nods. “Yeah,” he says, and there’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. “We’re serious.”

Your friends take a moment to process this. Then Jake grins. “Alright,” he says, raising his glass of soda. “To Y/N and Sunghoon. The enemies-to-lovers arc we didn’t know we needed.”

You laugh, and everyone joins in, raising their glasses. It’s strange, in a way, seeing everyone so quickly accept what feels like a massive shift in your life. But it also feels… right.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Over the next few days, things become more obvious. You and Sunghoon are no longer trying to hide. He reaches for your hand in the hallways, and you let him. He kisses you on the cheek in front of the others, and they pretend to gag but smile knowingly when they think you’re not looking.

You catch Karina’s eye one afternoon, and she gives you a grin that’s part smug, part excited. She leans over, whispering, “So… you finally admitted you like him, huh?”

You smile, shrugging a bit. “Guess so,” you say, and she laughs, nudging you with her elbow.

The hardest part, strangely enough, is getting used to the change yourself. It’s still weird to not have to hide how you feel, to be able to smile at Sunghoon without wondering if anyone is watching. But with each passing day, it gets a little easier.

And it’s not like everything is perfect. You and Sunghoon still argue — of course, you do. That’s just how you are. But there’s something different now, something that feels less like anger and more like… passion. Like you’re both on the same side, even when you’re bickering.

There are moments when you catch him looking at you from across the room, a small smile on his lips, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. And in those moments, you know — this is real. This is right.

Your friends have stopped asking questions. They’ve accepted that this is your new normal, and honestly, so have you. The only thing left to do is see where it takes you.

taglist: @awqken @hollyoongs @enhastolemyheart @wonnienyang @skzenhalove @slvrnm @lovesangyeon @velvetkisscs @soobieboo @jakeflvrz @woorcve @moonpri @blockbusterhee @yjwsgf @doublebunv @moon4moony @woniebae @moon368 @jakeswifewithtwokids @love4hee @ikeryn @univershoon @indigoez @ramenoil @iilwji @riribell @ilabjungwon @tunafishyfishylike @psh23xie @toodeloosoo @leov3rse @onlyhyunjin @nyxtwixx @mnxnii @whateverhoon @jayrelics @laurradoesloveu @heeswif3y @enhalxvr @yunhoswrldddd @nikiswifiee @aiiselle90210 @lixiebokie @lelsforlino @eneiyri @punchbug9-blog @babystrlla @hee-yunie @hoonics @notevenheretbh1

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　GRAMMYS 2025

chris sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Grammys 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is MY idea and work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N had been nominated for five Grammy Awards this year. Five. And yet, for some reason, the thought of stepping onto that carpet, under the flashing lights and watchful eyes of the entire world, made her more nervous than she’d ever been.

It wasn’t her first time - this was her fifth Grammy appearance - but the nerves never seemed to dull, no matter how many times she did this.

Her team had tried everything: chamomile tea, soothing massages, deep breathing exercises, playing her favorite calming playlist at a low volume in the background, even giving her a dozen of those custom-made chocolates with her face printed on them. But nothing helped. Not really.

Not even Chris’s kisses; though she had to admit, they were a very welcome distraction.

They were in a penthouse suite of a luxurious hotel in downtown Los Angeles, even though their house was barely a twenty-minute drive away. It was protocol, her team insisted. Every artist did it - getting ready in a hotel, away from distractions, with stylists, makeup artists, and PR people swarming around. It was meant to be a controlled environment, a perfectly curated lead-up to the biggest night in music. But it only added to the pressure.

Y/N stood in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror, wrapped in a silk robe, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as a makeup artist blended soft eyeshadow onto her lids. Her hairstylist was behind her, curling strands of her hair into loose waves. She looked poised on the outside, but internally, her nerves were tying knots in her stomach.

Chris sat on the couch a few feet away, watching her intently. He was already dressed - black tux, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie he had spent fifteen minutes fighting with before her makeup artist took pity on him and fixed it for him.

He looked good.

Really good.

The kind of good that made her momentarily forget about the nerves. But she wasn’t the only one nervous tonight.

Chris had been jittery since this morning, though he tried not to show it. This was his first time attending something this big, this formal, and while he was used to attention, this was a whole new level. He was going to be surrounded by the most famous people in the world, and for the first time, he wasn’t just Chris Sturniolo, the YouTuber; he was Chris Sturniolo, Y/N’s date to the Grammys.

But instead of letting his own anxiety get to him, he focused on her, observing how her fingers twitched, manicured nails shining below the lights with every tremble.

"Baby." He cooed, standing and walking toward her as soon as the makeup artist stepped aside. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her exposed shoulder, his big hands finding home around her hips, squeezing the covered skin. "What are you feeling, huh? 'Can feel you stressing from across the room, doll."

Y/N sighed, her hands gripping the edges of the vanity table, being careful not to knock her knuckles against the three massive bouquets - Nick had arranged for all of them to be delivered straight to her room in that morning.

"I just... I don’t know, Chris." She murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know I’ve done this before, but what if I don’t win anything? What if I disappoint everyone?"

Before she could spiral any further, Chris was already moving. His hands slid from her hips to her stomach, wrapping around her in a slow embrace. He pulled her against him, his chest firm against her back, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of her robe.

"Hey." He whispered, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Don’t do that."

His voice was gentle but firm, a quiet command that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his breath against her neck, warm and familiar, grounding her.

"First of all." He continued, his arms tightening around her middle. "You’re the best singer out of everyone in that room tonight. You know that, right?"

Her eyes rolled.

"Baby, you can't say that when Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift-" She started, turning her head slightly, but he was already shaking his head.

"Nope." He cut in, resting his chin in the curve of her neck, his gaze locking onto hers through the mirror. "I said what I said. And for the record." He added, voice lower now, dripping with conviction. "You’re already the winner of everything in my book. Even the categories you’re not nominated in."

She sighed, heart pounding as his hands splayed across her stomach, his thumbs brushing slow, absentminded circles.

"Best Album? Yours." He murmured, letting his lips ghost over her jaw. "Best Song? Yours." His mouth traveled down to her shoulder, barely pressing against her skin, yet setting every nerve ending alight. "Best Human Being to Ever Exist?" He turned his head just enough to meet her eyes in the mirror again, his smirk soft but teasing. "You, obviously."

She let out a small, shaky laugh.

"Chris-"

"I’m serious." He interrupted, turning his head and nuzzling the soft skin of her temple, inhaling the rich scent of her Givenchy perfume. "Your fans love you. I love you. And, babe, let’s be honest, you could drop a single of you just breathing into a mic, and it would still go platinum."

That made her laugh, her eyes rolling with amusement.

"You’re gonna do your best tonight, like you always do. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right there with you."

She finally turned in his hold, her arms looping around his neck and her red tinted lips forming a small pout.

"Even if I trip on the carpet?"

"I’ll trip with you. We’ll make it a trend." Chris grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to the tip of her nose, being excessively careful not to smudge her perfect makeup. "Now, I think there's a worldwide famous singer who should be getting dressed, huh?"

Y/N's eyes stared into blue ones for a moment, smiling with the softness she found in them.

"Yeah... Yeah, you're right."

A sharp knock at the door broke their haze, followed by a loud voice.

"Y/N!"

The voice was unmistakable, high-pitched and full of dramatic flair, and before Y/N could even turn, Harry Lambert had burst into the room, arms spread wide, eyes scanning her from head to toe with theatrical disbelief.

"Oh. My. GOD." He practically floated toward her, his hands fluttering in the air like he was physically trying to grasp the vision before him. "Darling, how dare you stand there looking this stunning before even getting into your dress?"

Y/N barely had time to react before he pulled her into a tight hug, arms wrapped around her like he hadn’t seen her in years - even though they had spoken just yesterday. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her there for a beat longer than necessary, his touch radiating warmth and love.

"My baby girl." He cooed, pulling back slightly to cup her face. "How are we feeling? Nervous? Excited? On the verge of a breakdown?"

"All of the above." Y/N admitted, letting out a breathy laugh as he studied her with fondness.

Harry clicked his tongue.

"Well, you shouldn’t be, because you’re about to own this night. And if anyone so much as dares to breathe in your direction the wrong way, I will be throwing hands."

Chris chuckled from behind them.

"Good to see you, Harry."

"Christopher!" Harry turned to him with a dazzling smile, patting his chest in greeting before narrowing his eyes playfully. "The suit I chose for you was a very good choice, huh? Gucci looks good on you. Now, let’s be clear, your only job tonight is to stand there, look pretty, and worship Y/N like the goddess she is. Do you understand me?"

Chris raised his hands in surrender.

"Oh, trust me, I’ve been doing that since the second I met her."

Y/N felt her cheeks warm as Harry clapped his hands together.

"That’s my boy. Now, enough chit-chat! It is officially time to get my queen into the dress."

The entire room seemed to shift as the energy buzzed with anticipation. Y/N was ushered toward the dressing area, where the Gucci gown had been carefully laid out, glowing under the soft lights. Even without being worn, it commanded attention - the gold fabric shimmering as if infused with actual stardust, the dramatic ruffles sculpted to perfection.

As they helped her into it, every detail came to life. The strapless silhouette hugged her body in all the right places, the embedded crystals catching every flicker of light. The metallic sleeves, voluminous and artful, cascaded around her arms, while the matching ruffles at the bottom framed her steps with effortless grace.

When the final adjustments were made, Harry stepped back, his hands pressed to his chest as if he might faint.

"Oh, sweet heavens above." He whispered, looking genuinely overwhelmed. "I’ve outdone myself. We’ve outdone ourselves."

Chris, who had been sitting on the bed answering his brothers texts, looked up with Harry's voice, suddenly straightening up. His hands dropped to his lap, and his mouth hung open slightly, completely speechless.

"Wow." His voice came out strangled, like he had just been personally attacked.

Y/N turned toward him fully, the movement making the crystals on her dress shimmer, the light practically bending to her will. Chris visibly short-circuited.

"Are you- what- how-" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his brain. "Nah. Nah. This isn’t fair. This should be illegal."

Y/N bit her lip, fighting a smile, but his reaction only got worse. His fingers threaded into his hair, his eyes raking over her from head to toe with pure, unfiltered obsession.

"Jesus fuck." He breathed out, voice a little rough. "You’re gonna kill me tonight, doll."

Harry smirked, tilting his head as he admired her.

"Oh, she’s not just going to kill you, Christopher. She’s going to kill everyone at the Grammys tonight. And I, for one, cannot wait to watch it happen."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The energy outside the venue was electric. Even from inside the tinted Range Rover, the deafening sound of flashing cameras and screaming paparazzi was unavoidable. Y/N shifted in her seat, inhaling slowly, feeling the vibration of the excitement just beyond the doors.

A hand suddenly slid over her thighs, warm and grounding, caressing the fabric of her dress.

"Ready?" Chris asked, his voice softer than the chaos outside.

Y/N turned to him, wetting her matte lipstick lips.

"Yeah." She breathed, even though her heart was hammering.

Chris smirked knowingly.

"Liar."

Before she could argue, the car door swung open, and an immediate wave of screams hit them like a storm.

Chris stepped out first, adjusting his suit as flashes exploded around him, the sound of his name already being yelled from every direction. He quickly moved around to face the inside of the car, offering his hand.

The second Y/N emerged, the chaos tripled.

"Y/N! Y/N! Over here!"

"Y/N! Christopher! Are you two official?"

"Y/N, do you think you’ll win tonight?"

