#i really feel so high school when i look at him

[call-me-chips]

Alrighty this is gonna be long but I'm bored so HERE WE GOOO

Kyomu Mori questions

1.Are they associated with a certain colour? What colour do they wear the most?

Because if his hair colour, I'd say he's accosiated with light blue. He usually wears more muted-ish colours like grey, dark blue, and white, but he loves wearing yellow

2. What sort of music would they like? Have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? Do they have a favorite song?

He prefers rock music. Basically any music that makes you feel like you can take on the world. He loves vibing to those. And just because I don't have a fav song, neither does he 😅 (my fav songs change within a week)

3. Weapon of choice? Any particular reason they chose their weapon?

Guns. Any kind of gun, though he prefers pistols and other small, handheld ones. He likes guns because he's always been talented with them. That, and that he was raised by Snipe

4. How crafty/resourceful are they?

I'd say about a 7-7.5 out of ten for this one. Not the greatest, but he can conjure up some resourcefulness when he wants to

5. How do they typically dress? Does their wardrobe lean more toward practicality or aesthetics?

Depending on how he's feeling, his clothing choice changes. On a good day, he'll go for a nice-fitting tank top. On a bad day, he night go for a loose-fitting t-shirt. His clothing style is casual, but kinda aesthetic in a sort of steetsy-kinda way(??). Fashion/aesthetics are important for him, but you'll never catch him wearing anything with pockets he can't shove his whole hand into

6. How do they wear their hair? Do they care a lot about how their hair looks?

He almost always wears his hair in a high ponytail. Although he does this to get his hair out of the way, he always makes sure his hair looks presentable. He's the kinda guy to use a bit too much conditioner

7. Favourite animal? Why?

Dogs. Specifically german shepherds. Because he thinks guard dogs are cool af

8. Do they have a nickname? Who gave it to them? If it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

His nickname is Kyo. Ashido gave him it randomly one day, and Kaminari immediately started using it too

9. Favourite food? Least favourite? Are they a picky eater? Do they have any dietary restrictions?

Fav: Burgers. Specifically bacon burgers. Least fav: Tomatoes. He's not really a picky eater, but he's not even TOUCHING anything woth tomatoes in it. And he doesn't have any dietary restrictions

10. If they wear jewelry, what kind? Do they prefer silver or gold? Do they have a favourite gem?

He wears earrings and has an eyebrow piercing, but he'll toss on a necklace or two if he wants to look presentable when going out

11. What do they have in common with you? How are they different? Would you get along with them?

He doesn't have a lot in common with me. Ig we both question authority?? Also we both live guns. Overall, he's MUCH more confident than me. We are quite different. I'd say I wouldn't get along the greatest with him, mainly cuz he likes physical touch, and that is something I HATE. You touch me randomly and I freeze, as well as shoot you a dirty look XD

12. How long have they been around? Do you know their birthday? Is their birthday the day you made them or another day? What do they think of celebrating birthdays?

He has been around for 16 and a bit years, and his birthday is on April 6th. This is not the day I made him (actually this is the first I'm hearing of making their release date into their actual birthday. I shall do this for another of my ocs :) ). He loves his birthday cuz it gives him attention xD

13. What languages do they speak? How fluently?

He can speak Japanese, English, and Filipino. He speaks Japanese fluently. His English isn't the greatest, but he's learning from school. His Filipino is REALLY rusty, but he can hold a basic conversation. He knows Filipino because his father is from the Philippines, and he learned the language as a kid, but he hasn't really used it since highschool

14. Are they any good with numbers?

Not really sure how to interpret this, but he's not the greatest at math

15. How big or small is their family? Who did they live with growing up? Do they live with anyone now?

His parents died. He lived with Snipe growing up. Currently, he's living in the UA dorms

16. Do they have any pets? What do they call their pets?

He doesn't have any pets, but he wants a dog. He also kinda maybe sorta wants a bird

17. How did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

He spent a lot of his time at the shooting range growing up, and it's always been a place of comfort to him

18. Their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

He thinks they're bad, obviously. But,,, he does think they are justified, and even necessary, in many cases

19. Are they quick to anger? What sets them off?

He doesn't really anger quickly. He's more laid back. And although he does get angry when someone hurts/threatens his friends, he also gets angry when many little things go wrong. Like, you know those days where everything seems to go wrong and you're tripping on things and dropping things? Yeah that gets him angy quickly

20. If applicable, can they drive? If they have their own, what colour is their vehicle? Is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

The legal driving age in Japan is 18, so he can't drive. But he may or may not fail many a driving test in the future... Also he has sworn that his future car WILL have racing stripes.

21. Their favourite place to be?

The shooting range

22. Do they sleep well at night?

Kyomu sleeps like a little baby, if that baby takes up the whole bed while sleeping and falls off the bed randomly in the night

23. How would you describe their voice? Can they sing?

His voice is on the louder side. I don't have a voice claim yet, but I may find one eventually. Also he can't sing. Granted, it's def not the worst out there, but it couldn't be considered "good"

24. Do they have any creative hobbies? (Art, writing, music, etc.)

He likes doing graffiti, tho he doesn't do it often. Other than that, he likes to listen to music

25. How good/bad is their hearing? What about their eyesight?

His hearing is a little better than what is considered normal, and his eyesight is good. Little fun fact about his eyesight: He sees yellow slightly better than any other colour. Yellow is very slightly more vibrant and bright to him

26. How do they move? Are they clumsy? Light on their feet? Do they use mobility aids?

Because of how his legs are built, he is slightly more light on his feet. His footsteps don't make a lot of noise. He can be a bit clumsy tho. He's not the most careful with his actions

27. If applicable, do they have a favorite sport? Do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

He likes basketball (probably cuz Kyomu has a height advantage over his friends). Watching sports is boring to him, and he prefers to play some friendly basketball with his friends

28. How do they show they care about someone? How do they express that they don't like someone?

Kyomu shows he likes someone by doing things with them and touching them (not like that. Stop it.). He'll ruffle his friends' hair or playfully poke them, and he's always down to give a massage if asked. Sometimes he'll even find his tail involuntarily grazing by the legs of those he loves.

29. Are they accosiated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

I don't think he's really "accosiated" with an element, but he'd probably be water

30. Do they smell like anything notable?

Nope. The only notable smell-related thing I can think of is that he sometimes uses women's deodorant because it smells better than men's "forest mud deodorant" or whatever it's named xD

31. Do they like receiving gifts? Giving gifts? What is their ideal gift?

He loves receiving gifts, but not giving so much, because he rever really knows what to get people. His ideal gift is any like, small, neat, unique, silly trinket. He loves collecting silly shit his friends give him

32. Do they have any hobbies that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

Not a hobby, but he drinks the pickle juice out of the jar when he finishes all the pickles.

33. If applicable, how would your other characters describe them? I mean specifically the people around them.

I don't have any other Mha ocs as of rn, but I can do this for his friends. Also I'm not gonna go into how each character would describe him, so ima do how the characters see him Kaminari, Ashido, and Sero see him as kinda like a cool older brother, and they live hanging out with him Kirishima and Jirou see him as a wee bit much, but they still love him and love the energy that he brings to class. Bakugou doesn't like him. Especially cuz Kyomu is taller than him and he doesn't like that Others like Iida, Midoriya, and Ochako don't care for his rebellious personality, but they will admit that he brings up the mood of just about whatever situation he finds himself in

(The thing above is being a bitch and is refusing to be coloured blue and now we must all suffer.)

34. How would your character describe themselves? It doesn't have to line up with who they really are.

Kyomu thinks of himself as more or less the "popular kid" that just about everyone likes. He would describe himself as brave, strong, and willing to stick up for what he thinks is right

35. Do they ever return home?

. . . . ?? He never "left" home?? I mean, he is living in the dorms rn, but idk what this question is getting at :/

Tagging @bluespider008 because I found these questions cuz you posted yours, but I didn't want this to take up a ton of space on my blog, so I just reblogged the original post 😅

Idk if you wanna see this, but you're seeing it now!

Also feel free to reblog with your oc :)

i wanted to make an oc ask game 😋 things i like to ask people abt their characters:

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

what sort of music would they like? have you thought about what genres or bands do they lean towards? do they have a favorite song?

weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

how crafty/resourceful are they?

how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

how do they wear their hair? do they care a lot how their hair looks?

favorite animal? why?

do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?

favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

what languages do they speak? how fluently?

are they any good with numbers?

how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

how did they spend their summers/free time as a child?

their opinion on lying, stealing, and killing?

are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

their favorite place to be?

do they sleep well at night?

how would you describe their voice? can they sing?

do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

if applicable, do they have a favorite sport? do they play any sports or prefer to watch?

how do they show that they care about someone? how do they express that they don't like someone?

are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

do they smell like anything notable?

do they like receiving gifts? giving gifts? what is their ideal gift?

do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

how would your character describe themselves? it doesn't have to line up with how they really are.

do they ever return home?

[meltinglatte]

Bestfriend's Sister

Pairing : Mingyu × afab reader

Synopsis : in which mingyu has a crush on his best friend's sister but is too scared to ask her out ;)

Genre : short story, smut

Warnings : size k!nk, creampie, boob play, drinking, masturbat!on

[ New author, so if there are any mistakes let me know, will try to improve ]

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Chapter 1 : Meeting you again

Mingyu sat at his desk, the glow of his laptop illuminating the darkened dorm room. His notes sprawled chaotically across the table, mirroring the chaos in his mind. College life wasn't the smooth path everyone had promised.

"Just get into SNU," they said.

"Life will be set." Those words now felt like a cruel joke.

Surrounded by prodigies and overachievers, he often wondered if he truly belonged. Balancing academics, friendships, and the rare moments of self-care had become an exhausting juggling act.

And just when he thought it couldn't get more complicated, fate threw him a curveball.

At the 2024 fresher's party, amidst the crowd of enthusiastic new faces, his heart froze. There she was—his crush. The girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart years ago now stood a few feet away, laughing effortlessly with a group of freshmen. Mingyu's pulse quickened as a wave of disbelief washed over him.

"What is she doing here?" he muttered under his breath. For years, he'd assumed she would follow her brother's footsteps and study abroad. Her brother—his best friend—had often talked about how their family prioritized prestigious overseas education. Seeing her here, in his university, was the last thing Mingyu expected. It wasn't just her presence that threw him off. It was the tangled web of emotions that came with it.

Mingyu had long accepted that his feelings for her were off-limits. She wasn't just any girl; she was his best friend's sister. And if there was one unspoken rule in his life, it was this: never break the bro code.

He could already hear his friend's voice in his head, joking yet firm: "You even think about my sister, and I'll kill you, dude." It wasn't an actual threat—probably—but Mingyu had never dared to test it. Yet, seeing her now, radiant and completely unaware of the storm she'd just stirred in his heart, made things infinitely harder. As the evening wore on, he tried to act normal. To blend into the crowd. But his eyes kept drifting back to her. She looked different—not the high schooler he remembered but someone more confident, more vibrant. 

"Why now? Why here?" he thought. Life was already overwhelming, and now he had to deal with this? But deep down, he knew the truth. He wasn't mad because she was here. He was mad because, for the first time, he couldn't ignore the possibility of something more. And that scared him more than failing his next midterm.

"Eoh? Mingyu oppa?" Sera's voice broke through the noise of the crowded room. Her eyes lit up as she smiled at him, her face the perfect blend of surprise and warmth.

"It's been so long, right?" Mingyu froze for a moment, caught off guard by how effortlessly she drew his attention. Rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit he couldn't seem to shake—he managed a coy smile.

"Yeah, it has," he replied, his voice quieter than he intended. A brief silence settled between them, the kind that felt heavier than it should. Mingyu scrambled for something to say, anything to fill the growing gap. "Congrats," he finally offered, his tone sincere. "Getting into SNU's med school isn't easy. You must've worked really hard."