Y/N barely flinched at the shouting - it was part of the job. Instead, she kept her chin high, gripping Chris’s hand as they made their way down the carpet. The venue was bathed in red and gold hues, a massive step-and-repeat wall covered in Grammy logos standing proudly ahead. The air buzzed with anticipation, celebrities lining the edges of the carpet, all waiting for their moment in front of the cameras.

A staff member approached, guiding them toward a designated spot.

"You first, Ms. Y/N." The woman instructed.

Chris gave Y/N a gentle squeeze before stepping aside, allowing her to take center stage.

And damn, did she own it.

The second she posed, the already flashing cameras seemed to explode.

The fitted, gold gown clung to her frame like liquid metal, sparkling under the lights. The voluminous, ruffled sleeves caught the air as she shifted her stance, making her look like some sort of celestial being - untouchable, ethereal. She turned her head smoothly, flashing a radiant smile as the photographers shouted for her attention.

Chris, standing just a few feet away, was not handling it well. His eyes never left her, completely entranced, like he was seeing her for the first time again, not even noticing the flashs directed to his figure.

Y/N, catching his expression, couldn’t help but smile shyly. She subtly tilted her head toward him between poses, raising a teasing brow.

Chris just shook his head, still gawking, before muttering under his breath.

"Jesus Christ."

The staff member signaled for Chris to approach Y/N for their couple photos. Y/N turned toward him, making a playful shooing motion with her hands as if to snap him out of his trance.

"Earth to Chris." She teased.

Chris didn’t respond - not verbally, at least. Instead, he stepped closer with large steps and grabbed her by the waist, carefully pulling her flush against him, careful with her heels but firm enough to steal a delighted gasp from her. The moment their bodies pressed together, the screams from the crowd outside the barricades and the clicking of cameras reached a new level of hysteria.

The cameras loved them.

Chris leaned in between shots, his lips brushing her ear.

"You think they got food inside?"

Y/N barely bit back a laugh, keeping her expression poised as she continued smiling for the cameras.

"What, you mean like caviar and tiny-ass lobster rolls?"

"I don’t care if it’s a plate of lettuce. I need to eat something before I pass out."

Y/N snorted softly with how dramatic he could be, bumping her hips against his just slightly, careful not to disrupt the pictures.

"You ate almost all of those chocolates back in the hotel. Where does it even go?"

Chris grinned, his fingers squeezing at her waist, effectively freezing her in place.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a giggle.

"Be serious, Sturniolo."

"I am serious." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and it sent something warm and electric curling down her spine. "You are so fucking beautiful, it’s actually stupid."

Y/N faltered for half a second, her breath catching, not from the flashing lights, not from the cameras, but from him.

Chris chuckled, clearly pleased her reaction.

"Want to give y'a post-celebration present so bad." His voice switched to low and airy, almost lost beneath the noise, but she heard it perfectly.

Y/N swallowed, her mind jumping to conclusions she probably shouldn’t be having on the Grammys red carpet.

"Hm, and what would that be?"

Chris smirked, his fingers flexing at her waist.

"Eat y’out."

Y/N kept her composure like a pro, smiling for the cameras with a practiced grin, but discreetly pressed her thighs together. Two could play this game.

But before she could fire back, a voice interrupted.

"Alright, guys! We need to move to the next area!"

Another event staff member gestured for them to proceed toward the interview section, their tone polite but firm. Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart thudding inside her ears.

Chris sighed dramatically, his grip on her waist tightening for just a second before he let go, traveling up to her hand.

"And here I was, thinking we could just stay here all night."

Y/N squeezed his fingers, tugging him forward.

"Come on, you menace."

As they walked toward the interview zone, the setup became clearer - a sleek, well-lit platform lined with various media outlets, each interviewer eagerly awaiting their next celebrity guest. But before Y/N could even register who was up next, a familiar voice rang out, unmistakably enthusiastic.

"Y/N, oh my God! Get over here!"

Emma Chamberlain.

Y/N's face lit up immediately, and without hesitation, she pulled Chris along, their hands still intertwined as they made a beeline toward Emma. The internet personality-turned-Grammys correspondent was practically bouncing on her heels, her eyes wide with excitement.

As soon as they reached her, Emma lifted her microphone with dramatic flair.

"Ladies and gentlemen, five-time Grammy-nominated Y/N L/N, everyone!"

Y/N laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"No way you just said that like an awards show host."

Emma grinned.

"I am an awards show host." Then, turning to Chris, she playfully narrowed her eyes. "And, of course, let’s not forget the man of the hour, Chris Sturniolo!"

Chris chuckled, giving a small wave, the silver ring on his index finger glinting against the camera flash.

"That’s me."

Emma wasted no time diving into questions, her energy infectious.

"Okay, first things first, how are you feeling?" She pointed the mic toward Y/N.

Y/N exhaled, a bright smile still gracing her lips.

"Honestly? I’m just... I don’t even know how to put it into words. Happy? Grateful? In shock? All of it at once?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I mean, the Grammys. It’s something you dream about as a kid, you know? And now, five nominations? I feel like I need someone to pinch me."

Chris gently squeezed her hand, leaning in slightly so his mouth was close to the mic, his cheek brushing hers in the process.

"Not gonna lie, I did pinch her earlier to check."

Y/N playfully swatted at him, making Emma laugh.

"Alright, but tell me everything. What were you doing when you found out you were nominated?"

At this, Y/N turned to Chris, already laughing.

"Oh my God, it was chaos."

Chris grinned, nodding while brushing his messy hair back.

"Totally."

Y/N faced Emma again, still giggling.

"Okay, so we were just in the living room, me, Chris, Matt, and Nick. It was so casual, literally just us eating burgers, watching the nominations roll in on TV, not thinking much of it."

Emma’s eyes widened.

"Wait, so you weren’t even refreshing Twitter like a maniac?"

"No!" Y/N shook her head. "I swear, I wasn’t even expecting anything. And then, boom. My name gets called for the first nomination, and I just screamed."

"Nick screamed, too." Chris jumped in, laughing.

Emma gasped.

"Nick would."

Y/N nodded rapidly.

"He did! So then, Chris kisses me, Matt’s literally jumping up and down, and it was just full-on mayhem. But then, like, a minute later, my name gets called again for another nomination."

Chris smirked, nodding his head.

"And again. And again."

Emma covered her mouth, delighted.

"So by the fifth time-"

"I was crying." Y/N admitted, grinning. "Like, full-on sobbing in Chris’s arms."

Emma dramatically put her free hand against her heart.

"This is what I live for." Then, turning to Chris, she grinned mischievously. "Alright, your turn, Sturniolo."

Chris blinked, looking at Y/N before going back to Emma.

"Me?"

Emma nodded, dead serious.

"Yes, you. Because I know you, you act all cool and chill, but I know you were losing your mind when she got nominated."

Chris laughed, shaking his head.

"I mean, yeah, obviously. I was going crazy. But I think it really hit me when I looked at her during the last nomination and realized, this is actually happening. Like, she’s that talented. The world is seeing what I already knew."

Y/N felt her face heat up, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest.

Emma pouted.

"Chris, that's so wholesome. You’re really that boyfriend, huh?"

Chris shrugged, squeezing Y/N’s hand.

"I mean, yeah. Have you met her?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile didn’t fade.

"I know, right?" Emma nodded at Chris's direction, laughing with Y/N's reaction. "Now, tell me, which nomination are you most excited about?"

Y/N didn’t even hesitate.

"Song of the Year."

Emma’s brows lifted.

"Because...?"

Y/N took a breath, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Chris’s hand.

"Because the song nominated for that category is Lavender Haze, and that song... it just means so much to me." She glanced at Chris, her expression softer now.

Emma’s eyes darted between the two of them, her curiosity sparking instantly. She glanced at Y/N, then at Chris, before turning toward the camera with exaggerated wide eyes.

"Ohhh, I know that look." She teased, pointing between them with a knowing grin. "Okay, spill, tell me about the song."

Y/N let out a breathy laugh with how eager she sounded, meeting Emma’s gaze again.

"You'll know all about it if I win." She winked, her tone warm.

Chris was quick to approach the microphone again.

"Not if, when."

Emma tilted her head, frowning as a pout grew on her lips.

"No way you're going to leave me with this curiosity." She sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll need to watch the awards with double attention." Emma winked to the camera. "Okay, I’m obsessed with you guys. This is too cute. But I won’t keep you any longer, go enjoy your night! And, Y/N, fingers crossed for all five wins!"

Y/N beamed, giving Emma one last hug before she and Chris were guided to the next section of the event. As they walked, the lights of the Grammys venue shining ahead, Chris leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"You’re killing it, doll."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment Y/N and Chris stepped into the grand main salon, the shift in the atmosphere was almost physical. The flashing lights of the red carpet were behind them, replaced by the elegant glow of chandeliers and the soft hum of conversation. Celebrities, industry giants, and music legends filled the expansive room, dressed in their finest, the air buzzing with anticipation.

A staff member immediately approached them with a warm smile, gesturing toward their assigned table.

"Good evening, Ms. L/N, Mr. Sturniolo. Right this way, please."

As they walked through the lavishly decorated space, Y/N’s fingers instinctively tightened around Chris’s hand, her nerves still tingling with the knowledge that the biggest names were around her.

Halfway to their table, a familiar voice called out from the side.

"Chris! No way- dude!"

Chris turned toward the sound, a grin instantly spreading across his face when he saw Troye Sivan standing up from his table, waving him over.

Troye had met Chris and his brothers just two weeks ago at a Prada fashion show, and the energy between them had been instantly chill and friendly.

"Troye, hey, what’s up, man?" Chris greeted as he pulled him in for a quick hug.

Meanwhile, Y/N turned toward Sabrina Carpenter, who was seated beside Troye in the most ethereal baby blue dress, its delicate fabric flowing like water over her frame.

"Sabrina, hi!" Y/N greeted, her voice lighting up as she fully took in the details of her look. "Wow, you look absolutely stunning. Like, actually unreal."

Sabrina’s eyes widened for a split second, surprise flashing across her face before it melted into the sweetest, most genuine smile. Without a second thought, she pushed herself up from her seat, reaching for Y/N as if they were lifelong friends and pulling her into a warm, affectionate hug. She squeezed tightly, her energy radiating pure kindness.

"Oh my god, stop." Sabrina gushed, pulling back just enough to look at Y/N, her hands still resting gently on her arms. "That means the world coming from you. And please, look at you!" She emphasized, eyes scanning Y/N from head to toe with genuine admiration. "You look like an actual goddess."

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she absentmindedly smoothed her hands over the golden fabric of her dress.

"It’s all Lambert’s magic." She admitted with a playful grin, referring to her trusted stylist. Then, with a spark of excitement, she added. "I heard you’re performing tonight, I cannot wait to see it!"

Sabrina practically bounced in place, her excitement just as contagious.

"Oh, that makes me so nervous but also so happy." She admitted with a laugh, her hands clasping together. "I just hope I don’t trip or something."

Y/N shook her head instantly.

"No way, you’re going to kill it. I already know it."

Chris and Troye exchanged a few more words, something about how amazing the Prada show had been and how they should schedule to do something together in the future, before Chris gave him a casual pat on the shoulder.

"We’ll catch up later, yeah? We gotta find our table before they go live."

Troye grinned.

"For sure. Enjoy the night, guys."

After one last big smile at Sabrina, Y/N slipped her hand back into Chris’s as they navigated through the room.

Their table was positioned with a perfect view of the stage, the paper cards on their seats spelling out their names in black ink below a selected picture of their faces.

As they sat down, Y/N exhaled, glancing up at the stage. A quick glance at the massive countdown screen told her they had ten minutes before the live broadcast began.

"Damn." She muttered, leaning toward Chris. "Didn’t even realize how much time passed outside."

Chris chuckled, his voice low.

"That’s ‘cause you were too busy looking hot and stealing everyone’s attention."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at her lips.

"Come'ere, babe." He asked, extending his arm in her direction, asking silently for her to move closer.

Her eyes sparkled with affection, and she shifted her chair slightly, moving closer to Chris until she was practically pressed against his side. Without hesitation, he wrapped his extended arm around her upper body, pulling her in securely. The warmth of his body mixed with the familiarity of his presence was grounding and comforting.

Chris pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shining under the dimmed chandeliers.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, looking down at her, their faces so close he could feel her warm breath hitting his chin.

"For what?"

"For being here with me. For always being here for me."

His gaze softened immediately, and the way he looked at her - so full of quiet devotion - made her heart swell.

"Forever, baby." He murmured, squeezing her gently.

Before Y/N could say anything else, a new voice cut into their moment.

"Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

The voice was warm, familiar, and utterly unmistakable.

Both Y/N and Chris turned toward the sound, and in an instant, Y/N felt the entire world freeze. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttered, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if she had actually left her body.

Because standing there, just a few feet away, in all her effortless, golden-lit, legendary glory, was Taylor Swift.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N swore she could hear the heavens parting and angels singing in the background.

Taylor was an absolute vision in a stunning, strong red mini dress, her signature red lip effortlessly bold, her blonde hair framing her face in soft waves.

And she was smiling - smiling - at her.

"Oh my god." Y/N blurted out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could even attempt to reel them back in.

Taylor let out a soft laugh as she shook her head lightly, eyes twinkling.

"I just wanted to say that I’m such a huge fan of your work. Lavender Haze is absolutely everything."

Y/N felt her soul leave her body.

Her brain quite literally short-circuited. Because- because what?

Taylor Swift, the Taylor Swift, her biggest inspiration, her songwriting idol, just complimented her music?

There was a very real possibility that she had just blacked out.

Chris shifted slightly beside her, maintaining his arm above the back of her chair, obviously trying so hard not to burst out laughing at how starstruck she looked.

Somehow, somehow, Y/N managed to keep her expression together, even though her heart was doing full-blown Olympic-level gymnastics in her chest.

"That means everything coming from you." She breathed, every word laced with pure, raw sincerity. "Thank you so, so much."

Taylor’s smile only widened, like she could feel how much those words meant to Y/N.

"Seriously." She said, her voice warm and genuine. "I’ve been listening to it on repeat. You’re insanely talented. The way you crafted that song... you have such a gift."

Y/N felt an actual tear prick at the corner of her eye. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hug her. She wanted to tattoo this moment onto her soul and never forget it.

And then, as if she couldn’t possibly adore her any more, Taylor turned to Chris, offering him the same bright, kind smile.

"And of course, you." She said, her tone playful but just as sincere. "I love what you and your brothers are doing on YouTube. It’s always fun seeing people bring fresh energy to the space."

Chris looked genuinely taken aback for a moment. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and for the first time, Y/N saw a flicker of oh wow, this is real life in his expression.

"That’s- wow, okay, that’s crazy." He said, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous chuckle. "Thank you, that’s- man, that’s insane coming from you."

Taylor grinned, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

"I won’t keep you guys." She said softly. "I just wanted to say that. Hope you both have the best night."

And just like that, she turned, walking back toward her table.

For a long, stunned second, Y/N just stood there, processing what had just happened. Then, with wide eyes, she turned to Chris, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Did that just happen?"

Chris, still looking way too amused, nodded, his grin stretching across his face.

"Yup." He confirmed. "And you just casually had a conversation with Taylor Swift like it was nothing."

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, pressing her hands over her face.

"I need a second."

Chris laughed, and before she could even register it, he was wrapping both arms around her, pulling her in tightly, his face pressing against her hair.

"Proud of you, popstar." He murmured, his voice laced with nothing but warmth.

Before she could respond, the lights dimmed, and the energy in the room shifted as a voice echoed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host for the 67th Annual Grammy Awards, Trevor Noah!"

A roar of cheers erupted as the towering LED screens flanking the stage flickered to life, displaying Trevor Noah’s wide, mischievous grin. He strolled onto the main floor rather than standing on the stage, seamlessly blending into the sea of round tables where the biggest names in the industry were seated.

He adjusted the microphone in his hand, letting the applause die down just enough before flashing a knowing smirk.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen." He began, his smooth voice carrying through the arena. "This is it, the 67th Grammys! Music’s biggest night! The Super Bowl for people who cried to Folklore, danced to Beyoncé, and worked out to Travis Scott, all in the same day!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as the camera panned to a few artists nodding dramatically in agreement.

"And listen, let’s be honest. The Grammys are basically just a really fancy dinner party where we all pretend we haven’t been stalking the winners list since yesterday." Another wave of laughter followed. "But tonight... tonight, we are celebrating the best of the best in music. The songs that made us scream in our cars, the albums that made us question our entire existence, and the artists who consistently ruin our Spotify Wrapped every year."

Trevor began walking casually between the round tables, grinning as he looked around at the audience.

"And let’s not forget the real stars of the night, the seating arrangements. Have you seen these tables? It’s like the ultimate Hunger Games. You got legends, you got rookies, and you got the poor artists who are just hoping they don’t get caught in an awkward cutaway during a joke."

The camera zoomed in on a few newer artists laughing nervously, earning a chuckle from the crowd.

Trevor continued weaving his way through the tables, his eyes scanning the sea of music’s biggest names.

"And speaking of icons." He said, stopping by a particular table. "Tonight, we have the one and only Y/N L/N with us!"

The moment her name left his lips, the entire arena erupted into cheers. The camera cut to Y/N’s table, her face instantly lighting up with a radiant smile. Chris grinned smugly as he watched her soak in the moment.

Y/N turned slightly to face the camera that was now focused on her, offering a soft wave. The massive screen above the stage displayed a live feed of her, the applause continuing as Trevor beamed.

"Now, listen, if you somehow missed it, Y/N is up for five nominations tonight!" Trevor announced, pointing at her with mock emphasis. "Five nominations, guys. For songs and the album she announced when she won last year. That’s how much of a legend she is."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her cheeks warming as she watched herself on the big screen. The camera panned slightly to Chris, who was nodding with a smug expression, as if silently agreeing with every word Trevor was saying.

"Plus." Trevor continued, stepping closer to their table. "If Y/N wins tonight, she could be the first artist ever to win Album of the Year five times."

Gasps and cheers rippled through the audience, while Y/N’s smile grew impossibly wider.

"Which means, she would break the record of four wins set all the way back in 2024 by-" Trevor raised his free hand, making a show of pretending to check an invisible list on his palm. "Y/N L/N!"

The entire room erupted into even louder applause, whistles echoing through the space as Trevor dramatically motioned toward her again.

Y/N's eyebrows flew up, feigning surprise, trying to contain her giddiness while Chris chuckled beside her, mouthing 'that's my girl' to a camera pointing his way.

Trevor placed a hand on his hip, looking toward the camera with mock exasperation.

"So basically, Y/N is out here breaking her own records. Just casually deciding that four wins aren’t enough and going for five. That’s like running a marathon, winning, and then saying, 'You know what? Let’s do it again, backwards'."

More laughter filled the room, Y/N pressing a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling too much. Trevor grinned, looking at her one last time.

"Listen, Y/N, whatever happens tonight, you’re already a legend. But if you win that fifth Grammy, just promise me you won’t announce another album mid-acceptance speech. Give the rest of the industry a fighting chance, okay?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, and Chris patted her thigh under the table, looking thoroughly entertained.

Trevor winked before turning back to the audience, raising his mic once again.

"Alright, let’s get this incredible night started! We’ve got performances, surprises, and probably a few moments that’ll break the internet. Let’s do this!"

The crowd roared as the cameras pulled away, cutting to a sleek transition video, signaling the official start of the show. Y/N exhaled, stealing a glance at Chris, who simply grinned and pulled her back to his chest, pressing his lips against her cheek.

"You’re so winning tonight."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The moment the last notes of Birds of a Feather echoed through the grand hall, Y/N felt like she was floating. Billie Eilish had just delivered one of the most breathtaking performances she had ever seen, and she could still feel the goosebumps lingering on her arms.

She turned to Chris, her eyes shining with excitement, her heart still beating to the rhythm of the song.

"Billie is unreal." She gushed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, every time she performs, it’s like she’s singing straight to my soul."

Chris let out a chuckle, his arm draped lazily around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Nick would actually kill to be here right now." His lips quirked up in amusement. "I bet he’s texting us like a mad man."

Y/N laughed softly, already imagining Nick’s all-caps messages blowing up their group chat. But before she could even think of checking, the stage lights dimmed slightly, and the screens around the venue shifted. A familiar melody played in the background as a figure gracefully stepped onto the stage. The chatter in the audience softened as people turned their attention to her.

Taylor Swift.

Y/N straightened in her seat, her heart picking up speed.

Chris immediately caught the change in her posture and smirked.

"Oh shit." He teased, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "Your idol is speaking. Do you need me to hold you so you don’t pass out?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling in her chest.

Taylor approached the microphone with that effortless charm that made the entire room fall silent. She smiled warmly, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear before speaking.

"Good evening, everyone." She greeted, her voice carrying easily through the venue. "Tonight has been incredible so far, and I am so honored to be here presenting this next award."

Y/N opened a genuine smile, squeezing Chris's thigh below her fingers.

"Album of the Year is such a special award because it represents not just music, but stories. It’s about the albums that stayed with us, that shaped our emotions, our memories. The ones that became the soundtrack to our lives." Taylor continued, her expression softening as she held up the envelope. "And with that being said, the Grammy goes to..."

She slid her fingers under the flap and carefully pulled out the card, unfolding it with precision.

Y/N could feel Chris’s arms tighten around her. His body heat a cocoon around her own as she clutched onto him, her pulse thundering in her temple.

A second of silence stretched. Then Taylor’s eyes scanned the paper, and the biggest, brightest smile took over her face. Her gaze lifted, seemingly searching the crowd for someone.

Y/N furrowed her brows slightly.

Taylor found her.

And then, with a warmth that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine, Taylor announced.

"Y/N L/N, Midnights."

The world tilted.

For a solid moment, Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t move. The air in her lungs disappeared, her vision blurred instantly with unshed tears, and her mouth fell open in pure, unfiltered shock, her hands hovering near her mouth, trembling as realization crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Album of the Year.

She won.

She won.

Chris, on the other hand, reacted immediately.

"YES!" He shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he punched the air, his excitement completely unfiltered. People turned, smiling, laughing, but Chris didn’t care. His hands were already on Y/N, his eyes scanning her face.

She wasn’t breathing.

"Babe." His voice softened instantly as he leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Hey, you did it."

Y/N sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them, her body shaking with the force of emotions she had no chance of containing.

A broken sob escaped her lips.

Chris pulled her in before she could crumple, wrapping her up in the kind of hug that blocked everything else out. His arms were warm, steady, his lips pressing against her forehead as he whispered, his voice firm this time.

"You did it."

Y/N let out a wet laugh against his shoulder, her fingers clutching onto him for just a second longer before she finally let go.