"Thank you, oppa." Sera's smile widened, her cheeks slightly tinged with pink.

Before either of them could say more, a loud voice cut through the moment. "SERA-YAH!" Her friends were calling from the other side of the party, their laughter and energy adding to the lively chaos of the party. Sera glanced over her shoulder before turning back to Mingyu.

"I think they're waiting for you," Mingyu said, his tone gentle but his expression unreadable. She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to stay or go. "You're right. I'll see you later, oppa," she said with a small nod before heading toward her friends.

Mingyu watched her retreating figure, her laughter blending into the noise of the party. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, the familiar ache in his chest returning.

------------------

Some weeks later

"Bro, let's win this game," Joo Hyuk said, clapping Mingyu on the shoulder, his eyes brimming with determination.

"Yeah, let's do this!" Mingyu replied, his voice full of energy as he tightened his shoelaces and jogged onto the field.

The match between SNU's engineering department and the medicine department had drawn a sizable crowd, the atmosphere electric with cheers and chants. From the whistle's blow, it was clear this wasn't going to be an easy game. Both teams played fiercely, each pass and tackle charged with adrenaline.

It was neck-and-neck, the score tied until the final moments. Then, with a perfectly timed pass from Joo Hyuk, Mingyu seized the opportunity. With a sharp kick, the ball soared past the goalkeeper and into the net.

The engineering department erupted into cheers, their players rushing to huddle around Mingyu, who was grinning ear to ear. "We did it!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of celebration.

On the sidelines, Sera watched the scene unfold with a smile. The medicine department's supporters were quieter now, some already drifting toward the exit. She turned to her friends and laughed lightly, saying, "I guess we'll have to cheer a lot louder for our medicine department next time."

Mingyu, still catching his breath, heard her words over the noise. He glanced toward her, his grin softening. Her laugh, her effortless charm.

It wasn't the words that caught him off guard but her outfit — her cheerleading outfit. 

The way the uniform fit her, or how the vibrant red skirt clung to her thighs, drawing his eyes in an almost magnetic pull. It was the sheer presence she exuded from across the field that captivated him.

Mingyu had always been aware of her beauty, under the stadium lights, she was a vision that sent a rush of heat through him. Every leap, every sway of her hips was a siren call, pulling him in deeper despite the distance.

He gulped hard, trying to focus on the other celebrating their victory, but distraction had a way of creeping in when least expected. Mingyu felt an undeniable pressure building within him, an urgency that demanded his attention. "Oh shit, not now," he muttered under his breath, realizing he couldn't ignore the undeniable reaction his body was having any longer. The heat radiating from his cheeks was felt in more than just his face.

He excused himself, the camaraderie of his teammates drowning in the chaos of his thoughts as he slipped away towards the washroom. Once inside, he swiftly closed the door behind him, locking it with an almost desperate urgency. The small space was eerily quiet, but in the stillness, the rush of blood in his ears was deafening.

With shaky hands, he fumbled with his pants, feeling the strain of his arousal pressing tightly against the fabric. The image of Sera in that unforgettable outfit - the way it hugged her curves, the glimpses of her pale skin - played behind his eyelids. It was intoxicating, igniting a fire within him that was impossible to suppress.

As he freed himself, his breath quickened, the need to release the tension almost overwhelming. He thought of her laughter, the way she sparkled with energy, and the sight of her moving gracefully with each cheer. Each thought sent shivers through him, and he couldn't help but quicken his pace.

Mingyu leaned against the cool tiles of the wall, consumed by the moment, lost in his mind as the outside world faded away. In that tiny sanctuary, he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, letting the image of Sera dance across his thoughts, a vibrant whirl of red and gold that pushed him closer to the edge.

Chapter 2 : Pride First

Mingyu stepped out of the washroom, his face flushed, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He ran a hand through his damp hair, avoiding Joo Hyuk's gaze as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed.

Joo Hyuk shot him a side-eye, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Seriously, dude? GET SOME PUSSY MAN," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I didn't come to the washroom to hear my roommate release himself in the university washroom," Joo Hyuk continued. 

"Sorry", Mingyu mumbled, his ears burning as he hurriedly brushed past Joo Hyuk.

Behind him, Joo Hyuk shook his head, muttering to himself, "This guy... hopeless.". 

-----------------------------

Two weeks had passed since that day, and Mingyu had made it his mission to avoid Sera. He steered clear of the med department entirely, choosing routes and spots where he knew he wouldn't run into her. It wasn't easy, but he convinced himself it was necessary.

That afternoon, he sat in the bustling campus canteen, savoring his boba and relishing a rare moment of peace. The sweet tapioca pearls were a small comfort in an otherwise chaotic schedule.

But peace was fleeting.

"Mingyu oppa!"

Her voice rang out, bright and unmistakable. His heart sank as he looked up to see Sera rushing toward him, her long hair flowing behind her, her smile as radiant as ever.

Mingyu forced a small, polite smile, his grip tightening on his drink. "Oh, hey, Sera."

"This weekend, can I go home with you?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes hopeful. "My mom sent something for your mom, and she told me to give it to her directly."

Mingyu hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He scratched the back of his head, trying to buy himself a second to think. "Oh, um, sorry, but I'm not going home this weekend," he said, his voice as nonchalant as he could manage.

Sera tilted her head, her expression puzzled. "Huh? But you go home every weekend," she said, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, quickly averting his gaze. "But I've got this big project to work on. You can go without me, though."

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, nodding. "Oh, okay. I see."

Before she could say anything more, Mingyu stood, grabbing his cup. "I've got to get going. I'll see you around, Sera," he said hurriedly and walked off, leaving her standing there. 

----------------------

That weekend, Sera found herself standing in front of the Kim family's home. She rang the doorbell, clutching the small package her mother had given her. Moments later, the door swung open.

"What took you so long?" came a familiar voice, half-scolding, half-teasing. Mingyu's mother stood in the doorway, her expression softening the instant she saw Sera. "Oh, it's you, Sera! I thought it was Mingyu."

Sera offered a polite bow and a small smile. "Hello, auntie. Sorry to drop by unannounced."

"Nonsense! Come in, come in," Mrs. Kim said warmly, stepping aside to let her in. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

Once inside, the comforting scent of freshly brewed tea filled the air. Mrs. Kim led Sera to the living room, gesturing for her to sit. "Honey!" she called out toward the garden. "Look who's here!"

Mr. Kim emerged a moment later, wiping his hands on a towel. His face lit up when he saw her. "Ah, Sera! What a nice surprise. Come, have a seat," he said, pulling out a chair for her.

Sera couldn't help but smile at their warmth. "Thank you, uncle. I came to drop something off from my mom," she explained, holding up the package.

"What is it?" Mrs. Kim asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes as she watched Sera carefully unwrap the package.

As the final layer of wrapping came off, Mr. Kim leaned in for a better look. "Omo!" She exclaimed, her tone filled with surprise and admiration.

Inside lay a pristine, carefully preserved 30-year-old ginseng root, its rich golden hue a testament to its value.

"Mom heard that you weren't feeling well recently," Sera explained with a soft smile. "She said this 30-year-old ginseng would be perfect for you and insisted I bring it over."

Mrs. Kim's hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening. "Omo, Sera! This is so expensive. You didn't have to go through all this trouble!"

"Please, just take it," Sera said, her tone gentle but firm. "Mom would be upset if you didn't."

Mrs. Kim glanced at her husband, who nodded approvingly, a proud smile playing on his lips. "Your family is always so thoughtful," Mrs. Kim said, her voice tinged with gratitude. "Thank you, Sera. This means so much to me."

"Of course, auntie," Sera replied. "Mom said your health is more important than anything."

Mr. Kim chuckled warmly. "Looks like your mom has great timing. This will definitely help her feel better."

Mrs. Kim placed the ginseng back into its wrapping with care, her expression softening. "You must stay for dinner, Sera. I won't take no for an answer."

Sera laughed lightly and nodded, her heart warmed by the sincerity of their gratitude.

"I don't understand why Mingyu didn't come home," Mrs. Kim said, her brows knitted as she placed another dish on the dinner table. "He told me just last Monday that he'd be coming back to pick up some important things."

She sighed, her frustration evident. "He should have at least given us a call," she added, shaking her head.

Sera, seated across from them, glanced up from her plate. "Oppa said he had a project to work on," she said casually between bites, trying to downplay the situation.

"Project?" Mr. Kim interjected, his fork pausing mid-air. "What project? He told me just last week that he was finally free because his project was done." He frowned thoughtfully. "Did the professors give him another one so soon?"

Mrs. Kim crossed her arms, her expression softening into mild concern. "Something doesn't add up. He's usually so responsible about keeping us informed."

Sera's thoughts clouded as she processed the conversation. Mingyu was avoiding her—she knew that much—but to go to such lengths to steer clear of her? That realization hit harder than she expected.

She forced herself to finish dinner quickly, the food tasting bland against the turmoil in her mind.

"It would've been nice if you stayed the night," Mrs. Kim said warmly as Sera got up to leave.

"Next time, Auntie," Sera replied with a polite smile, bowing deeply before stepping out of the house.

The moment she was outside, the weight of her thoughts bore down on her. "Does he really hate spending time with his best friend's little sister this much? Am I... that embarrassing?"

"Fine," Sera muttered under her breath, clenching her fists as she walked to the bus stop. "If I'm that embarrassing, then I'll avoid him too. I'm Jeon Sera, after all."

Her voice carried a defiant edge, as if saying it aloud would make her resolve stronger. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to hold her head high as the bus pulled up.

The ride back to the college dorms was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional chatter of other passengers. Sera stared out the window, the city lights blurring past her.

"If he doesn't want to see me, then so be it," she thought, though a small pang of hurt lingered in her chest. "I've got my pride too."

Chapter 3 : Make Him Jealous

Three weeks had passed since Mingyu last saw Sera. At first, when he was avoiding her, he'd still catch glimpses of her around campus—a fleeting silhouette in the crowd, her laughter echoing in the distance. But now, it was as if she had vanished into thin air.

Not once did he see her near the library, the canteen, or even the med department corridors.

Mingyu adjusted his bag on his shoulder, glancing around the campus grounds as he walked to class. The familiar buzz of students chatting and rushing past him felt oddly hollow. He shook his head, trying to push the thought away.

"I guess it's for the best," he muttered under his breath, his words lacking the conviction he wanted them to carry.

"Bro, wanna party after class?" Joo Hyuk leaned over, grinning as he nudged Mingyu.

"Nah, I'm fine," Mingyu replied, shaking his head.

"Come on, man," Joo Hyuk pressed, but before he could push further, the professor entered the room, silencing the chatter. Mingyu turned his attention to the front, zoning in on whatever physics the professor was explaining.

When the bell rang, signaling a break, Joo Hyuk was already on his feet. "Oh, finally a break! Come on, let's roam around the campus."

"It's just 15 minutes," Mingyu argued, opening his book. "What's the point of going out?"

Joo Hyuk rolled his eyes. "I'm not hearing all that." Without waiting for another word, he grabbed Mingyu's arm and dragged him out of the classroom.

"Damn, it's sunny," Joo Hyuk groaned, shielding his eyes as they walked toward the canteen. Once inside, he headed straight for the cashier. "Two iced Americanos, please."

While Joo Hyuk waited, Mingyu wandered near the seating area, his eyes scanning the room. He paused mid-step when he saw her. Sera.

"Oppa?" Her familiar voice rang out, accompanied by a bright smile as she moved in his direction. Mingyu froze, his heart skipping a beat.

But just as quickly, reality hit him. Sera walked past him without a second glance. Mingyu blinked, confused, and turned around to see her approaching someone else—a tall guy standing behind him.