He gently lowered his head, making sure she looked at him.

And God, the way he was looking at her.

Like she had just built the entire universe with her bare hands.

"Go get your Grammy, winner." He murmured, the words slow and soft and filled with everything.

Y/N let out another broken breath, nodding before finally, finally turning toward the stage.

The journey to the top felt surreal, like she was floating. The cheers, the applause, the faces she recognized - people she had idolized - they all blurred together.

And then suddenly, she was there.

Standing at the top.

Face to face with Taylor Swift.

Who was smiling at her, waiting for her, Grammy in hand.

Y/N’s breath hitched all over again.

Her hands, still unsteady, reached out, fingers closing around the golden gramophone. The weight of it sent a whole new wave of emotions crashing into her.

Before she could even process what was happening, Taylor pulled her into a hug - tight, warm, real.

"Congratulations." Taylor whispered against her ear, and god, if that wasn’t the most surreal moment of Y/N’s entire life. "You deserve this so much."

A choked noise left Y/N’s lips as she nodded weakly, her throat too tight to speak.

She deserved this.

She deserved this.

Her fingers traced over the Grammy, like she needed physical proof that it was real before she finally turned to the microphone.

She inhaled deeply. Opened her mouth.

"I-I don’t even know what to say right now." She admitted, biting her bottom lip. "I’m- god, I’m just so honored."

The crowd cooed, and Y/N let out a breathless laugh of her own, shaking her head as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

"This is insane." She said, shaking her head slightly. "Being nominated in this category, alongside so many incredible artists, artists I’ve admired for years, was already more than I could’ve ever dreamed of. To even stand beside you all tonight, to celebrate music with you? That was already everything."

Her chest rose and fell as she blinked away the heat gathering behind her eyes, sweeping her gaze across the crowd.

"I have to thank my incredible producer, my team, every single person who helped bring this album to life." Her voice wavered, thick with emotion. "You guys took my wild, messy ideas and turned them into something real, something that I never could have done alone. And I will never stop being grateful."

She wet her lips, inhaling deeply before her smile stretched just a little wider.

"My fans..." Her voice caught slightly, her hand pressing over her heart. "You guys have given me everything. You’ve let me tell my stories, and you’ve listened over and over and over again. You’ve made this dream of mine possible, and I love you more than I can ever put into words."

The cheers swelled again, voices from every corner of the room shouting her name. Her grip on the Grammy tightened as she shifted her weight slightly.

"To my family, Matt and Nick, my biggest cheerleaders." She laughed softly, looking at the main camera pointing at her. "I love you guys, you already know that."

And then, as if the moment had been waiting for this, her gaze lifted to him. Her breath hitched, lips curling into a smile that was just for him.

"And lastly." She said, her voice softer now. "To my boyfriend, Chris."

A ripple of excitement spread through the audience, but Y/N didn’t hear it. Not when those impossibly blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when his expression softened with something so tender, so proud, it made her knees weak.

"Thank you for being the creative genius that you are." She said, eyes never leaving his. "For staying up with me in the studio when I couldn’t figure out the right melody, even when I was on hour ten of tweaking the same one."

Laughter rolled through the room, and Chris grinned, shaking his head.

"For never doubting me." She continued, her throat tightening. "Even when I doubted myself. For being my biggest supporter. My muse. Every song, every lyric... You are in all of them.”

Chris exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing, his hand pressing over his heart as if feeling her love for him.

"Thank you." She finished simply, her voice steady, full of everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

The applause was deafening. A roar of cheers, of love, of celebration.

But all Y/N could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

This was real.

She had just won Album of the Year for the fifth time in a row.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The massive screens on either side of the stage illuminated with Trevor Noah’s face again as he took the microphone, now standing above all of them, his signature charm radiating through the room.

"Alright, people." He started, a knowing smirk on his lips. "This is it, one of the most expected award of the night. Song of the Year."

The audience erupted into applause, a tangible wave of excitement washing over the room.

Y/N could barely hear it. Her entire body felt like it was wound up in a coil, so tight that she might snap. Her heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage as she focused on the only thing grounding her - Chris’s hand wrapped tightly around hers.

She could feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers curled firmly around hers, almost as if he knew she needed the anchor.

Trevor continued, his voice filling the grand space.

"Now, we all know Song of the Year isn’t just about a hit track. It’s about storytelling. It’s about lyrics that mean something that connects with people, that makes you feel something in your soul."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for a second. God, she felt like she was going to throw up.

Chris, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the stage, his jaw set, body tense. His grip on her hand tightening, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand once - just once - as if silently telling her, I’ve got you.

Trevor continued listing the nominees, their song snippets playing softly over the speakers, but Y/N’s mind was a blur. The only thing she could feel was her heartbeat hammering violently inside her chest.

She could barely hear Trevor’s next words over the rush of blood in her ears.

"And the Grammy goes to..."

A dramatic pause.

It felt endless. It felt cruel.

Y/N finally lifted her head, eyes darting to the stage.

Trevor’s gaze swept across the room before his smile widened.

"Y/N L/N, Lavender Haze!"

The room erupted. Applause, cheers bouncing off the walls, her own voice echoing from the speakers, but Y/N barely registered any of it.

Her breath hitched, her entire body jerking forward as if her heart had physically pulled her out of her seat. Her hands flew to her face, pressing against her eyes, trying to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions slamming into her all at once.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

Chris was already moving before she could even think. His chair scraped back, his arms were on her in an instant, pulling her up, grounding her before she could float away in all of this.

"Oh my god." The words tumbled out of her, barely a whisper against her palms, her chest rising and falling too quickly to keep up.

Chris didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around her tightly, anchoring her, holding her so close she could feel his heartbeat against hers.

"I am so fucking proud of you." His voice was right against her ear, steady, sure. "You are everything, baby."

That was it. That was what made the tears slip free.

But Chris didn’t let her hide.

With infinite tenderness, he pulled her hands away from her face, his thumbs sweeping over her damp cheeks. Then, before she could even catch her breath, he cupped her jaw and kissed her, firm, lingering, so full of love that everything else around them faded into nothing.

The crowd reacted instantly - cheers, whistles, camera flashes exploding in rapid succession - but Y/N only felt him.

When he pulled back, his hand found the small of her back, keeping her close, his face glowing with pride.

"Go get your second Grammy, superstar."

She exhaled shakily, nodding as she turned toward the stage for the second time in that night.

With each step, she forced herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

The massive gold-lettered GRAMMY AWARDS logo towered behind Trevor as he extended the award toward her, his smile warm and genuine.

"Y/N, congratulations." He said, offering a short but meaningful handshake.

Y/N took the Grammy statue with slightly trembling hands, whispering.

"Thank you so much." Before stepping toward the microphone.

As she turned, facing the sea of the world’s most influential artists, the weight of the moment finally settled on her. She was with her second award in her hands.

She barely had time to process it before her gaze instinctively found Chris.

He was standing at their table, hands tucked into his pants pockets, eyes locked onto hers. And when she hesitated, nerves bubbling up again, he gave her the smallest nod.

A simple movement.

But one that made her chest ache in the best way.

Y/N exhaled, adjusting her grip on the award.

"I- uh, I think I blacked out for a second there."

The room laughed, the tension easing instantly.

Y/N smiled, shaking her head.

"I genuinely don’t even know where to start. Again. This... this is insane."

She swallowed, her grip tightening on the Grammy as she steadied herself. The applause had started to fade, giving her space to speak, but her mind was still spinning.

"Lavender Haze is about love." She let the words settle, looking down for a brief moment before lifting her gaze straight to him. "The kind of love that blocks out the noise. The kind that just is, no matter what’s said, no matter what’s assumed. The kind that’s real."

Chris’s expression didn’t change, but she saw it, the slight shift in his jaw, the way his fingers curled against his palm, like he was physically stopping himself from reacting too much. From crumbling, maybe.

"This song wouldn’t exist without that love." Y/N wet her lips, heart hammering. "Without him."

A murmur rippled through the audience. People turned toward Chris, whose head finally dropped for half a second, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he glanced back up at her.

Y/N barely heard the movement. Barely noticed the cameras zooming in on them, barely cared about the entire world watching, because this wasn’t for them.

"This music is for you, Chris." Her voice was softer now, but no less sure. "And about you. And because of you."

Chris inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the movement. He was blinking faster now, his lips parting slightly, his entire body still, like if he moved, even a little, he’d break.

"You have been my safe place in ways I never even thought possible." Y/N continued, her voice thick with emotion. "You have shown me love in a way that makes the rest of the world fade out. And I wrote this because I needed people to hear what that feels like."

A pause.

Chris pressed his knuckles against his mouth, his gaze locked onto her like she had gravity itself wrapped around her fingers.

"So, I don’t need to thank anyone else for this." Y/N said simply, shaking her head. "This is you. This was always you."

The room was silent.

The world was silent.

Then, like a tidal wave, the applause crashed back over the moment, a roar of cheers and shouts as the weight of her words settled over the audience.

Chris didn’t move.

Didn’t clap.

Didn’t even breathe for a second.

He just looked at her with the most bright blue eyes.

She nodded, finally stepping back from the mic, Trevor clapping beside her before escorting her off stage.

And the second she made it back to her table, Chris was there.

Before she could even react, he pulled her against him, lips finding hers in a way that had the cameras flashing wildly, had people cooing, but none of it mattered.

Because for Y/N, all that existed was him.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Five nominations.

Five won awards.

She did it.

She had won five Grammys tonight.

She still couldn’t fully process it.

The air outside the main salon was crisp with the late-night chill, but Y/N barely felt it. The sheer exhaustion in her limbs, the dull ache in her feet from hours in high heels, and the weight - both literal and emotional - of the five golden Grammys in her hands left her in a haze.

Chris walked beside her, just as tired, but his expression was still warm with lingering pride. His free hand held two of her awards, his fingers occasionally brushing against hers as they made their way toward the grey wall - the makeshift backdrop set up just for the winners to take their photos.

Y/N’s sharp eyes were quick to spot something - or rather, someone - familiar.

Cole Walliser. The photographer behind every iconic Glambot moment and best photographs at major award shows.

The moment Cole noticed her, his face lit up in recognition, and he immediately called out.

"Y/N! Oh my god, look at these babies!" He gestured toward her stack of trophies, shaking his head in disbelief. "Get over here. You already know the drill!"

Y/N laughed, already making her way toward him, Chris trailing behind her with a wide smile.

"Oh, I think I remember it."

Cole smirked, playing along.

"Yeah? You sure about that? Feels like I’ve only filmed you a dozen times or so."

"Something like that." She teased before gesturing toward Chris with her head. "Brought a friend this time."

Chris scoffed, giving her the most offended look.

"Friend my ass."

Y/N burst into laughter, nudging him playfully, while Cole chuckled at their dynamic.

"Alright, what’s the game plan? We need to show these off."

Y/N barely had time to respond before Chris was already moving, helping her adjust the awards so she could hold them all without them toppling over.

"Wait, wait, here, give me that one." His voice was soft, concentrated, as he carefully restacked them, his touch both gentle and efficient. "Alright, you good? You got ‘em?"

She let out a breathy laugh, adjusting her grip.

"Yeah, I think so."

Cole grinned, stepping back to gesture toward the marked spot in front of the camera.

"Perfect, then. Right this way, Ms. Sturniolo."

Y/N choked on a laugh, and Chris practically beamed.