"Oppa, can I borrow your biochemistry notes?" Sera asked the tall guy, her tone warm and friendly.

"Sure," the guy, Sera's senior, Jin Sun Ho, replied with a casual smile. "But, Sera, I'm afraid you won't be able to read my handwriting. How about I help you with them in the library?"

Sera laughed lightly. "That sounds great, thanks!" The two walked out of the canteen together, chatting as they left.

Mingyu was still staring after them when Joo Hyuk returned, handing him an iced Americano. "Woah," Joo Hyuk said, watching the pair disappear through the door. "Looks like the med school god and goddess are finally hitting it off."

"What do you mean?" Mingyu asked, his voice unintentionally sharp.

Joo Hyuk raised an eyebrow. "Do you live under a rock? Jin Sun Ho is the med school's god—smart, handsome, and rich. And Sera? She's the goddess. Pretty, brilliant, and, well, rich. Everyone's been saying they'd make the perfect couple."

He sipped his drink, oblivious to the way Mingyu's grip tightened on his cup. Mingyu said nothing, his eyes lingering on the door where Sera and Jin Sun Ho had just left. 

--------------------

"Your handwriting isn't that bad, oppa," Sera said with a small smile as she diligently copied down the notes. Her pen moved swiftly across the page while Sun Ho leaned slightly closer, pointing out key terms and concepts.

Sun Ho chuckled softly, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her work. "Maybe you just have extraordinary deciphering skills," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Most people look at my notes and call them hieroglyphics.

Sera laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Well, I guess I have a knack for cracking your code," she replied, glancing up at him briefly before focusing back on the page.

"Or maybe you're just too kind to admit how terrible my handwriting actually is," Sun Ho quipped with a grin, tapping the edge of the notebook.

Sera shook her head, her lips curving into a soft smile. "No, really. It's not bad at all. And your explanations make everything so much clearer," she said earnestly, her brown eyes meeting his.

For a moment, Sun Ho's teasing demeanor softened. "Glad I can help," he said, his tone warm. "Not everyone would put up with my chicken scratch."

"Well, I'm not just anyone," Sera said with a playful shrug, her confidence shining through as she continued writing.

"How about a selfie?" Sun Ho asked suddenly, pulling out his phone with a playful grin.

Sera looked up from the notebook, a mixture of surprise and amusement on her face. "In the library?" she whispered, stifling a giggle.

Sun Ho leaned in closer, angling the camera to fit both of them in the frame. "Relax," he said with a smirk. "No one's going to say a word to me." Without waiting for her response, he snapped the photo, capturing Sera mid-laugh.

"Sun Ho!" she scolded lightly, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

He examined the picture with a satisfied nod. "Perfect. My followers are going to love this," he said as he began typing a caption.

"You're posting it?" Sera's eyes widened in mild disbelief.

"Of course," he replied, his tone casual as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I?"

Sera shook her head, unable to suppress a laugh as she returned to her notes. Moments later, Sun Ho's phone buzzed with likes and comments flooding in, his followers reacting to the unexpected post.

On the screen was the caption: "Study buddies" .

Chapter 4 : Drunk Mingyu

"Woah, check this out," Joohyuk said, grinning as he waved his phone in front of Mingyu after their last class of the day.

Mingyu glanced down at the screen, his eyes narrowing as he saw the Instagram photo of Sera and Sun Ho standing side by side, their smiles bright and carefree. A strange feeling twisted in his chest—something between envy and frustration—but he masked it with a shrug, trying not to let it show.

"Since when did you become so invested in other people's business, huh, Joohyuk?" Mingyu asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep his voice casual.

Joohyuk chuckled, unfazed by Mingyu's tone. "Oh, come on, man. You need a little gossip to survive the madness that is SNU," he said, tapping his phone's screen. "Everyone's talking about this picture. It's like the campus's new hottest trend."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't have the time for that kind of stuff."

"Right, of course," Joohyuk replied, his grin widening. "You're too busy being the mysterious guy who doesn't care about anything except his grades." He nudged Mingyu playfully.

Mingyu shrugged again, trying to brush off the weird fluttering in his stomach. "Just don't get too wrapped up in it, alright? We've got our own lives to focus on."

"Sure, sure," Joohyuk replied with a wink. "But you know, it's always more fun to watch the drama unfold from the sidelines." 

Joohyuk leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Alright, enough of this. Come with me to the club and let loose for once."

Mingyu hesitated, glancing at his outfit. "Like this? My clothes are too plain, I need to change." He tried to muster an excuse, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

Joohyuk rolled his eyes, his expression turning playful but firm. "I'm not hearing any of that, man. I know you'll find a thousand reasons to back out and never show up. We're going, and we're going now."

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, but Joohyuk was already dragging him toward the door, his grip surprisingly strong. "You're coming with me, no more excuses. Tonight's about fun, not studying."

Mingyu sighed but couldn't help the reluctant grin that crept across his face. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "But you owe me a drink for this."

Joohyuk flashed a victorious smile. "Deal." 

The neon lights of the club flickered around them as Mingyu and Joohyuk settled into their seats, the music pulsating through the air. Mingyu was already deep in his drinks, the bitter taste of alcohol doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared into his glass, his heart heavy, thoughts swirling around Sera and the distance between them that felt impossible to bridge.

Joohyuk, ever the party animal, raised his eyebrows as Mingyu downed another drink in one go. "Ayo, man, slow down," Joohyuk said, his voice slightly slurred. "We have class tomorrow. You're gonna regret this."

Mingyu looked at his friend, a wry smile twisting on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's the point of this life if I can't be with her?" he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn't care that he was starting to sound like a mess—he was already too far gone.

Joohyuk blinked, suddenly aware of the shift in Mingyu's mood. "Oh, no, not here," he groaned, slapping his palm against the table. "I brought you here to have fun, not cry over some girl you can't get over. This night is supposed to be fun, man!"

But Mingyu wasn't listening. He tipped his head back, gulping down another drink, his emotions taking over in a drunken haze. "Is there any way to make her like me?" he slurred, his eyes glassy. "I can't stand seeing her with someone else... I just... I just want her to be mine."

Joohyuk let out a low whistle. "It's kinda hard to believe that you, with that handsome face of yours, can't get a girl," he teased, leaning back in his chair, his buzz starting to kick in.

Mingyu's face crumpled again, and Joohyuk frowned, his tone shifting to concern. "Who is she? The girl that's got you all twisted up like this?"

Mingyu's words came out in a jumbled mess, and soon enough, his eyes were glistening with tears, the alcohol fueling his emotions further. "You remember my best friend... the one who studies abroad?" he began, voice cracking. "She's his..."

Joohyuk froze for a moment, eyes wide as he processed the situation. "His girlfriend?" he asked in disbelief, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Bro, you gotta be kidding me. Out of all the girls in the world, you fall for your homie's girl?"

"NO, NO!" Mingyu shot back, waving his hand in a frantic motion as his emotions overtook him again. "She's not his girlfriend!" he repeated, his voice breaking.

Joohyuk blinked. "Then what's the problem, man? If she's not with him, what's stopping you?"

Mingyu's face crumpled in despair, his voice almost a whisper as he stumbled over the words. "She... she's his sister," he confessed, his drunken state making it feel even more tragic. He pulled Joohyuk into a tight hug, his body shaking with the weight of his emotions. "I don't know what to do, man. I can't... I can't have her, but I can't stop wanting her."

Joohyuk sat there, stunned for a moment. He didn't know how to respond, his mind processing the ridiculousness of the situation. "Bro," he finally said, a slight chuckle escaping him. "You're... you're really in love with your best friend's sister? That's the problem?"

Mingyu sobbed a little more, the alcohol making everything feel more intense than it probably was. "I know, I know," he said, his voice muffled in Joohyuk's shoulder. "It's messed up. I just... I just can't stop thinking about her."

Joohyuk shook his head in disbelief. 

Joo Hyuk, with a mischievous grin, urged Mingyu to let loose and find some companionship for the night. He grabbed the alcohol glass from Mingyu's hand, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. "Come on, forget everything and let's hit the dance floor," Joo Hyuk said, leading the way.

Mingyu followed, his mind still hazy from the alcohol. As they stepped onto the dance floor, the pulsating beat of the music consumed them. Mingyu felt the weight of his worries melt away with each step.

Before long, Joo Hyuk had already found a companion for the night, disappearing to the other side of the club with a sly wink. Mingyu, on the other hand, was approached by a stranger.

"Hey, aren't you Mingyu Sunbae from the engineering department?" the girl asked, her voice like a melody.

Mingyu looked at her and nodded. "Nice to meet you, I'm Seyeong from the medicine department," she introduced herself, flashing a bright smile.

Before Mingyu could respond, Seyeong had already moved closer, her body swaying in time with the music. She placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer until their chests were touching. Mingyu was taken aback, but the alcohol coursed through his veins, numbing his senses.

Seyeong's movements were fluid, like a dance. She pressed her cleavage against his chest, making it a full display of her assets. Mingyu's mind was consumed with thoughts of Sera. In his alcohol-infused haze, he couldn't help but think that Seyeong was Sera, sent to him as an answer to his prayers.

"Want to get a room?" Seyeong whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. 

Mingyu's vision swam in a hazy blur, the flashing lights of the club illuminating the space around him. His mind felt foggy, and the alcohol had wrapped him in a warm cocoon of numbness. But then, his eyes caught something—or rather, someone. At the entrance of the club, standing like a figure from a dream, was her.

"Sera?" Mingyu mumbled to himself, blinking rapidly as if doing so would somehow snap him out of his daze and make everything clearer. He squinted, the familiar silhouette in front of him. He stumbled back slightly, his voice slurring as he spoke louder than he intended. "TWO TWO SERA?"

The girl in front of him, who had been dancing with him just moments before, followed his gaze, confusion painting her face as she turned her head toward the entrance. She froze for a second, processing what he said, before her own realization hit her.

"Sera?" she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief as her eyes locked on the girl Mingyu was referring to.

Mingyu, still drunk and caught in the throes of his mixed-up emotions, looked between the two—Sera at the entrance and the Sera in his arms. "Wait... no way, how come there are two Seras," he muttered under his breath.

The music seemed to throb louder in his ears as he fumbled to make sense of the situation. Seyeong's expression shifted from confusion to mild irritation, her eyes narrowing as she took a step back from him.

"Did you seriously think I was Sera this whole time?" Seyeong's voice was sharp, tinged with disbelief. She crossed her arms over her chest, her face now set in an indignant frown. "What a jerk."

Before Mingyu could say another word, she pushed him lightly but firmly away from her, the force of the motion knocking him off balance for a moment.

Seyeong shook her head, her disappointment evident, and with a final glance at Mingyu, she turned and walked off into the crowd, leaving him standing there, still trying to piece everything together.

Chapter 4 : Confrontation

As the adrenaline faded away, he found himself seeking a way out, desperate to escape the turmoil of his thoughts.

"How long are you going to keep yourself away from me?" Sera's voice sliced through the noise, confident and unwavering. Mingyu, taken aback, feigned ignorance. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he responded, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Without hesitation, Sera moved closer, closing the space between them. Her hand reached for his, holding it firmly as if refusing to let him slip away. "You can drop the act now, oppa," she insisted. The tone in her voice was resolute, a stark contrast to Mingyu's hesitant demeanor.

"I heard it all," she leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. His heart raced as she held onto his neck, standing on her tiptoes to bring her face near his. Her proximity was intoxicating, yet troubling.

"You are Jeonwoo's sister. I can't—" Mingyu tried to back away, but Sera was relentless. She cut him off, sealing her defiance with a kiss on his cheek, a playful yet poignant gesture that sent a thrill through him. Mingyu's heart sank and soared all at once as he finally met her gaze.

"Okay, then I will go to Sunho Oppa," she teased, her demeanor flipping from assertive to mischievous in an instant as she turned to walk away. The implication of her words hit Mingyu like a freight train. His grip instinctively tightened around her wrist, pulling her back to him.

"Please, Sera," he pleaded, his expression shifting to one that could only be described as puppy-like, eyes wide with a mix of desperation and longing. The playful banter began melting away, leaving behind the raw emotion that had bubbled just beneath the surface. 

"Then tell me," Sera said suddenly, her voice soft yet filled with an urgency that made Mingyu's heart race. In that moment, he felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

Mingyu looked deeper into her eyes, a vibrant mix of curiosity and vulnerability reflecting back at him. It felt as if time had come to a standstill; the noise of the bar faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of fleeting possibility. A sudden wave of courage surged through him, igniting a fire within that he had kept at bay for far too long. Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was electric—a culmination of longing and love, a blending of dreams that had been waiting for this moment to manifest. Their lips brushed against each other with a tender urgency, savoring every fleeting second, as if trying to grasp a moment that could slip away at any instant. In that enchantment, everything else ceased to exist, and all they could feel was each other.

"I like you," Mingyu confessed, his breath mingling with hers in between kisses, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid feelings. The revelation hung in the air, both exhilarating and terrifying, yet it felt right.

Sera pulled back for just a moment, her eyes sparkling with surprise and delight. "We can continue at the hotel room," she said, a playful smile curling her lips.

-------------------------

The hotel room door creaked open, the sound amplifying the electric atmosphere that buzzed between Mingyu and Sera. As they crossed the threshold, their lips met in a fervent kiss that seemed to encapsulate the world outside—one that held no constraints or responsibilities. Nothing else existed in that moment but the two of them, lost in each other's embrace.

With a swift kick, Mingyu nudged the door shut, intent on carving out a little world where only they mattered. He traced Sera's delicate figure with admiration, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. The nearby table became their temporary sanctuary as he gently set her down, still locked in a passionate kiss. "You are too short; my neck hurts," he murmured playfully, yet his eyes spoke of hunger, desire.

Sera, feeling emboldened, wrapped her legs around his waist, a teasing move that brought their bodies even closer. The heat between them ignited as Mingyu's hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off to reveal his toned physique. To him, she was petite and enchanting, every curve inviting exploration.

Their lips collided once more, becoming lost in the rhythm of soft sighs and heated breaths. Mingyu's hands, skilled yet gentle, began to undress Sera, each layer he shed revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her form. As he unclasped her bra, he feasted his eyes on her plump breasts, a sight that made his heart race with insatiable desire.

Mingyu leaned down, his mouth enveloping her soft skin, a rush of adrenaline coursing through him as he lavished her with attention. His hands wandered, finding their way to her clit through her clothing, caressing her softly. Sera responded with soft moans, a sound he felt in the depths of his being, urging him on.

As passion thickened the air, Mingyu's urgency grew. He quickly shed his pants and retrieved a condom from the drawer, his determination evident. Positioning himself at her entrance, he locked eyes with her, seeking her silent permission as he began to enter her slowly, their lips brushing together in a tumultuous dance.

With each thrust, a primal intensity enveloped them both. Moments turned to a haze of sweat and ecstasy—Mingyu transformed, becoming both lover and beast, a force of nature that left Sera breathless beneath him. "Ah, fuck," she gasped, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

As they reached the precipice of their desires, Mingyu shifted her position, bending her over the table. Sera felt the cool surface against her skin, a stark contrast to the fervent heat igniting in her core. "Sera-ah," he moaned, hands gripping her waist, driving deeper with each rhythm.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, the tempo rising as their breaths grew heavier. Mingyu sensed the climax approaching, a rush of exhilaration. With one final thrust, he pulled out, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he released onto her skin. At that moment, time seemed to suspend—their eyes met, and Sera's gaze sparkled with an innocent allure as she too reached her peak, a beautiful symphony shared between them. 

-----------------------------

As the steam from the bathroom lingered in the air, Mingyu stepped out of the shower, water droplets cascading down his toned frame. The casual, effortless nature of his appearance was endearing, yet it evoked an unexpected shyness in him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, a playful edge to his voice, as he caught Sera's gaze from across the room.

Wiping her hair with a towel, Sera chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Whoa, look at you getting shy after all this," she teased. 

----------------------------------

Two weeks had flown by since that steamy night in the hotel room. And in the aftermath of their passionate escapade, Sera had become a frequent visitor to Mingyu's room. With Joo Hyuk often occupied with his part time job, the two had explored the thrilling dynamics of secrecy, indulging in their hidden desires whenever the opportunity arose. Each rendezvous was charged with excitement—a dance of passion that ignited every corner of Mingyu's otherwise mundane days.

Today, however, was different. Mingyu was on a mission to pick up his best friend, Wonwoo, from the airport.

As he arrived at the bustling airport, he spotted Wonwoo making his way through the terminal.

"Brother!" Mingyu called out, his face lighting up in a broad smile as they both rushed to embrace each other. It felt good, the familiar warmth of friendship rekindled after a few months apart. "Missed ya," Mingyu said, clapping Wonwoo on the back before helping him with his luggage.

"Why did you only call me to pick you up?" Mingyu probed as they loaded the bags into the car's trunk, genuinely curious about his friend's whirlwind life abroad.

"Mom and Dad's 30th anniversary is coming up, and I want to give them a surprise," Wonwoo replied, excitement bubbling over in his voice. It was classic Wonwoo—thoughtful and family-oriented, proud of planning something truly special.

Once settled into the Uber, the chaotic energy of the ride kicked in. Wonwoo dove into a barrage of stories about living abroad—the food, the people, the experiences—but amidst the laughter and reminiscing, he posed an unexpected question that made Mingyu's heart race for an entirely different reason.

"Ah, by the way, do you know which jerk is dating my sister?" Wonwoo asked, casually leaning back in his seat. The smoothness of his nonchalant tone did not betray the depth of the question.

Mingyu felt the color drain from his face. Coughing splutteringly, he quickly grabbed the water bottle beside him to take a sip—a feeble attempt to mask his reaction.

"Like, two weeks ago, I saw my credit card was used to bill at a hotel—the same card I had given to my sister," Wonwoo continued, his voice laced with incredulity. Mingyu's heart raced again. If only he knew...

"You know it would've been better if you were dating my sister, can't trust her with the jerks nowadays", Wonwoo casually said.

The neurological pathways of panic ignited as Mingyu choked once more on his drink, causing a cascade of water to spill across the upholstery of the Uber. The driver shot a frustrated look through the rearview mirror, and Mingyu hastily apologized while trying to wipe away the mess with his sleeve.

[dreamsteddie]

AITA Steddie Au Part Three

Part Two

Hello! Sorry for the delay! This week was very busy with student conferences and my own midterms so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. This is more of an interlude building up to bigger things, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also! Get in the comments if you have any ideas of an actual name for this series so I can stop calling it AITA Steeddie Au. I can't think of anything good 😓

------

Eddie takes Steve on that second date.

And then a third and a fourth and eventually he stops counting because he's seeing Steve as often as he can between their jobs and other responsibilities. He feels high off it, giddy with possibility and hope for this new thing that he's never had before.

Eddie has done relationships before, a couple of times. A small handful of boys and girls he took out on dates and tried his best to woo all went up in flames one way or another, but none of those relationships left him feeling so gone so fast. He felt like he was always holding himself back from giving himself up completely, too afraid of falling without a safety net to reach for that deep devotion he's always craved.

Steve makes him feel like they're plunging into that unknown together.

Still, no matter how much he's been trying to avoid it, the looming specter of what the hell to do about his friends is looming over his head.

------

"Are you fucking serious right now dude?" Eddie asks, a complicated mix of righteous anger, humiliation for himself and Steve, and complete disbelief at Gareth's unwillingness to back down from this making it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that Steve is like, the complete antithesis of literally everything we stand for. He's a nepo baby business major who's never had an original thought in his life! I would know! I've read one of his papers." Gareth says, forced nonchalance coloring his tone and riling Eddie up even more.

He rears up, shoulders pushing back and hands grasping at the air like he could pull down his frustration from the either and condense it into a solid ball he could lob at Garteth's head to finally knock some goddamn sense into his brain.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, Eddie, I'm really sorry about this. It was a fucked up idea, I don't know what we were thinking." Jeff interveins before the frustrated banshy noises Eddie is letting out turn into another yelling match that won't get anyone anywhere.

"I think we just got too caught up wanting to help you get out of this rut and it all turned into something completely insane. You don't gotta forgive us Eddie, but if there's anything we can do to try and make up for it, we'll do it. Isn't that right Gareth?" Jeff pointedly asked with a look that says agree with me right now or else.

Gareth doesn't say anything.

The thing about all of this that Eddie just can't wrap his head around is the why. Why would his friends, his sheepies, do something so cruel? He knows none of them have ever looked kindly at people like Steve. Too many traumatizing high school humiliations behind them all to trust when someone who looks so much like all the guys who bullied them in high school tries to reach out, but Gareth and Jeff have never tried something like this. In fact, it's used to be Eddie doing most of the anti-jock revenge planning back in the day, even if nothing ever actually came from it.

He thought, incorrectly it seems, that they had grown out of the worst of it by now. It's been three years since Garteth graduated, and five since Eddie made his final attempt, and leaving their hometown behind did a lot to heal old hurts.

So why this? Why now?

"Is this seriously how it's going to be man? You won't tell me what the fuck any of this was really about and you're not even going to try and apologize? Seriously?" The righteous anger is starting to seep out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Gareth just continues to stare at him defiantly, not saying a word.

Eddie pinches his nose and takes a deep breath, "You know what? Fine. Whatever. If this is how it's going to be then I'm out. Jeff, I'll talk to you later, probably not for a little bit though. Gareth?" The other man lifts his head from where he'd been looking down at his shoes. There were tears in his eyes, just a little bit but enough for Eddie to clock it. Face red from some unnamed cocktail of emotions Eddie doesn't have the energy or desire to interrogate right now. "Call me when you're ready to grow the fuck up. I've got a second date to plan."

With that, Eddie turned on his heel and made for the open garage door.

"What about the band, man?!" Gareth called.

Eddie kept walking.

-------

That was over four weeks ago.

He hasn't spoken to Gareth for most of that time. The first couple of days he blew up his phone with angry to half-apologizing texts that Eddie promptly ignored. After the second day, he sent a single text back letting him know he didn't want to talk unless he had a real explanation and apology to give both him and Steve and that he was going to block his number for a little while. He could let Freak know if he was ever ready to talk like adults. Eddie trusted him to tell if Gareth was being genuine.

In other news.

Waking up to strong arms secured around his naked waist is fast becoming Eddie's favorite way to start the day. He and Steve slept together for the first time last week, and since then it's like neither of them can get enough of each other.

"Hey, baby." Steve rasps in his ear, tilting his head down to smear sleepy kisses onto his shoulder. The hand that was resting against his ribs meanders its way down to the trail of hair under his navel, scratching just a little and making Eddie feel like a contented mutt. He's not sure if he should feel horny or like he could sink into the mattress and sleep for another full 8 if Steve keeps holding him like his.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he says deciding that a couple more hours of sleep is definitely the way to go. Steve, it seems, has other idead.

"What you thinkin' about this early in the morning?" He asks, hand continuing to scratch lazily at Eddie's stomach like he's not completely destroying Eddie's will and ability to focus on anything but the warm body behind him.

But it's been a long time coming, and as much as he doesn't want to, Eddie needs to start thinking about what he wants to do about his friends? former friends? estranged family? band and Steve deserves to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie sits up, bringing Steve up with him to rest against the headboard. "I've been thinking about the band. Gareth and Jeff, that is." He pauses, waits for some kind of reaction that doesn't come. Steve looks concerned, but not in the way he thought he would.