"Ms. Sturniolo, huh?" Chris turned to her, eyes shining with excitement, his grip on her lower back tightening slightly as he guided her onto the designated Glambot mark. "I like the sound of it."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her laughter betrayed how much she loved seeing him so giddy.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Mr. Sturniolo."

Chris grinned.

"Oh, it’s already there."

As Cole called out instructions, Chris stepped back, giving her space, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he lingered off to the side, watching her with the biggest, most heart-wrenchingly proud smile on his face.

Y/N could feel his gaze on her as she smiled to Cole’s moving camera. She tilted her head, posing slightly, but every time she caught Chris’s eyes in the background, her lips twitched into a barely-contained grin.

She couldn’t help it.

This moment was surreal.

She was standing there, arms full of Grammys, while her person stood just a few feet away, looking at her like she had hung the damn stars in the sky.

After a few more clicks, she shifted the weight of the awards in her arms before looking toward Waliser.

"Can we do one with Chris?" She asked, glancing between the camera and Chris himself.

Cole barely hesitated, quickly nodding.

"Oh, absolutely! Christopher, hop in!"

Chris blinked.

"Oh, I mean- I wasn’t-"

"Oh, shut up and get over here." Y/N teased, a playful glint in her tired eyes.

Chris huffed a soft chuckle before stepping forward, standing beside her as she started redistributing the awards.

"Here." She murmured, placing two specific trophies into his hands.

Song of the Year and Album of the Year.

Chris furrowed his brows slightly, glancing down at the awards before looking back at her.

"Doll-"

"These two." She said softly, eyes locking onto his. "I only got because of you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers tightening around the trophies instinctively.

"Y/N-"

"Just hold them with me." She whispered, nudging him gently.

Chris exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line before he gave in, nodding as they both turned to face the camera.

Cole then gave play on his camera, but Y/N barely paid attention to it. She could feel Chris's eyes at her again, his expression unreadable, almost like he was too full of emotion to put it into words.

When the last one was taken, Chris nudged her shoulder lightly.

"C’mon, superstar. Let’s get out of here."

She didn’t hesitate.

After exchanging warm goodbyes with Cole, Y/N and Chris started making their way toward the private exit where their Range Rover was waiting.

Y/N’s entire body felt like it was dragging now, the adrenaline wearing off fast. She wanted nothing more than to be curled up at home, in bed, preferably with Chris’s arms around her.

But before they could reach the doors-

"Y/N!"

A reporter suddenly appeared in front of them, stepping way too close for comfort. Y/N barely had time to react before the microphone was practically in her face.

"So, are you guys heading to the after-party?" The woman asked, her tone almost demanding, her smile overly eager. "What are the plans for the rest of the night?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by how aggressive the approach was.

Chris, on the other hand... His entire expression darkened. His jaw clenched, and his brows furrowed deeply, his grip tightening around the awards as he took a subtle step closer to Y/N, his entire posture radiating protectiveness.

If looks could kill, the woman would’ve been vaporized on the spot.

But before Chris could say anything, Y/N, despite being exhausted, handled it perfectly.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Instead, she simply smiled, a polite, but pointed smile.

"I’m heading home, actually." She said smoothly, adjusting the awards in her arms. "To my family." The reporter barely had time to respond before Y/N added. "Thank you so much. Have a great night."

And just like that, she turned, walking away.

Chris blinked. Then, a slow, smug smirk crept onto his lips as he followed her.

Y/N didn’t give the woman another second of her time. She just kept walking, invisibly pulling Chris with her, her arm brushing against his with every step, greeting and thanking each staff member in the way with warm smiles.

Chris let out a low chuckle as they reached the car, expertly balancing both awards in one hand while using the other to pull open the door for her.

"Damn. That was smooth." His voice was warm, laced with amusement.

Y/N smirked at him over her shoulder, eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion sinking in.

"I’m too tired to deal with more people tonight."

Chris snorted, watching as she slid into the leather seat with a sigh of relief.

"Fair enough."

When he finally climbed into the seat beside hers, he shut the door with a groan, leaning his head back for a second before exhaling slowly.

And just like that, the moment they were sealed inside the warm car, blocking the sounds of loud voices and clicks, the exhaustion slammed into them both.

Y/N melted into the headrest, her eyes falling shut as she let out a deep, heavy breath.

"I feel like I ran a marathon."

Chris chuckled under his breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

"You did. An emotional one."

She hummed in agreement, her breathing slowing as the exhaustion took hold. Chris reached over instinctively, finding her hand in the dim light of the car, fingers slotting between hers with ease.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, grounding her in the quiet.

"M’so proud of you, baby." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness settling over them.

Y/N turned her head toward him, eyelids heavy, but her lips curled into the smallest, sleepiest smile.

"Love you."

Chris lifted their joined hands without hesitation, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

"Love you more."

She let her eyes flicker down, gaze landing on the golden awards sprawled across her lap and the seat beside her. She reached out, fingertips tracing the engravings, still not entirely believing they were hers.

She let out a thoughtful hum. Five more Grammys.

"We’re gonna have to find space for these at home." She murmured, brows knitting together as she looked over at Chris. "I have no idea where we’re putting them."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head.

"Already taken care of."

She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nick ordered a whole-ass display cabinet for that empty wall across from the kitchen." He admitted, shooting her a knowing look. "Figured we’d need it."

Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly.

"He-"

"Yeah." Chris smirked. "So, we’ll put these there with the others from the past years..." He paused, his eyes twinkling playfully. "Until there’s no room left, popstar."

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head before leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"At this rate." She teased, nuzzling his soft skin. "We’ll need a whole new house."

It was no surprise when, in the next TikTok, the boys recorded in their kitchen, the cabinet full of awards served as the background.

[femmeroll]

okay i fear i enjoyed writing about older!sevika too much so here’s more i guess!

sevika x fem reader

cw: fluff and a tiny bit of smut, age gap, modern setting, sexting, sevika is old bless her heart

older!sevika is so bad at technology it’s insane. she’s gen x, okay! she didn’t grow up with it like you did! it takes her forever to figure out apple carplay in her truck. once she does she plays the playlist you made her every time she drives.

she has no profile picture on spotify and her username is ‘Sevika123456’. you’re her only follower.

older!sevika gets so awkward when you take pictures of her. she’ll turn her head away or cover her face whenever you get your phone out.

“baby, no pictures please. i don’t wanna be on your snapchats or whatever.”

“it’s just for my camera roll, sev, relax. smile for me, handsome. so cute!”

older!sevika has a framed picture of you two in her office at work. (thank you to my friend who said modern sev would be a psychologist bc im obsessed)

one of her clients asks about ‘the girl in the picture’ after a session. she goes twenty minutes overtime gushing about you to her client who literally doesn’t care at all.

older!sevika still has cable and refuses to get rid of it. CNN is the default channel of her tv. she doesn’t understand paying for a million streaming services even though she pays for like…so many channels that she doesn’t even watch.

“look, sweetie. i recorded all the episodes of your favorite show for you. can netflix do that?”

“yes, sevika. netflix absolutely does that.”

older!sevika doesn’t understand any of your niche internet references. if you’re hopelessly chronically online like me, you are constantly quoting the most random shit.

she tried on a suit for some event for you once. you looked at her and said “who is the diva?” and poor sevi was so confused :( she has no idea what all that means.

older!sevika has a piece of masking tape over her laptop camera because she’s convinced that the government is watching her.

when she gets an add for something online that she was talking about the day before, she’ll immediately tell you that the government heard her.

older!sevika freaks out when you start sexting her randomly. she’s hella confused at first but sorta gets it after a while.

‘i’m touching myself thinking about u sev :/ i miss ur body so much’

‘Wow! 🔥🤤 I will be home soon.’

‘were the emojis really necessary’

in conclusion older!sevika has my fuckin heart🤍 i’m so in love with her it’s insane

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

[levanterhaze]

GAMEBOY — BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader a loooot of sexual tension, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, handjob, a lot of curse words, dirty talk.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[7.4k words ]♡― guys, i'm very grateful that you enjoyed gameboy. thanks to everyone who asked to be on the taglist, to everyone who is deeply involved in the story (just like me). here's another chapter. the third of this journey. don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two]

We'll be dancin' with the shadows in the night The stars are jealous knowing that you’re by my side Feel the adrenaline, acceleration In the course, we’ll be drivin' so rough

The whole campus buzzed like it had just been cast as extras in Magic Mike: College Edition.

Nahee appeared with her basket of brownies, practically vibrating with excitement. You had floated the idea to your theater crew, and, much to your delight, they had all rallied behind it.

“This,” she said, scanning the chaotic crowd, “is the sluttiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She turned to you, her grin devilish. “And I love it.”

The scene was pandemonium. The entire basketball team had ditched their shirts, creating a spectacle that rivaled any reality dating show. Lines formed instantly—three people deep for each boy, regardless of who they were. Men, women, professors who “just happened to be walking by”—no one was immune. A few of the boys even posed for photos, flexing like they were auditioning for a particularly steamy firefighter calendar.

“This has a countdown clock before someone shuts it down,” you said, arms crossed, though you couldn’t stop your lips from twitching.

“Let them try,” Eunji sighed, fanning herself dramatically. “This is art. This is community service. This is visual serotonin.”

“Speaking of the devil…” Nahee tilted her head, gesturing with the slightest nod.

You followed her gaze and immediately wished you hadn’t. Bangchan was front and center, a walking thirst trap without even trying. His arms, all defined muscle and veins, moved in practiced ease as he handed out brownies with that easy smile of his. His shoulders looked like they could carry half the student body, and his wet, glistening torso was proof he either took this way too seriously or knew exactly what he was doing. Either way, the guy was impossible to ignore.

You tilted your head, feigning indifference despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Guess some people can’t help themselves, huh?”

Nahee smirked, not buying it for a second. “Some people, indeed.”

You hated to admit it, but he was a natural. Flashing easy smiles, throwing in effortless charm, making every girl swoon just enough to dig into their wallets a little faster. All he had on were sweatpants slung low on his hips and his cap turned backward—just unfair, really.

Not that it mattered. You weren’t talking. There was nothing to talk about. And yet, after the kiss, everything had shifted. Bangchan had distanced himself like you were a plague, and for once, he wasn’t even trying to get under your skin.

You stole glances when you thought he wouldn’t notice, hating the way every passing hand seemed to have permission to touch him. He didn’t look at you once. And knowing him, that meant something.

The sun was relentless, making the whole shirtless thing almost justifiable. You, Eunji, Nahee, and Sohee made your rounds across campus, hustling for the theater fund. But let’s be real—nobody cared about the cause.

They wanted six-packs and pretty smiles.

You were so busy pretending not to notice Bangchan’s every move that you almost missed the presence looming beside you.

“Hey,” Mingyu greeted, arms crossed, his signature grin firmly in place. “Got one of those brownies for me?”

“Of course,” you said, grabbing a brownie and passing it to him. He handed you a bill, and the weight of it made you freeze. That wasn’t just a regular bill—it was way too much.

“Uh, I think you might’ve made a mistake…” you started, holding it up.

“No mistake,” he cut in smoothly. “I’m buying the whole basket.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what now?” you glanced at the basket, then back at him. “You want to buy all of them?”

“You heard me.” he shrugged, his tone so casual it bordered on infuriating.

Your brow arched instinctively, your internal lie detector pinging. Still, you weren’t about to complain about a sale this good. Slowly, you held the basket out to him, trying to mask your suspicion with a polite smile.