"Ok." Steve responds, waiting for more.

"I guess I just don't know what to do." He looks out into the middle distance of Steve's bedroom. Takes in the display of swim, basketball, and baseball trophies displayed proudly on a shelf, catching the early morning light. "I'm still so fucking mad. It's honestly kind of irritating how mad it makes me to think of what they did. It was so fucking stupid."

Steve hums a little, letting Eddie get it out.

"But at the same time I can't help but fucking miss them. Miss the music and the campaigns and everything else." It's honestly been eating him alive, the mix of anger and longing he's been feeling for his friends. The constant longing to go back in time and stop them from concocting this shit show but also, like, stalk Gareth to his 8 AM Business class so he can run into Steve and they can fall in love at first sight or some shit.

Silence.

Steve shifts. Moves so he can look Eddie right in the face. He looks thoughtful in a way that Eddie had to get used to. Sometimes when Steve is thinking hard about something, he scrunches his face in such a way that it makes him look like he's judging you. He isn't, it's just an unfortunate fact of life that his baby has a resting Judgemental Face™.

Steve heaves out a big breath, bringing Eddie back down to earth. "I mean, I don't want to, like, cloud your judgement or whatever but maybe you should try and talk to them one more time. Jeff appologized right?"

And, ok that's definetly not what Eddie was expecting to hear. It must show on his face because Steve is suddenly looking away, embaraced.

"I just..." He trails off, taking his own turn staring out at the dull shine of his old acomplishments. Eddie watches as his face once again turns pensive as he stares harder at the remnents of his high school acheivements.

"I used to be a pretty shitty guy. Did the same kind of shit your buddies did a couple of times." This isn't necessarily news to Eddie. They've talked a little about who Steve was in high school and how much work he put into himself before he decided to go back to college. It's still a bit of a shock to hear, though.

"So I get how someone can make a mistake like that, y'know? So if you want to try and talk it out, I won't be offended. I know we're in this together, now." Peace said, Steve reaches for Eddie's hand and gives it a squeeze.

It hits Eddie again, just how good Steve Harrington is. It hasn't been long, not really, since they got together but they've fallen together so completley, so easily, that it's easy to forget that there's still so much they have to learn, so many layers for Eddie to peal back. Behind every judgemental remark and complaint about the frequent phone calls he gets from chuldren he used to babysit in his hometown is a man who cares deeply and is capable of great forgiveness, even if it hasn't been earned yet.

Eddie squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it's not we have to totally forgive them, right? But I think you need to get a real answer from both of them about why it happened. Maybe you can find a way past it, maybe they'll say something that puts the nail in the coffin." He responds.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and thinks.

Steve is right. Eddie isn't satisfied with any of the answers he got last time, and he knows that there has to be more to the story than "trying to get Eddie out of a rut" and he's not going to be able to put any of this to rest until he understands.

"Ok, yeah. I'll call them." Steve gives him an encouraging smile at that, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand where they haven't let go yet.

"Good, I'm glad. And I can come with you if you want. Hit em from both sides." he says. Eddie think's he'll take him up on that offer, but right now he had more imporant things to do. Namely, tackling his sweet boyfriend onto the mattress and having a mid morning tousle.

"We'll see. Right now I've got more imporant things to do." He says in his best aproximation of a sultry voice. He doesn't know how good it really is, but it seems to work based on the way Steve's eyes get hooded and he looks down at Eddie's mouth.

Gotcha.

Before Steve can lean down and kiss him, Eddie snaps his hands down to his boyfriend's sides in a well executed tickle atack. Steve immedietly jolts and starts howling with laughter, yelling between breaths that Eddie is "a fucking asshole" as he continues his relentless atacks.

Eventually, Steve manages to regain his bearings and go on the offence, turning them over and trapping his boyfriend's hands beneath his knees so he can atack Eddie's equally ticklish sides.

Once the late morning has passes into early noon and they've both settled back into Steve's signifigantly more rumpled be, Eddie takes one more moment to think about the furute to come before he shelves it. He knows that whatever conversation is to come, it won't be easy, and even if things go as smoothly as possible with Gareth and Jeff, things will never be the same between them all.

Looking down at Steve, who is sporting the most outrageous bedhead in human history, laughing at the stream of reals Robin sent him in the middle of the night, he thinks he'll be okay either way.

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow @travelingtwentysomething @shoujo-wizard @stripey82 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @cr0w-culture @notaqueenakhaleesi @bookworm0690 @r0seprincess @estrellami-1 @little-annie @dreamercec @tinyplanet95 @rawrx3ky-txt @bexinator3000 @justalittledrainbamage @scarletyeager @themoonagainstmers @yesdangerpls @mydysfunctionallife @maverickricky @silentiumdelirium @i-amthepizzaman @samsoble @foolishness-and-confusion @dragonmama76 @gregre369 @thewickedkat @lexr86 @martinskis-lydias

[shrimpybbq]

high school gf au thoughts….

they’ve had two kids already by the time they’re ~22-23, and they think that’s it - they’re done. 2 kids, a boy and a girl. no more.

i 100% believe the cameron’s are victims of an accidental baby (not like the last two weren’t also accidents…). the couple have a very healthy sex life and they’re still so young, so high school gf gets an iud. they last ages right, so they’ll be fine. wrong. life just gets so busy, and she forgets to get it replaced and changed. rafe is the worlds biggest fan of cumming inside his girl, and they don’t use condoms either, and truth be told, they go at it multiple times a week and for multiple rounds (stamina!).

so one day when she starts feeling nauseous in the morning, sensitive in the chest, and irritable for no reason, she thinks she’s just sick or something. it’s only when she checks her calendar and notices a missed doctors appointment that it hits. she should’ve predicted this with how insatiable rafe’s appetite is, but alas, here they are. they’re probably only both like 28 or 29 too, and both just react like “oh shit”.

and that’s how the cameron family becomes 5. they’ve got 3 kids before most of the people on figure 8 even have their first, but who really can blame either half of the couple when their spouse is so attractive. the women on figure 8 froth at the mouth over the dilf that is rafe cameron, and the sleazy men can’t get over how good mrs cameron looks, even with two mischievous children by her side.

moral of the story is i would give both rafe and drew as many children as they wanted, and evidently so would high school gf. she definitely pleads with him to get a vasectomy after though….

inspired by @yuckblushin saying she would give rafe a third kid hehe

[mkmas]

Jude Jazza - A story about a ruthless and arrogant man and an unfulfilled promise (JP ECB)

as usual I don’t own the story or characters, they belong to cybird. some things might’ve translated not as smoothly but i tried to get close to the original tone + eng isn’t my first language so forgive any mistakes ;-; also beware of some spoilers about his backstory

I wonder when it happened.

When my sister was still alive, she and I had a high fever.

(I was in so much pain l felt like I was dying.)

(I remember her asking me to distract her from the agony of the high fever.)

Jude: “What do you want to do when you’re rich?”

It was a playful way to forget, even for a moment, the pain of the day.

Jude’s younger sister: “Anything?”

Jude: “Sure.”

The pained look on my sister's face breaks into a little smile of joy.

Jude’s younger sister: “If that's the case, let's see… I want to go to the moon!”

My sister's eyes, which are the same amethyst color as mine, look towards the highest point in the sky. There, like a jewel dropped into the deep sea, there was a round moon floating in the jet black.

(...... Ha, the moon.)

Jude: "Idiot, even if I had that kind of money I can’t do that.”

(I've never heard of humans going to the moon.)

Jude’s younger sister: “But the Queen’s got the whole world on her palm, right?”

Jude’s younger sister: "If we can go around the world, can't we go to the moon?"

How much money does the Queen have? As I was thinking about whether it was really possible to go to the moon with that kind of money...

Jude’s younger sister: "Hey, brother, promise me. When you become rich, take me to the moon."

A human being going to the moon is a dream too ridiculous to be true. But my sister, who might die tomorrow, needed hope at this moment.

Jude: "I got it. I'll use money, magic, anything to get you there.”

Jude’s younger sister: “Brother, it's lame to think you can use magic.”

Jude: “Keep quiet.”

Jude’s younger sister: "I'm going to go to the moon. I have to get well soon."

Jude: “That's right. We have to get you better."

Only when I was with my sister, I felt something like the outline of happiness. Every time her small hand grasped mine, a warm feeling spread across my chest. But before the feeling of happiness could develop, I always felt sorry for her. Just when I was thinking that one day I would make my sister happy. She was bought with money, and then she died after.

And then I - I swore revenge.

By the time I started my trading company upon graduating from public school, I had the noblemen who killed my sister completely by the scruff of the neck.

Even though they were already busy dealing with taxes, it piled up even more with debt.

-- After their mansion and land were all seized, I went to meet the people who bought my sister.

Jude: “Thank you very much for your time.”

Nobleman: "W-what are you? W-Wa...!"

I grabbed the hair of the most pompous looking nobleman sitting in the chair as hard as I can.

Jude: “You guys are the ones who buy poor children and make them do bad things."

Jude: “There's no point in trying to make excuses. Everything can be backed up."

The nobleman’s eyes widen as I flung the report that contains numerous misdeeds I’ve already investigated.

I dragged him down and stamped on his head as hard as I can with my shoe.

Jude: "Confess. A few years ago, you bought a kid with asthma from a longshoreman."

Nobleman: “Well that’s… Uh.”

Jude: “Confess…!”

No matter how much I hurt them, the noblemen didn't speak.

Then I realized.

They really don’t remember.

When I threatened the servant, he trembled and spilled everything.

Servant: “I buried so many people in the garden that I can't remember who's who…”

When I headed for the garden of the beautiful mansion, I found that only one corner had been dug up in an unnatural manner.

Jude: “…….”

-- So so many. I sit in front of one of the piles and gently touched it with my fingertips.

Jude: “Brother is here... Answer me.”

I didn’t hear anything.

I didn’t even know if she was here.

All I know is that it was already too late.

So then I introduced the nobles to my father and brother, who were still working at the port, sipping muddy water.

(Isn't it great to do hard physical labor with the person you sold your daughter to?)

I had my subordinates watch over as they were weakened by the humiliation of the harsh labor.

I did nothing, I just watched.

Soon after, the nobles, my father, and my brother were all dead.

I killed them all.

-……De.

-……Jude.

Ellis: “Jude.”

(Ellis….?)

(……Ah, I fell asleep.)

It seems that because I didn't get enough sleep, I passed out while sitting.

(--- Even if it's)

Ellis: “What kind of dream was it?”

Jude: “Hah?”

Ellis: “You sounded like you had a nightmare.”**

Jude: “It was a shitty dream.”

Ellis: “I see. Jude is unhappy even in his dreams.”

Jude: “Shut up dumbass.”

Ellis smiles and looks somewhere else.

When I followed Ellis' line of sight, I saw a full moon floating there.

Ellis: "I guess Jude won't be happy until he gets to that moon."

(I know the truth. Even if I went to that moon, I wouldn't be happy.)

My sister whom I promised to is dead.

I can't take her to the moon.

The crazy dream I have is a promise that will never come true.

Ellis: "Hey, Jude. Can you breathe on the moon?"

Jude: “Ah?”

Ellis: "I'm just worried if Jude dies there before I can kill him."

Jude: “You really are fucking crazy. It can’t be helped.”

Still, I only have this promise.

That's why—.

(Someday I'll go to the moon.)