But Mingyu just shook his head, taking a bite of the brownie in his hand. “Keep it,” he said, licking the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t buy them for the brownies.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, your sass kicking in to override your confusion. “Oh, right. I forgot. They pair perfectly with a little showing off.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to the cutest seller here.”

“You know, flattery works better when you actually take the brownies.”

“I’ve got what I wanted,” he teased, taking another bite.

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes, you couldn’t hide your smirk. A sale was a sale, even if the customer was a little too smooth for his own good.

You stood there, momentarily stunned. Someone had just dropped a ridiculous amount of money on brownies—out of nowhere—and then decided you could keep both the cash and the sweets. Suspicious? Absolutely. But were you going to argue? Not a chance.

With a smug grin, you strolled across the lawn, basket in one hand and Mingyu’s absurdly generous payment in the other. The whole thing felt like an easy win—until a strange heat crawled up your spine, prickling your skin like the sun had suddenly gotten personal.

You turned your head, and there he was. Bangchan. Watching you.

And for the first time all day, he wasn’t smirking. No teasing, no cocky grin—just something sharp in his gaze, something dark curling at the edges.

Bangchan had never been the clingy type. He wasn’t the guy who caught feelings, overanalyzed texts, or lost sleep over someone who didn’t want him back.

Relationships? Fun while they lasted. Breakups? Mutual and drama-free. Ever since college started, he’d embraced the single and thriving lifestyle—no strings, no complications, no mess.

And sure, people talked. About his skills on the court, his grades, his leadership. But mostly, about his other talents. The ones that kept his phone buzzing at ungodly hours, filled with invitations that had nothing to do with basketball.

Bangchan never minded the attention. He never cared—until the only girl he actually wanted looked at him like he was just another name on a list.

Like he was forgettable.

What the hell was he doing wrong? He was a good guy. A loyal friend. A straight-A student. A goddamn basketball prodigy.

So why weren’t you interested? Why were you the only one immune?

He wanted to push, to test your limits, to make you see him the way he saw you. But that wasn’t his style.

He knew when to start and when to stop. And right now? He was dangerously close to crossing that line.

Bangchan wasn’t asking for much. Just a moment—one real, uninterrupted conversation with you. No sharp comebacks, no teasing deflections. Just you, stripped of the armor you wore so well.

But that wasn’t your style, was it? You never made things easy.

It all started when Hyunjin, the group’s reigning drama king, decided to join the theater. Naturally, he demanded a full entourage for moral support, which was how Bangchan ended up in that stuffy auditorium, sitting between Seungmin, Changbin, and Jeongin, watching Hyunjin pour his soul into a song like he was auditioning for Broadway itself.

He was good. Of course, he was good. Velvet-voiced, graceful, with a presence that demanded attention. The second he finished, Bangchan was ready to get up, clap him on the back, and drag him out for celebratory food—

Until you stepped onto the stage.

He didn’t know your name yet. Didn’t know anything about you. But there you were, in knee-high boots and a white dress, angelical, standing under the spotlight like you owned it.

Then, you started to sing. I’ll Be Over You. Soft, rich, and powerful all at once.

And just like that, Bangchan was gone.

He wasn’t used to losing—not in basketball, not in academics, and definitely not when it came to people. So when he finally got close enough to talk to you, he expected… well, something.

Maybe intrigue. Maybe mild annoyance. Fuck, he would’ve taken playful exasperation.

But you? You loathed him.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Any hope of friendship, of even standing on neutral ground, went up in flames. You always had a comeback locked and loaded, always deflected, always avoided his gaze like it might set you on fire.

And maybe it would.

Because that sharp tongue of yours? The way you kept him at arm’s length, like he wasn’t worth a second glance? It only made him want to push harder.

So fine. If you were going to make him fight for every inch, he’d play along.

He just needed to know—was this all just a game to you? Or were you just as afraid of losing as he was?

The bar was buzzing, laughter and conversation mixing with the clink of glasses and the steady thump of music. You were comfortably wedged between Sohee and Eunji, their arms draped around you like you were some rare artifact they had to protect at all costs.

You were tipsy, maybe a little emotional, but mostly just basking in the warmth of the people around you. Tonight wasn’t about stress or overthinking. It was about celebrating a well-earned victory.

"I can't even describe how happy I am, guys," you sighed, raising your glass with a lazy smile. "You are, without a doubt, the best friends a girl could have."

Eunji and Sohee groaned dramatically, tightening their hold on you. "You’re lucky we love you," Eunji grumbled. "And that we’re good at handling your emotional soju phases."

"I mean it," you insisted, half-dramatic, half-serious. "We did it! We have enough to keep the theater running until Mrs. Baek finds a permanent solution."

Your gaze flitted across the table, landing on Seungmin and Hyunjin. "None of this would’ve happened without you."

“We’re a fucking team!” Changbin declared, slamming his hand on the table with the confidence of a man three shots past his limit. "And you know what that means? Another round!"

The table erupted in cheers, and for a moment, everything felt right. Until you felt it. That pull. That heat at the back of your neck, like someone had just flipped a switch.

You knew before you even turned. Bangchan was here.

You refused to acknowledge him. Absolutely not. You were having a great time, and he—well, he was an occupational hazard. A walking, talking disruption to your peace.

"Channie!" Felix called, pulling him further into the group. "Finally decided to show up, huh?"

You still didn’t look. Instead, you took a long sip of your drink and focused on the condensation trailing down your glass, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

But Bangchan had never been one to be ignored.

"You didn’t think I'd come?" his voice slid into the conversation so smoothly it sent a shiver down your spine.

You took your time—because if he was going to show up and be smug about it, you could at least make him wait. Finally, you turned, meeting his eyes head-on. "Didn’t think you’d dare."

He smirked, leaning just a little closer, like he was waiting for you to react. You didn’t.

But your pulse? Yeah, that was another story.

Bangchan leaned back in his seat, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he watched his friends celebrate. He should’ve felt the same rush of excitement, the same weightless joy—but his mind was elsewhere. The relentless pressure of basketball training sat heavy on his chest, and the gnawing anxiety that came with it refused to let go.

And then there was you.

Standing there, effortlessly stunning, laughing like the world had never touched you. Just close enough to see, but never close enough to reach.

When Changbin made his way to the bar for another round, you followed, craving something non-alcoholic to cut through the buzz in your head. He glanced at you as you stepped up beside him.

“Happy?” he asked, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eye.

You grinned, light and unburdened in a way Bangchan hadn’t seen in a while. “Very. Thanks for all the help.”

Changbin shook his head with a smirk. “You should be thanking my boy over there.”

Your brows knitted together as you followed his gaze. Bangchan, mid-laugh, his head thrown back at something Jisung said. Carefree. Unbothered. Completely unaware that your entire world had just tilted on its axis.

“What?”

“He basically forced the team to join the sale,” Changbin said, voice thick with the weight of alcohol and honesty. “Said it was to help a friend.”

Your stomach did something weird—tightened, flipped, something you weren’t prepared for.

The memory hit like a slow-motion replay. Bangchan barged into your dorm, smug as ever, announcing he had dragged the entire basketball team into your little fundraising mess. You had assumed it was for Hyunjin and Seungmin. Maybe even for some ego boost, a reason to flash that damn smirk of his.

But no. A friend.

“Really?”

Changbin snorted. “What? You think he went out selling brownies half-naked just for fun?”

You forced a laugh, but your smile didn’t quite stick. Something about it—about him—felt different now.

Changbin walked off with his four bottles of soju, leaving you behind, still leaning against the counter, replaying his words in your head. It was almost offensive to think of Bangchan as anything other than his usual self—cocky, overconfident, annoyingly self-assured. Your brain outright rejected the idea that he could be good. That he could do something selfless without expecting anything in return.

And yet, here you were, stuck with the uncomfortable realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be.

Letting your guard down was one thing. Admitting you’d been wrong? That was the real battle.

You made your way back to the table, feeling just sober enough to regret this night’s life-altering discoveries. Sliding onto the edge of your seat, you watched as Jisung threw himself into a chair, already deep in the throes of drunken confidence.

“I’m feeling karaoke,” he announced, slurring just a little. “Who’s in?”

One by one, the group rose, fueled by alcohol and poor decision-making. Bangchan stood up last, and as he did, your hand found his arm, barely brushing over the smooth leather of his jacket.

“Hey,” you said quietly. “Can we talk?”

He blinked, caught off guard. For a second, he just stared, as if trying to decipher whether this was some kind of elaborate prank. Then, he glanced at the others heading toward the karaoke booth and nodded.

“Later,” he murmured. “That okay?”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure why your heartbeat had decided to play double time.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “That’s… yeah. Sure.”

The night had escalated quickly. One minute, everyone was just vibing at Kooler’s, and the next, you were crammed into a karaoke room, neon lights flashing, Sohee absolutely butchering a ballad while Eunji screamed in horror.

The mic passed around until it somehow ended up in your hands.

“Oh, no,” you said immediately. “I don’t sing in public.”

“Ma’am,” Eunji deadpanned. “You’re in the drama club.”

“Yeah, for acting,” you retorted. “Not for embarrassing myself in front of—”

But then the opening notes of Breaking Free started playing, and the room lost it.

“Oh, you have to sing now,” Changbin cackled.

“We’re literally living a High School Musical moment!” Sohee clapped.

Then, the real nightmare happened. Bangchan grabbed the second mic.

The room erupted.

“TROY AND GABRIELLA, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Eunji announced like a sports commentator.

“Nope.” you stood up, but Jisung pushed you back onto the couch.

“You must embrace destiny,” he said solemnly.

Bangchan, ever the performer, smirked at you before dramatically bringing the mic to his lips. “We’re soarin’, flyin’—”

You covered your face with both hands. “Kill me.”

“That’s not the lyrics,” Changbin howled.

The moment Bangchan began to sing, his voice smooth and steady, you felt it—the tiny spark igniting between you, the way his presence pulled you in no matter how hard you tried to resist. His voice wrapped around the lyrics effortlessly, making them sound less like a cheesy high school musical duet and more like something real, something raw.

Then it was your turn.

Bangchan stilled for a moment, eyes widening slightly as you sang your part. He had always known you had a great voice—it was impossible not to, given how much time you spent in the theater club—but hearing you like this, just the two of you, no stage, no rehearsals, just you—it was mesmerizing.

God, you sounded unreal.

His chest tightened at how effortlessly you carried each note, how your voice blended with his in a way that made his skin prickle. You weren’t just singing—you were feeling it, even if you tried to hide behind an indifferent mask. He could see it in the way your body moved slightly to the music, in the way your lips curled at certain lyrics.

And fuck, he felt it too.

As the song picked up, the energy between you both crackled. Your voices melted together in harmony, and the chemistry was undeniable. You tried not to look at him, tried to focus on the screen, but every time you did, Bangchan was already looking at you, that damned smirk still in place.

When the chorus hit, something inside you gave in just a little. The moment was too fun, too infectious, and before you knew it, you were actually enjoying yourself.

You didn’t notice the way Bangchan’s gaze softened.

He saw through you, saw the way you let your guard down, even for just a second. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the alcohol, or the way your voice wrapped around his in the final harmonized note, but Bangchan couldn’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot as you finished the song.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

Everyone jumped up like it was the Super Bowl. Eunji was sobbing dramatically into Hyunjin’s shoulder. Changbin was standing on the couch, pointing like an old man watching his grandkids do something historic.

“Troy and Gabriella could never!”

When the song ended, the room was feral.

“That was the single most important moment of my life,” Eunji declared, visibly drunk and happy.