**Just in case this small detail matters (not really but) he was making sounds like people usually having nightmares do. i bet he gets these nightmares often;-;**

*If anything got deleted and i didn’t notice it’s probably tumblr being weird on my ipad bc of storage ahajaj)

TN: OK wow after reading his backstories… my crack theory about jude and the moon some time ago turned out to be at least 70% right? also jude has always been pretty snarky/sarcastic haha even to his younger sister (a little) i have a loooot of thoughts on his backstory but ill dump it after finishing his route. it really is dark and horrible how the rich people bought children and just…. did all that…. i support jude torturing crazy nobles 🙂‍↕️

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Full Throttle Heart

Pairing:Eddie Munson x Reader

AU: Mechanic Eddie x reader

Warnings: none

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, I need Eddie so bad rn- especially with the release of Gladiator 2

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You weren’t surprised to find yourself back at Munson’s Garage, not after how your car had been behaving lately. The thing was a mess—sputtering and groaning like it was on its last legs. Eddie Munson, though? He’d been fixing it up for years now.

Years. You weren’t sure how time had passed so fast, but it had been nearly five years since Eddie had rolled into town, taking over the garage after his uncle retired. You remembered the way Wayne Munson had always been kind to you, fixing up your parents’ cars on the cheap. When he handed the reins to Eddie, you’d been skeptical.

Eddie, who you’d known vaguely from high school, was more known for playing his guitar in the cafeteria and making dramatic speeches about “the conformity machine” than anything resembling responsibility. You weren’t exactly close back then, running in different circles, but you remembered his energy, his loud laughter, and his ability to command attention.

When you walked into the garage that first time and saw Eddie, covered in grease but still rocking his signature chain and bandana combo, it took a moment to recognize him. He grinned, leaning against the workbench like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, well. Look who’s stumbled into my domain,” he’d said.

Your car had needed a new starter then, and Eddie had been surprisingly competent. The snark and flair were still there, but underneath that was someone who really cared about his work. You left the shop that day with a working car and the faint beginnings of a friendship you didn’t expect.

Now, all these years later, you realized just how much Eddie had become a constant in your life. It wasn’t just car trouble anymore. Anytime you had an excuse to swing by the shop—whether to drop off coffee, borrow his tools, or just complain about your day—you did. And Eddie? He always made you feel welcome, even if it was with a teasing smirk and some exaggerated comment about how much trouble you were.

You’d told yourself for years that you didn’t think about him that way. He was Eddie. Loud, messy Eddie who played guitar in his garage band and spent half his weekends fixing up junkers with some of his old high school friends. But the more you showed up, the more you saw him for who he really was: funny, kind, hardworking, and, yeah, ridiculously attractive.

It was in the little things. Like how he remembered how you took your coffee. Or how he never charged you for little fixes, no matter how many times you insisted. Or the way his face lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes.

That autumn evening was no different. You walked into the shop, shivering against the chill, and found Eddie bent over an old Chevelle. The sight was one you were used to—his wild curls tied back, grease smudged on his cheek, his bandana barely holding his hair out of his face.

“Munson, tell me my car isn’t completely dead,” you said as you crossed the room.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag before grinning at you. “Sweetheart, your car’s got one foot in the grave, but I’m a miracle worker. You know that.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned against the workbench. “So, what’s wrong with it this time?”

He launched into an explanation about the alternator, but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you found yourself watching the way his hands moved when he talked, the way his lips quirked into a smile when he teased you, the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“And that’s why you need to stop ignoring the weird noises it’s been making,” he finished, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “What was that last part?”

Eddie’s grin widened. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

“Just fix it,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. “But only if you agree to dinner.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Dinner?”

He shrugged, trying to look casual, though the slight twitch of his fingers gave him away. “Yeah, dinner. Or coffee. Or whatever excuse you need to keep coming back here and making my day.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the admission, but you quickly covered it with a smirk. “Fix the car first, Munson. I’ll think about it.”

The next day, you returned with coffee and takeout, feeling more nervous than you had any right to. Eddie greeted you with his usual teasing grin, but there was a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Peace offering?” he asked, taking the coffee from you.

“Something like that,” you said, handing him the bag of food.

As he worked on your car, the two of you fell into your usual rhythm—banter, jokes, stories from your day. But beneath it all was something unspoken, something that had been building between you for years.

When he finished, he leaned against the car, crossing his arms as he looked at you. “She’s good to go. But, uh, you know, I meant it. About dinner.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “I know.”

“And?”

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile that was threatening to take over your face. “I’ll pick you up at seven. But only if you clean up first.”

Eddie laughed, the sound warm and full of promise. “Deal.”

Dinner turned into takeout on the hood of your car, parked by the lake where you used to hang out as kids. Somewhere between bites of fries and Eddie’s terrible jokes, he reached for your hand. You let him, the grease-stained calluses on his fingers grounding you in the moment.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“Guess so,” you replied softly, leaning just a little closer.

Eddie Munson, once the loud kid from high school, was now the quiet comfort you didn’t know you needed. And as the stars reflected on the water, you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[theoldsports]

| Irish Coffee |

summary: twenty four was the wrong age for everything, except maybe picking up girls in bars at the holidays. Rafe Cameron x Reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: bars, alcohol, passing mention of sexual assault, death of a parent mention.

Rafe Cameron hated karaoke. It was shitty ego-stroking from typically the very intoxicated or the very tone deaf. He didn’t think anyone ever felt good about their performances on that rinkydink stage anyway. It was unpleasant for everyone involved. Truth be told, Rafe thought karaoke was pointless entirely. If he wanted to hear a good version of a song, he would go on Spotify and find one. He thought karaoke was a selfish sport made fun only for the singer, and never for the listener.

In summation, it was fucking stupid.

When he got in Topper’s Jeep, Rafe had been too tipsy to fully comprehend that it was karaoke night at the Swordfish. Now, with another tumbler of b-list bourbon between Rafe’s knuckles, he moped on a stool at the bar.

He felt old when he went out with Kelce, Topper and their other friends. He had started college while some of the other boys he’d grown up with were in their junior year of high school. Rafe didn’t have friends. He wasn’t good at keeping them and didn’t like it when they complained about their problems that weren’t even really problems. The persona he had crafted for dealing with friends, though, had gotten elaborate enough to where Rafe thought they didn’t notice that his heart wasn’t in it.

He didn’t have friends, he had the people he drank with. That was better than drinking alone.

Being twenty-four sucked. Too old for ragers, too young for drinks at the country club. Too many big problems to solve, but everyone thinking he was too young to solve him. Rafe wondered, if he drank enough, could he blackout the whole of his twenties and then he wake up in his thirties locked and loaded?

Some drunk whore was finishing up a song Rafe had only heard in Sofia’s car. She’d played it often. He didn’t know what it was called. It was by one of those superstar white girls with the zillion dollar concert tickets. Rafe didn’t like it. He didn’t like Sofia either anymore. He didn’t like to think about her anymore.

His heartbeat raced. His could feel it beat in his neck when he drank too much. It didn’t used to be that way. The human body couldn’t fail from misuse before thirty, could it? Rafe took a sharp inhale through his nose to push the frantic thoughts away. Everyone leaves eventually, he reminded himself; a mantra. Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

Topper was on Ruthie leaning up on the wall near a booth. They were out of commission til she got pissy at him for breathing wrong, or something, and they all had to make excuses to leave. Normal Friday night.

Rafe wished he’d stayed home.

A DJ mumbled that the next person was taking the stage, singing Hard Candy Christmas by Dolly Parton. Arguably, this was Rafe’s favorite Christmas song because it had been his mother’s favorite Christmas song.

It was also the week before Thanksgiving and Rafe didn’t think he could stomach Christmas yet.

“Shit…” Rafe muttered into his glass of bourbon.

The girl supposed to sing was being pushed up into the tiny stage by a group of drunk girls. Presumably a bachelorette party by the looks of it. The girl onstage had a frown of surprise on her lips. It was clear to Rafe that she didn’t know this was going to happen. A girl in her party, wearing a veil headband, called out: “Please! This is our song. Please do it for me? You sound so pretty, [Y/N].”

All of her friends were calling and chanting for her to sing. The girl, [Y/N], looked embarrassed. She was very put on the spot.

Eventually, with all the cheering, pleading and encouragement, [Y/N] walked to the center of the stage where the microphone stood.

“Forgive me if this is dogshit, my friends signed me up,” The girl said over the karaoke track’s intro. A few of the girls she was with cheered. “I didn’t come to butcher Dolly in front of y’all.”

This yielded a chuckle from her audience. Rafe rolled his eyes. He was less interested in her humble act, and more interested in where he knew from. Rafe knew a lot of people, and he was starting to cling to the barstool to do what his legs were struggling to do. [Y/N] was a common enough name, but this girl looked so fucking familiar to him. His drunk mind leafed through the catalog of women in his brain. [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], where did he know her from?

Her clothes weren’t anything special. Standard bachelorette party fare. A little too short, but not quite slutty. She was a bridesmaid, maybe the maid of honor. Rafe wrinkled his nose in thought. His contacts stung dry against his eyes. He had stared at a screen too long in the office and now he was sitting under a vent in November. Who the hell left the A/C on in November?

[Y/N]. Rafe hadn’t hooked up with her before. He didn’t think he had, anyway. She didn’t appear to have botox in her face or filler in her top lip with the way she expressed so freely. That meant she couldn’t have been the kid of one of his dad’s business contacts.

He looked at her friends for clues. Immediately, Rafe recognized the bride. Wendy. Rafe had hooked up with Wendy a few times in high school. He was surprised to see she was still on the island; Wendy had been smarter than that. So Rafe probably knew [Y/N] from school, then. What classes had they shared? He tried to place her.

[Y/N] was working through the slow first verse. She didn’t have a perfect, trained voice. Her voice was the kind of voice that sang in the kitchen on Saturday mornings to the radio. A smirk pulled at Rafe’s lip. She wasn’t forcing it, and she wasn’t so drunk that it was pathetic to listen to. “I hate singing in front of people…” she said.

[Y/N] knelt and set down what appeared to be an Irish coffee, and put her left hand over eyes. No ring, Rafe thought. He almost puked at the thought that looking at babes in bars now came with seeing if they were married or engaged, before giving them the once over. Being twenty-four sucked. The girl swayed from side to side on her feet as she moved from the second half of the first verse to the chorus.

…Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just fine and dandy.

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas.

I'm barely getting through tomorrow,

But still I won't let sorrow bring me way down…

The girl took some liberties with how she improvised the line endings or creating a harmony line instead of the melody during the way too repetitive chorus. It wasn’t like she was doing something revolutionary, but she also wasn’t just up there doing a cheesy impression of Dolly.

It was a welcome change of pace from the guy’s attempt at some Jimmy Buffet number a few songs ago. Rafe loved music. He loved it. That’s part of why karaoke was such an affront. Rafe played the piano; he was okay. His mom had put him in lessons right after kindergarten and it was the only thing he had stuck with until the end of high school. That was how he honored her memory.

Wait, kindergarten.

[Y/N] sat next to Rafe in kindergarten and early elementary. Holy fucking shit.

Rafe was a walking ad for Ritalin until he was about ten. Arguably, after that too. No one ever helped him out. He was also spoiled, he knew that. The kid talked out of turn, couldn’t follow the classroom expectations, never sat still, and ended up with his green light getting downgraded to a yellow light by the end of everyday. The tantrums he would throw over it where earthshaking. It was exhausting. [Y/N] sat next to him because she was not disruptive. Miss Lisa, their kindergarten teacher had loved [Y/N]. She loved her not only because she was good kid, but because she talked back to Rafe. [Y/N] used her position as calm-girl-forced-to-sit-next-to-shitty-boy to her advantage. She tattled on him daily. Debatably, that made his behavior worse, but the pair had fun sometimes. Rafe hadn’t thought about her in years.

[Y/N] wrapped up the song, trilling fine and dandy… I’ll be fine… over and over with the tinny backing track. He wished she could sing this song along with a guitar the way she deserved. Unexpectedly, Rafe found his hands applauding and his glass on the counter.