“I think I just saw God,” Felix wheezed.

Meanwhile, you just handed the mic to Eunji, turned to Bangchan, and muttered, “I hate you.”

He leaned in, voice low enough for only you to hear. “Sure you do.”

You’d excused yourself under the guise of needing a breather, but really, you just needed a damn second to exist without someone screaming lyrics in your ear or pulling you into another round of shots. The night was fun, but it was loud, and if you wanted to make it through, you needed a minute to reset.

The balcony was empty, save for the faint scent of nicotine lingering in the air. You took a deep breath, letting the cool breeze settle against your skin, grounding yourself. The city hummed below, distant and detached, and for a second, you just… let yourself be.

Then, before you even opened your eyes, you felt  him.

That ridiculously familiar cologne. The one that had been all over you. On his t-shirt. In your space. In your head.

“Is our rockstar already tapped out?”

You turned just in time to see Bangchan leaning back against the railing, watching you with that look.

“A little.” you waved a hand dismissively, but your small smile gave you away.

His was softer, quieter than usual, but still there. Still undeniably him. And the way his eyes swept over you in the dim light? Yeah. You could feel it. The way he noticed things, details, like he was cataloging every inch of you.

It should’ve annoyed you. But tonight? Tonight, it didn’t.

“Heard you wanted to talk to me.”

You raised a brow, suddenly remembering why you had pulled him aside in the first place. “Right. Think I owe you an apology.”

Bangchan’s expression flickered with surprise. “For what?”

“You know what.”

“Do I?” he leaned in slightly, nodding as if urging you to continue. “You should be clearer.”

You exhaled, hating how hard it was to say it. Vulnerability has never been your strong suit.

“Fine.” you glanced down at your boots, gathering your thoughts. “I know you convinced the basketball team to help with the sale. I assumed the worst about you, and that wasn’t fair. So… I’m sorry. You really helped me.”

Silence.

When you looked up, Bangchan was staring at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. Confused. A little offended. Like that was what you thought needed an apology.

“That’s what you’re apologizing for?”

You blinked, confused. “What else should I apologize for?”

Bangchan let out a dry, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair before whispering a low, exasperated “fuck you.”

Your eyes narrowed. His arms crossed over his chest, the leather of his jacket tightening around his sleeves as he shifted against the ledge.

“What was that?” you demanded.

“Look, I appreciate the apology, really. But that’s not the thing you should be apologizing for.”

Oh, he was so good at pissing you off. Always had been.

“Then be clearer,” you shot back, arms folding tightly over your chest.

“Alright.” Bangchan turned to you fully, gaze locked in, voice steady. Too steady. “Let’s talk about your habit of coming after me and then bolting the second it gets real.”

Your jaw clenched. “I never—”

“For fuck’s sake, be for real. At the party? In my dorm? I’m not saying I didn’t want it—fuck, I wanted it. But so did you. And then you acted like it was a mistake. You run from things.”

His words landed like a punch to the stomach—sharp, direct, impossible to ignore. You blinked hard, fighting the sting behind your eyes, but you had nothing. No witty comeback, no escape route. Just the weight of the truth between you.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you did want this—him. The way he looked at you like he could devour you whole, the way his hands knew exactly where to go, the way your body reacts before your mind could stop it. You wanted it. You wanted him. But wanting didn’t make it easy.

“Why are you mad?”

“Why?” he let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Because it’s fucking frustrating, that’s why. You can’t make up your damn mind.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself, but your heart was hammering.

“It’s not that simple,” you muttered, voice quieter now, the anger slipping into something else. “Not for me.”

“Why? Because you hate me?” his lips curled, amused despite himself. “Which, by the way, I’d love to hear all those bullshit reasons why.”

“Is that really what matters?” you lifted your chin, defiant.

“So what, you’ve just decided you’re gonna hate me forever?”

“Maybe I will,” you shot back, voice dripping with venom.

Bangchan smirked, stepping in closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. He leaned against the railing, his body angled toward yours, closing in just enough to make you breathless. "Hate to break it to you, love," his voice was low, dripping with amusement, "but people don’t usually fuck their enemies."

That voice. That damned voice—soft as silk, smooth as sin, and dangerous enough to make your pulse stutter.

Heat coiled in your stomach, spreading like wildfire, your body betraying you instantly. No. You weren’t going to let him win this.

"You’re right," you said, tilting your chin up, feigning nonchalance. "Which is why it’s never happening again."

A bold-faced lie. One you both saw through immediately. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, your mind was already spinning with memories—his hands, his mouth, the way your bodies fit together like a perfect crime.

Bangchan chuckled, dark and knowing. He moved closer, close enough that you could feel his breath graze your lips, your senses drowning in him—the scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sheer audacity in his gaze.

"That’s a shame," he murmured, eyes flicking to your lips, "because we’ve got insane bed chem."

You swallowed hard. You didn’t know what was doing you in—the teasing rasp of his voice, the heat rolling off his body, the way his muscles flexed under that stupidly fitted jacket, or just him. All of him.

And just like that, your heart slammed against your ribs, your resolve threatening to crumble.

Bangchan lingered, watching—waiting. He wanted to see it happen, the exact moment your carefully built walls cracked. His pulse pounded, anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. But you held firm, clinging desperately to whatever thread of self-control you had left.

His smirk deepened, infuriatingly cocky. "I’m heading out," he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. Then, with a knowing glance, he added, "If you ever change your mind… you know where to find me."

And just like that, he turned on his heel, walking away without so much as a second look, leaving you standing there—heart racing, head spinning, and a heat pooling low in your stomach that you really didn’t want to acknowledge.

The night stretched on, loud and chaotic, but undeniably fun. By the time the drinks had blurred everyone’s ability to string together a coherent sentence, you decided to call it.

Back at the dorm, Eunji and Sohee barely made it to their rooms before collapsing face-first onto their beds, too drunk to even bother kicking off their shoes.

You wished you could do the same. But no—your mind had other plans.

You tossed. You turned. You put on some soft music, hoping it would lull you into sleep. It didn’t. Instead, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was him.

The way he leaned in earlier, the heat rolling off him like an invitation. The way his muscles flexed beneath his jacket. The way his voice dropped, teasing, tempting, knowing.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into the sheets. It was ridiculous. Annoying. Infuriating.

You rolled onto your side, desperate for a distraction—anything—when your gaze landed on something draped over your study chair.

A black T-shirt. His.

The idea bloomed in your mind just as quickly as the heat spread between your thighs.

Pathetic. That’s what this was. That’s what you were.

Still, you got up, grabbing the shirt in your hands. His scent clung to the fabric—clean, musky, him. Just the faintest trace of it had your stomach twisting, the warmth inside you flickering into something dangerously close to need.

Before you could think better of it, you were pulling a hoodie over your flimsy excuse of a pajama shirt and slipping out the door.

It was past midnight. The campus was practically a ghost town at this hour, which was both a blessing and a curse. No one witnessed this humiliating trek across the quad. No one to stop you, either.

Your steps quickened as you reached his building, as if slowing down would somehow bring back your sanity.

Not happening. Not when your knuckles were already rapping against the door. Not when your breath was unsteady, your chest rising and falling too fast. Not when anticipation was burning through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and restless.

Shuffling sounds came from the other side. The lock clicked.

And then—him.

Bangchan stood in the doorway, his torso bare, sweatpants hanging sinfully low on his hips. His skin gleamed under the dim hallway light, muscles shifting as he leaned against the doorframe.

One look at you—hoodie, messy hair, his damn shirt clenched in your fingers—and something shifted in his expression. His lips parted slightly. His gaze darkened.

He already knew.

Bangchan was deep in sleep when the knocks came. His brows furrowed, his face crumpled with exhaustion as he groggily sat up, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

He hadn't been expecting anyone. But when he swung open the door, there you were. Hoodie slightly oversized, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with something unspoken.

You lifted the black shirt in your hands, your breath still uneven. “You forgot this.”

Bangchan’s gaze dropped to the fabric, then back to you, slow and deliberate.

“That’s all?” his voice was rough with sleep, but there was something sharper beneath it.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No.”

That was all he needed.

The shirt was snatched from your grip and tossed somewhere behind him. His free hand was already at your waist, pulling you inside with a force that had your pulse skyrocketing. The door barely had time to click shut before you were on him. Hands in his hair, lips crashing into his, pouring all your frustration and desperation into the kiss.

Bangchan groaned into your mouth, gripping your hips so tight it sent a shiver down your spine. His skin was warm, solid beneath your touch—broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips.

And you wanted all of him.

His hands slid up, fingers teasing along the curve of your spine. Your teeth grazed his lower lip, earning a sharp, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

You barely recognized yourself at this point. There was barely any sanity left in your body, and whatever remained was slipping fast.

Somehow, between hectic kisses and hands wandering like they had a mind of their own, you ended up on the sofa. Bangchan sat with his legs spread, his breath heavy, and you straddled his lap, your hands splayed against his firm chest.

His eyes were dark, hooded, watching you like you were something he wanted to devour.

"Are you sure?" the words left his lips, but your body already knew the answer. Your stomach twisted—not with doubt, but with the unbearable anticipation of what was about to happen.

Bangchan opened his mouth, but you pressed two fingers against his plush lips, cutting him off.

"Shhh," you hissed, your voice edged with frustration. Your hips rolled against him, a slow, deliberate drag that had him sucking in a sharp breath. The way he twitched beneath you sent a wicked thrill through your veins.

"You're driving me insane," you confessed, your nails digging into his skin. "You're in my head. That ridiculous face of yours."

Through the haze of want, Bangchan let out a breathless laugh, slowly biting your finger. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

You smirked, dragging your fingers down his jaw. "Shut up. Kiss me."

And he did—like he had been waiting his whole damn life to.

With effortless ease, he shrugged off his sweatshirt, leaving you in nothing but that dangerously thin white tank top—one that did absolutely nothing to hide how your body reacted to him. Bangchan’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight. Fucking hell. He wanted to devour you. Every inch. Every sound. Every shiver.

His lips crashed onto yours, rough and demanding, his hand curling around the base of your neck as his tongue teased and tangled with yours. He tasted you like he was trying to memorize every second of it, like he never wanted to stop. The heat of him, the way his fingers dug into your waist, how his breath hitched every time you met his urgency—it was intoxicating.

Then his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, down your neck, and suddenly, your body wasn’t yours anymore. Your knees went weak, your breath came in ragged little gasps, and before you could stop yourself, a low, broken moan escaped your lips—right against his ear.

Bangchan groaned. That sound. That fucking sound. He was about to lose his goddamn mind. His hands tightened around your hips, his patience thinning by the second as you shifted against him, rolling your hips just enough to make him ache.

That sound. That fucking sound. Bangchan was about to lose his goddamn mind.

“I want it off,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need.

His hands twitched against your waist, desperate. He could’ve ripped those pants clean off your body if he wanted to. But you took your sweet, agonizing time peeling them away before settling back onto his lap, now wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of white panties.

He would have torn your pants to shreds right then and there, but you took your time—agonizingly slow as you peeled them away before settling back onto his lap, now clad in nothing but the flimsy white panties that left nothing to his imagination.

And fuck. Bangchan broke.

You looked like a dream, like something too good to be real. Kiss-swollen lips. Hair messy from his hands. Chest rising and falling as you gasped for breath.

You were going to ruin him.

The absence of your pants made you bolder, rolling your hips in slow, teasing waves against his lap. He was already impossibly hard, every grind making it worse—if you kept this up, he was going to lose it before he even got the chance to be inside you. And that was not what he wanted.

But fuck, it felt good. The thick bulge in his sweatpants rubbing against your soaked panties, just barely grazing your clit, sending white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Every movement set off a new wave of heat, of need, of something devastatingly addictive.

“I need to do something,” you whispered against his lips, your breath warm and uneven.

Bangchan still had his eyes closed, savoring every second of this moment, refusing to let it slip away.

“Please.”

Your hands drifted down, fingers ghosting over the outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats, barely touching—but more than enough to make his whole body tense. He gritted his teeth, veins pulsing as your palm pressed just a little harder.

“Fuck…” he rasped, voice hoarse, almost a plea.

You shifted between his legs, fingers toying with the hem of his pants, your nails barely scraping against his skin. His gaze burned into yours, dark with anticipation, completely at your mercy. And when you finally wrapped your hand around him—hot, firm, thick—he let out a shaky, wrecked breath.

A low groan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the couch as you wrapped your hand around him, warmth meeting warmth. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, every nerve in his body set ablaze by your slow, deliberate movements. You weren’t in a hurry—you wanted him to feel this. To lose himself in the way you handled him, the way you made him wait.

"You said I could use my pretty mouth next time," you murmured, feigning innocence, biting your lip just enough to drive him mad.

And then you winked—sweet, angelic, like you weren’t about to completely wreck him.

His breathing stuttered. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab you, to make you do something instead of torturing him like this. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice wrecked, eyes rolling shut as pleasure coiled in his stomach.

You only smiled, satisfied with how easily he was unraveling for you. Leaning in, you ghosted your lips over his, not quite kissing him—just close enough for him to chase after the contact. His body burned under yours, every breath he took shaky, labored.

"Like that, baby" he panted, his voice breaking as he let himself go, surrendering to the moment, to you.

To his torment, you picked up the pace, your touch firm, deliberate. His breath hitched, his body tensing beneath your hand as his head fell back against the couch. The heat between you was unbearable, a wildfire consuming every inch of restraint he had left.

His moans came unchecked, rough and unrestrained, completely at your mercy. He let you guide him, surrendering to every agonizing second—until suddenly, it all stopped. The loss of contact was like a snapped tether, leaving him breathless, on edge, undone.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he blinked down at you, wide-eyed, dazed. The way you knelt between his legs, watching him with that look—he swore it could drive him insane.

And then, with agonizing slowness, your lips parted. The moment your mouth met his cock, his whole body tensed, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth. His fingers curled into the couch, muscles drawn tight as you worked him over, your tongue teasing, tormenting, ruining him.

"Look at you," he murmured, smirking like he had the upper hand when, in reality, he was barely holding himself together. "So pretty around my cock" his tongue flicked over his lower lip, his voice rough, almost reverent.

If his goal was to sound composed, he was failing miserably.

You hummed in response, deliberately slow, deliberate in every movement. He cursed under his breath, fingers threading through your hair, not pulling—yet—but holding, like he needed something to keep him grounded.

"If you keep going," his voice was strained now, his thighs tensing beneath your touch, "I—"

You raised an eyebrow. "What, baby?”

His jaw clenched. He was already too far gone to play games, but you weren’t about to make this easy for him.

And then, just as he warned, he shattered. Every muscle in his body locked up, his breath stuttering as he tipped his head back, a curse slipping past his lips like a prayer. You didn’t let up, dragging out every second of his cum until his grip on reality seemed just as unsteady as his grip on you.

His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his grip on your hair going slack. You pulled back, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, before giving him a slow, knowing smile.

By the end of it, he was completely wrecked—chest heaving, eyes hazy, limbs boneless. His vision blurred at the edges, like his body couldn’t decide whether to collapse or beg for more. He knew you were good. Knew the chemistry between you was dangerous. But the way you looked at him—innocent, yet utterly sinful—while taking him so effortlessly? That was his undoing. You weren’t just ruining him.

And yet, you didn’t stop there.

Without hesitation, you climbed onto his lap, capturing his lips in a kiss so wet, so consuming, it made his head spin all over again. The taste of himself lingered between you, but you never shied away from things like that. Bangchan was great in every way, and if he could make you feel good, you’d damn well return the favor.

"Holy shit, baby," he murmured between kisses, his voice still rough with aftershocks, "you're fucking amazing."

The wicked curve of his lips sent heat straight to your core. He was teasing you, even now, when he could barely string words together.

And God, it only made you want him more.

Every movement between you was deliberate—synchronized, electric, and dripping with consent. Bangchan’s fingers trailed down your trembling thighs, finding the soaked fabric of your panties. He barely touched you, yet a deep shiver ran through him, his cock twitching at the sheer slickness of you.

"Fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice thick with hunger.

Then, without warning, he pushed the fabric aside and pressed two fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, relentless circles.

Your moan was swallowed into the kiss, tangled between tongues and shallow breaths. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, his body burning with every second of restraint. Bangchan grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer, his free hand teasing and taunting with no predictable rhythm—just continuous, torturous pressure that sent you spiraling.

"I..." you tried to speak, but the words crumbled in your throat, lost in the haze.

Bangchan's dark eyes locked onto your face, studying every microexpression—the way your lips parted, the way your brows knit together, how every tiny twitch exposed just how undone you were.

Then, as if testing the limits of your sanity, he dragged his fingers lower, slipping two deep inside.

You gasped.

The stretch was sinful. Even his fingers were thick, filling you in a way that had you gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Bangchan groaned at the feeling, his patience thinning with every squeeze of your walls around him.

And the worst part? He was just getting started.

He sucked on your lip, bit it, then soothed it with a kiss. "How can you be so fucking tight?" his voice was wrecked, nearly a growl, as he felt your walls clench around his fingers, swallowing him with a desperation that made his cock twitch.

Bangchan didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace turned ruthless—deep, fast, relentless. Each thrust of his fingers sent another jolt of pleasure through you, leaving your brain nothing but static. Your body thawed under his touch, a mess of heat and sensation. He pushed your blouse up just enough to bare your breasts, immediately palming them, kneading them as if the sensation alone could ruin him.

"Don’t stop." the demand left your lips between ragged breaths. "Harder."

Bangchan groaned, watching you ride in his lap like a dream he didn’t deserve. "Jesus Christ." his voice was strained, his self-control hanging by a thread. "’Gonna cum all over me, hmm? Is that what you want?"

It was too much. The filthy words, the ruthless rhythm, his fingers buried deep inside you while his cock throbbed against your thigh, still wet from your mouth. Your body was on the edge of something catastrophic.

And then you shattered.

The orgasm slammed into you like a cursive wave, your moan breaking into something raw, something uncontrollable. Bangchan swore under his breath, completely mesmerized. He didn’t stop—kept his fingers buried inside, working you through every pulse, every aftershock.

When your breath finally started to steady, you opened your eyes. And he was watching you.

His gaze was alarming—dark, hungry, completely ruined. As if he had just witnessed the most beautiful thing in the world.

You were both breathless, skin damp with sweat, but it wasn’t just the intensity of what happened—it was everything that had led to it. The frustration, the tension, the unspoken words tangled between your bodies.

Bangchan reached for his black shirt, which had been abandoned on the arm of the couch. "Keep this."

You eyed him, still catching your breath. "Why?"

"To motivate you."

You snorted, rolling your eyes before giving his shoulder a light shove. "You're so full of yourself."

But you still slipped it on, letting the oversized fabric swallow you up, suddenly feeling less exposed—less vulnerable. His hands remained on your thighs, holding you in place on top of him, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

Then, casually, he picked up his phone and handed it to you. "Put your number in."

You held the device, raising an eyebrow. "Why? So you can save it as ‘bootycall’?"

His lips curled into a slow, shameless smirk. "Maybe."

"You're terrible." you rolled your eyes but still tapped your number into his phone, handing it back with a smirk. "And a complete pervert."

Bangchan ran his hands up your thighs, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. "For you?" his voice was low, teasing, but there was something deeper in his gaze. "Completely."

The weight of the moment settled between you, thick and lingering. And that was your cue. You stood, reaching for your clothes, shaking off whatever it was that passed between you. Bangchan did the same, though not without watching you with that unreadable look on his face.

"You could stay if you want," he offered, ever so casually.

You scoffed. "It's late, and the girls will notice if I'm missing in the morning."

He nodded, as if he understood—because he did. No one could know. 

Once you were dressed, you headed for the door, pausing just long enough to glance over your shoulder.

"So," Bangchan leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his smirk returning. "How about it?"

You blinked. "What?"

"It'll never happen again?" his tone was pure mischief, mocking you.

Your lips curled, mirroring his amusement. "You have my number." you shrugged, stepping into the hallway. "Make good use of it."

And with that, you disappeared down the corridor, leaving Bangchan standing there, an unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling tightening in his chest.

One thing was becoming painfully clear—whatever this was between you, it wasn’t going away. And maybe, just maybe, you were better together than apart.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf

[animamii]

i need some locked up toji headcannons real bad 😩

ohhh bebecita I gotchuu c; this is something slightt inbox me 4 more

lockedup!Toji always ends his phone calls with you by asking "So... whatcha wearing right now, princess?" Which you always respond with something along the lines of "you're ridiculous... you're impossible... you're too much..." along with that sweet lil giggle he loves so much.

lockedup!Toji always begs for you to send him pretty pictures with your letters. He misses seeing that face of yours. It always makes him smile when it's a simple, cute selfie. "There's my pretty girl..." he'd say to himself as his fingers brush over it. Then he gets to a picture of you showing too much cleavage or something a little more revealing and he's likeee AWOOOGAAA 😍😍 lmfao. But forreal he shuts his cell door and needs a little him time.

lockedup!Toji is addicted to his damn Honey Buns. His favorites are the creamy curl and jelly swirl. Something about that chocolate and cream. "The middle is all creamy, it reminds me of you." His nasty self would say.

lockedup!Toji would come out of the pen being a damn chef though. Since he had to use nasty ass processed food to make prison meals, he knows exactly how to use different ingredients to make some bomb ass food. But still,,,, he wants his damn honey buns and maybe will eat a jail spread occassionally.

lockedup!Toji always loves when you use those Hello Kitty stamps on the letters you send. Ofc his favorite sanrio character is Badtz Maru. But his favorite stamps are the ones of Hello Kitty and Dear Daniel. It always reminds him of you two.

lockedup!Toji always dedicates music to you, whether he tells it to you over the phone or in his letters. He always includes one song. Wholeheartedly dedicated Kiss Me Thru The Phone to you, lmfao and Honey Bun by Kodak Black. *I have a whole ass playlist for Toji + Sweetheart i luvvv it*

lockedup!Toji begging you to marry him so you can get conjugal visits. He can't stand seeing you looking so pretty from the other side of a glass. He needs to feel you and touch you and actually be fucking inside of you.

lockedup!Toji starts thinking about his future with you a lot. He wants to start a family with you, wants kids and a white picket fence house and all that shit. So he starts writing down baby names and all that stuff. He wants another son so bad, wants to name him Malachi.

lockedup!Toji always bragging about you to everyone else. It's commissary day, where he gets the packages you send + he gets to buy whatever he wants from the commissary store with the money on his books (he has Shiu send him some hideaway money he stashed every week). But all he really cares about is the packages you send. It's all so personal, every little touch you put into it *thinking ab doing a whole drabble on this lmk bbs's* "look at what my girl sent this time." He'd say to his celly with a smirk as he holds up all the snacks and cute little notes you write.