Quick as a flash, Rafe stood on unsteady feet and rushed towards the stage. [Y/N] rounded up her Irish coffee and pivoted towards her friends that clapped delightedly at her. Her hands were peeled away from her face now. Rafe almost smiled. Almost.

“Hey ladies, can I steal [Y/N] here for a second?” Rafe hollered over the music as he slumped towards their party.

Wendy’s eyes lit up in immediate recognition. “Rafe Cameron…”

“Hi Wendy,” Rafe said effortlessly. “Congratulations, by the way. You look great.” Rafe’s hookups were getting married now, and he was going to wake up tomorrow single and hungover.

“Thank you, hon. You look pretty good yourself… Please take her. Buy her another drink before we go. We need her loosened up a little.” Wendy giggled.

“Hey!” [Y/N] protested. She was eying Rafe uncertainly. She was trying to place him the same way that he had her.

“Please, ladies, next round on my tab. Congrats, seriously, Wendy,” Rafe said with a sleazy, false grin as a few of the women cheered. “I’ll bring [Y/N] back in one piece.” Gently, Rafe placed a hand on her elbow and angled her away towards the bar. The two walked in relative quiet.

All [Y/N]’s friends giggled. Rafe’s force dimples dropped when they were out of the ladies’ eyeline.

“Excuse me,” [Y/N] started. “Not tryin’ to be rude. Have we… Do I know you? I didn’t catch your name and…” She asked, staring intensely at Rafe. “Is this a setup, because Wendy’s always trying to—“

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Rafe cut in, stopping. He was drunk and forgot his manners. Great impression. Rafe cleared his throat and tried not to slur. “Rafe Cameron. You probably don’t remember me… I… You’re [Y/N] [L/N], yeah? You sat beside me in, like, fucking kindergarten and stuff.”

[Y/N] eyes widened in recognition. “Oh my god!” She gasped. “Rafe! How are you? Oh my god, you’re so tall!” [Y/N] laughed happily. Her faced buzzed warmly from the alcohol.

Rafe nodded at her amused comment. “Yeah, I’ve been busy since I was, y’know, nine.” He snorted.

“You transferred, right?”

“Yeah, Saint Mary’s.” Rafe replied. His mother’s trust had paid for catholic school after she died. He transferred out around the time he was ten.

“I can’t believe we never crossed paths again. You know Wendy from Saint Mary’s then?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Rafe paused. “Come on, lemme get you another drink. You’re the reason I didn’t fail first grade.”

[Y/N] smirked. “That’s probably true. You were an awful student.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe smirked. “Way to treat a guy buying you a drink,” he started his walk towards the bar, prompting [Y/N] to follow him. “You got Bailey’s or Jameson in that thing?”

The girl looked down into her nearly empty mug. “Jameson.”

“Smart girl.“ Rafe said easily. [Y/N] blushed. Even drunk, Rafe didn’t miss that expression on her face at those words. Almost too easy.

“Well, if you’re paying then tell the man to make it a double Irish too.”

“Very smart girl. I like the way you think.”

[Y/N] easily followed Rafe to the bar. The man’s broad shoulders slumped drunkenly as he cut through the crowd. When one was as large, imposing and beautiful as Rafe Cameron, crowds parted like the Red Sea. “So, uh, how are you? Did you do the whole college thing, or…?” [Y/N] asked broadly. She next to nothing about him. He wasn’t even the kind of childhood friend to get added on Instagram.

College. That was the default question at their age. Rafe hated this question, but he couldn’t let [Y/N] feel rejected for that question. “I mean, yeah. For a while. I was at Wofford for a year, but I never finished. I like what I do now, though.”

[Y/N] nodded. “And what exactly do you do?”

“Real estate development. I took over for my dad l when he passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, we get by,” Rafe turned to the bartender, waving a hand for his attention. “Another Maker’s Mark, neat, and a coffee with double Jameson. Put the anything else the bachelorette party orders on my tab.” Rafe said. He certainly didn’t need another drink, but he really liked having something to do with his hands. Rafe would probably have less substance abuse-related issues if he knew how to conduct his body in public in some way that wasn’t a poor impression of his father.

“Very good, Mr. Cameron.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes at Rafe. “Big spender… You that much of a regular that they know your name at the bar?” In her world, guys [Y/N]’s age didn’t get called ‘Mr.’ anything anywhere by anyone. The guys she knew still drank shitty PBRs in punk clubs and had girlfriends they had nothing in common with. Rafe’s polish and pedigree didn’t rub off even in such a state of intoxication.

Rafe didn’t have a good excuse. The implication of [Y/N]’s statement was accurate. “Sure,” he replied. He moved through the rest of his sentence like a gunshot to prevent an awkward conversation. “Hey, why’d you pick Hard Candy Christmas?”

“I didn’t pick it. Wendy did.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “Right. Why did she pick it for you, then?”

“Because it’s my favorite Christmas song.”

“It’s my favorite. It’s probably half of the Smoky Mountains’ favorite too. But why?”

“I didn’t realize this was hardball—“

“Please... I asked you a question about Dolly Parton. You sounded good.” Rafe responded. His drink was passed over the counter. He held it close to his chest and leaned his right elbow down to press it into the bar.

“Um, thanks. It’s… I had shitty couple years. I sang that song everyday for months at a time, I think. Wendy and I would go for these drives with the top down and just… Belt that shit out. Makes the bad days better.”

Rafe half-smiled. “So, year-round?” He said accusingly.

“The song? Like, not at Christmas?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, yeah. She says it’s like a Hard Candy Christmas, not that it is one. That’s grounds for year-round. It’s so much more than a Christmas song.” [Y/N] bit back with a smirk. The bartender returned and placed another white coffee cup and saucer in front of [Y/N] with a nod. The girl slurped a sip down without cream or sugar. She barely made a pinched expression at what was obviously a strong drink. Rafe was moderately impressed. He liked that [Y/N] was drinking brown liquor in black coffee this late on a Friday while all of her friends held White Claws and Daiquiris,

“My head hurts. This is the opposite of the Die Hard’s a Christmas movie thing.” Rafe jabbed.

“Anything can be a Christmas movie.”

“Then, so can a song.”

[Y/N] paused. “Damn.” she sighed. She wasn’t sober enough to get her arguments straight.

Rafe didn’t want to conversation to end. [Y/N] was the most intelligent person he’d spoken to all day. It wasn’t saying much, but was noticeable. He asked another question. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie, if you think that’s true?”

“American Psycho.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s not a—“

“Rewatch it. Not having this argument,” [Y/N] chided. The girl glanced over her shoulder at her friends. They were all staring at her and pretending they weren’t. “Listen Rafe, I appreciate the drink. It was really great to see you tonight. I gotta head back to Wendy now. Bachelorette party only happens once. If you’re lucky… But, hey, thank you again—“

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” [Y/N] asked. She had no idea where Rafe was taking this. Rafe pushed up the left sleeve of his brown sweater.

“What my favorite Christmas movie is.”

[Y/N] looked at him funny. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

“Eyes Wide Shut.” Rafe replied coyly.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” [Y/N] smiled fully, finally. Rafe damn near smiled back. She took a small step away, gesturing to where her friends stood.

“Can I give you my card? Maybe we catch up sometime.” Rafe asked plainly.

“Yeah, maybe!”

Rafe pulled his business card out of his wallet and extended it to [Y/N]. She looked down at it, cheekily saying: “Let’s see Paul Allen’s business card…” her eyes widened at the writing on the card. “CEO? Of a development company? THE development company on the island.”

“I told you I took over my dad’s business.”

“Rafe, I… I’m barely a grant writer at a 501-c3. How are you a CEO… You’re… twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four two weeks ago.”

“Happy birthday,” [Y/N] said flatly. “What’s happening? Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you helped me pass first grade. I thought I already said that.” Rafe’s eyes never left hers. They were so blue. Too blue. Too blue to be real. Rich people were too pretty.

[Y/N] took a very long sip of her coffee. “That’s wild. I’m sorry, but that’s wild. You made me feel vastly inferior and I’m the friend with my shit the most together.” [Y/N] told Rafe, with a smile on her face.

“I know you gotta get back. I’m not gonna the asshole that kept the girls waiting, but call me. Listen, you’re pretty, so is your voice. We should catch up.” Rafe said. Was he asking her out? That was weird. That was weird, right?

Hesitantly, [Y/N] looked back at her friends again. They were too invested in her conversation with Rafe. Hopefully, they would all drink so much that they forgot it happened.

“Do you like karaoke, Rafe?” [Y/N] changed the subject.

“I hate it.” He replied instantly.

“Why are you here?”

Rafe gestured with his glass to where Topper and Ruthie were making out. “They gave me a ride. And you don’t seem too keen about it either.” He said with a shrug.

[Y/N] couldn’t figure out what Rafe’s game was. He had turned from an unsettling child to a freakish adult. He was blunt and brisk, and either frustratingly honest or an alarmingly good liar. Maybe both. She stared up at him.

“What?”

“What?” Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. It was good to see you. Thanks for the drinks,” [Y/N] took a step back. She started to walk away slightly, still facing Rafe. A looked of what could be interrupted as self-loathing crossed Rafe’s face. He didn’t bullshit enough with her during the conversation to be perceived as likable, and she was leaving. Of course. Nobody liked Rafe when they actually knew Rafe. [Y/N] stopped, thinking. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?” His eyes slid back to her.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Maybe?”

He was going to say no, but it would serve as a litmus test for what kind of man Rafe was. It would help [Y/N] sleep easier to know what kind of bullet she dodged by losing Rafe’s business card after tonight. “Okay, we have a scavenger hunt thing for the party. It’s stupid. One of those… Do X number of shots, get someone to give you a BLANK, take a picture of three of you doing… whatever. Y’know?”

“Sure, yeah. What are you asking?”

“One of the items on the list is Maid of Honor and a stranger accomplish a task she’ll regret tomorrow. Like I said, it’s a trashy fuckin’ list.”

“Are you asking me to hookup with you, or…”

“Worse. Do you know the song Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by—“

“Absolutely not—“

“Let me finish. I said do you know the song Don’t Go—“

“I don’t do karaoke.” Rafe said forcefully.

“Do you want to go out on a date with me, or not?”

Rafe was stunned silent. His mind worked overtime. He suddenly felt extremely sober, in spite of his drunkenness. He sucked his teeth.

“I don’t do Elton John. Sorry.” He muttered finally.

[Y/N] nodded, knowingly. It was a setup anyway. She couldn’t be disappointed. She knew he’d refuse and she could leave knowing she had made the right choice ditching him. “That’s a’right. Maybe some other—“

“But, if you really want me to do this, let’s at least stick to the Christmas thing you’ve got going here.”

“You don’t look very… holly jolly.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” he deadpanned. Rafe was the strangest combination. “Stop givin’ me grief here. Your favorite Christmas movie is American Psycho. Let’s do Baby, It’s Cold Outside—“

“Whoa, waaaay too rapey.” [Y/N] protested.

“American. Psycho. How is that song—“

“Wait, do you know Fa—“

“Fairytale of New York?” Rafe finished.

“You know it?”

“My family’s Irish Catholic.”

They both stood still and looked at each other. Well, Rafe stood as still as he could, but swayed a little on his feet. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Why was he agreeing to this?

For as manipulative as Rafe Cameron could be, he was effortless to play for validation and a pretty pair of eyes looking back at him.

Everyone leaves eventually, Rafe reminded himself. His mouth and his brain were not in agreement. Rafe had lost control of his body as he blindly followed [Y/N] to sign up for the next karaoke slot.

They passed Topper and Rafe held onto his glass like an anchor. He should have switched to beer. Why did he have another bourbon? Topper pulled his face away from Ruthie long enough to look at Rafe as if to say what the fuck are you doing? without any words. Rafe grimaced at Topper, barring his teeth slightly in response.

Rafe leaned in to [Y/N]’s ear and clumsily pushed her hair back. “I’m not a singer… This isn’t gonna be good.” He whispered. Chills crept up [Y/N]’s spine at the sensation of his breath. He knew his way around rhythm and music theory. Rafe was an asshole about music, actually. Jazz, classical, whatever. It was his secret no one else got to have. It’s not his fault that most of the motherfuckers he hung out with only listened to guys with the word ‘yung’ in front of their names. Still, all of that musicality couldn’t make him a singer.

“It’s karaoke.” [Y/N] said like it was obvious. She dragged Rafe towards the stage. “You’re so serious… Stop frowning; you’re gonna get lines on your face. We’re both gonna suck. I wouldn’t make you do this if it wasn’t for Wendy anyway. Promise.”

“This is so dumb; this better be some fucking date…”

[Y/N] pried, with difficulty, the rocks glass out of Rafe’s fingers and set it with her mug on a tabletop by the stage. As she pulled him up to a microphone, she said: “You know the words. Sing the damn song.”

And as the track started to play, and [Y/N] stupid friends all cheered, Rafe slurred the words he knew from every drunken family Christmas party he’d ever had. And he smiled. Just a little.

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

hiiii can you write about precrash nat and reader. reader moves to wiskayok and moves to nats trailer park. her and nat don't really talk much because reader attracts more of a popular crowd. reader hides the fact that she lives in a trailer park from her new popular friends. reader joins the soccer team and starts to become more friendly with nat. one day after practice nat offers reader a ride home and she accepts. nat and reader become closer after that. reader develops a crush on nat but doesn't like that either because she feels like its wrong. readers friends notice that shes been hanging out with nat and getting rides with her and they dont like that so they follow nat and reader and realize that reader lives in a trailer park. so the next day they bully tf out of reader and tell everyone. reader goes to nat for comfort and thats when reader reveals her feelings for nat

lololol this is my first time requesting so i hope its good

What a Shame

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem! reader

5.9k words

Warning(s): Bullying, drug use (weed), internalized homophobia, slut shaming, blatant homophobia, bi! Nat, ambiguously queer reader

Quick note that I know almost nothing about sports in general, let alone soccer (I haven't played sports in 4 years and I haven't even touched a soccer ball since 2nd grade)

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Moving right before your senior year of high school was not your idea of a good time. Moving to a trailer park right before the start of your senior year was your nightmare.

Sure, you knew why you'd moved. Your dad had lost his job, and your mom wasn't in the picture. So, moving it was. Hopefully, your dad would find a new job, and at least here no one would know what happened. You didn't have much going for you, but you had that.

The only downside was, in fact, the trailer.

But you were determined to make the best of it. Make friends, get good grades, and not let anyone, literally anyone, find out where you lived. You just had to make it through one year. How hard could it be?

One small hitch in that plan was Natalie Scatorccio. She knew exactly where you lived. Because apparently the two of you were neighbors. Which was... not ideal.

Somehow, though, you'd made it through the entire first semester without word getting out about your housing situation. Your friends had no idea, and somehow you even managed to be somewhat popular.

"I'm thinking about joining the soccer team," you say offhandedly at lunch one day.

"I mean, it's not a bad idea. You played at your old school, right?" One of your friends asks, looking at you.

"Yeah, I was the goalie. I've heard they already have one, but I don't mind being second string." You shrug, picking at your lunch.

"Doesn't hurt to try! Plus, the team's like, really good. Not like you have anything to lose. Besides, you're probably better than the current goalie. I heard she's a total d-" Before she can finish the sentence, the bell for the end of lunch rings.

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Two days later, you're standing on the soccer field, listening to the head coach go over the rules and expectations for tryouts. Nothing you haven't heard before, so it's pretty harmless when you tune him out to scope out the players already on the team.

And- Shit, was that..?

Natalie. Your Neighbor.

Because of course it was. Honestly, she didn't seem like the type to play sports, let alone soccer. But you knew that you probably didn't look like a soccer player either, so it wasn't the most valid assumption.

Soon enough, you're being ushered into groups based on the position you're trying out for. There's only one other girl trying out for goalie, so you're fairly sure that you'll make the team. If only to play backup to the redhead that you'd seen in a couple of your classes.

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Tryouts go about as smoothly as expected, and you're even more confident about making the team by the end. The poor girl who was also trying out had clearly never played soccer in her life. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

You weren't the best at any sort of dribbling or shooting drill, but that wasn't exactly necessary for the position of goalie. What you lacked in those skills was made up for in agility and your goalkeeping abilities.

Officially, though, you don't know if you've gotten the position for another week. Which, fine. It's not like you needed practices to start immediately or anything. You were just kind of bored. And maybe a little sick of your friends. But you could wait. It would at least give you time to prepare to interact with Natalie at practice.

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Two weeks later, you find yourself on the soccer field after school. As expected, you made the team. Also as expected, you weren't a starter. Which wasn't the worst possibility. At least you had made the team. And Van, the starting goalie, seemed really funny. She wasn't a bitch to you, either. Which was honestly unexpected. since you were her backup. Certainly seemed nicer than your friends.

Honestly, the whole team seemed nicer than your current friends. Sure, you could already tell that Jackie was going to be a lot to deal with, and Taissa was a bit intimidating. But that's better than complete assholes. Even Natalie at least seemed indifferent to you.

You're standing out on the field, talking to some other new recruits. And by talking, it was more like standing there and listening to them talk to each other. Almost everyone else had moved up from JV, while you were the only new student on the team. Everyone else knew each other, it seemed. It was kind of expected, though, and you had gotten used to being the new girl.

None of the other seniors really talked to you, each of them already having formed friend groups. You could see the factions now. Lottie, Taissa, and Van were all talking together. About what, you had no idea. Shauna and Jackie were practically attached at the hip, so there was no way you were going to be able to get in the middle of that. Natalie was nowhere to be seen, which didn't exactly surprise you. Which left Laura Lee, a sweet, devout Christian girl. You could work with that.

Before you could approach Laura Lee, though, Lottie walks up to you.

"Hi, you're the new girl, right? I'm Lottie, the starting center back." she's smiling, which is a good sign. It's a bit odd that she's talking to you, though, considering her reputation as the richest girl in school.

"Oh, hi. I'm y/n. Second string goalie." You smile back at her, trying to appear more confident than you're feeling. Despite being somewhat popular, you weren't really a fan of trying to navigate talking to new people, which is why you stuck with your friends despite you not always getting along with them.

"No offense, but I kind of already know who you are. Not everyone transfers schools their senior year." Lottie seems almost smug, but it's more confidence than anything. She knows how to charm people, that's for sure.

It feels like she knows exactly why you moved to Wiskayok, which is odd. No one knows why you moved except for you and your dad. And you certainly didn't tell her.

Despite the weird aura coming from her, Lottie actually seems really nice. As much as you want to trust her immediately, you know its probably best to keep your guard up, at least for the time being. Maybe if you get closer, you can explain your living situation.

Suddenly, you wonder if the Yellowjackets soccer team knows that Nat lives in the trailer park. It's a decently small town, and you assume that most of these girls have lived in Wiskayok for their entire lives. How did they take it when Nat revealed where she lived, if she did? Do they care? Has everyone just always known?

Lottie's looking at you kind of weird, and you realize you must have zoned out for longer than you thought. Before you can say anything, though, Coach Martinez has everyone pair up for drills. Lottie grabs your arm before you even have a second to think about who you'll pair with.

"You're with me, new girl. Van and Tai always pair up and leave me to partner with Nat, but not today. You're stuck with me." She's smiling, which puts you at ease. She's not as intimidating as she seems from afar.

She starts passing you the ball, and you silently wonder if maybe you're not supposed to be doing this drill, since you're a goalie. But Van's passing with Taissa, so you don't say anything. Besides, it's not like you're the coach.

You spend the rest of the drills paired with Lottie, until you have to be separated for your respective positions. It's weird, only having Van there with you. She's really talkative, though, which is a good distraction from your general nerves surrounding practice

"You've played before, right?" She's talking to you now, as you're shuffling back and forth for agility training.

"Yeah, all through high school," you reply, trying to focus on your footwork.

"How's it feel being second string your senior year?" She's clearly not being mean or insensitive. She honestly sounds a bit teasing, and you can appreciate that.

"Better than nothing." She laughs at that, and you feel like you won something. All of these girls seemed so nice. Maybe you'd be able to start ditching your friends.

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An hour and a half later, you're starting on your walk home. Silently, you're cursing yourself for showering in the locker room. You had hoped your dad would be able to pick you up, but he was working late. Which you appreciated, of course. But it was a little annoying.

Suddenly a shitty, old Toyota pulls up next to you. One that you recognize from the parking lot at school and the trailer down the street. Natalie.

"Need a ride?" She's looking at you through the open window, looking simultaneously bored and smug. Part of you wants to refuse, tell her to fuck off and leave you alone. But she doesn't seem to be pitying you, just genuinely asking if you want a ride home.

So, instead of ignoring her and walking to your trailer, you get in the damn car. Its not like she doesn't already know where you live.

Natalie doesn't say anything as she puts the car back into gear and starts driving. You're grateful for that, not exactly wanting to make small talk with her. She wasn't exactly the type that you'd normally hang around. Too rough around the edges, has too much of a reputation. Your friends wouldn't approve.

Nirvana is playing over the car's shitty speakers, and it's so typical of Natalie. You barely know the girl, yet you couldn't have guessed her music choices with more accuracy.

She's pulling up next to your trailer, and she looks over at you as you get out of the car.

"From now on, I'll drive you home." Natalie leaves no room for arguing, and you're not sure that you want to. Sure, she's not exactly someone you'd choose to spend a lot of time with. But she's not terrible, and driving home with Natalie definitely beats walking home by yourself.

You just give her a nod in response, not exactly sure how to react to a statement like that. And she wasn't exactly giving you an opportunity to say no.

Nat drives off, down the street to her own trailer, and you walk into yours.

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A month of soccer practice and rides home with Nat after, and the two of you are actually starting to become friends. The first two weeks, neither of you spoke, opting to just listen to whatever was on the radio. That is, until you finally got bored and started talking to her around the third week. Nothing crazy, just stuff about the team.

At this point, though, you've started talking about yourselves. What you like to do, how you feel about certain people. Nat's funny, and sarcastic, and honestly just someone you really like being around.

"Jackie's been driving me crazy this week. I get that our first game is on Saturday, but come on. It's not like I'm slacking off on purpose." She doesn't seem genuinely pissed off, just a bit annoyed. You have noticed that Jackie puts more pressure on Nat than almost anyone else on the team.

"Did you do something to piss her off?" you ask, looking at Nat as she drives.

"I mean, I showed up to homeroom high on Tuesday. But that doesn't mean I'm slacking at practice."

"I mean, I guess I can see why that would piss her off. It is kind of unwarranted, though. You've been practicing just as hard as everyone else."

She nods at that, and you fall into another comfortable silence for a few little while.

"Speaking of being high..." Natalie trails off, and you get a little giddy, although you don't show it. You'd been hoping that she would want to hang out outside of your car rides.

When you give her a little nod, she grins, looking triumphant. Clearly, she wanted to be around you just as much as you wanted to be around her.

Instead of dropping you off at your trailer like usual, she brings you to hers.

"My mom's probably asleep or staring at the TV, so we won't have to worry about her." Natalie gets out of the car, gesturing for you to join her. She doesn't say anything about her dad, and you know why, even if no she hasn't told you. It was hard to avoid the rumors, how people would look at her sometimes.

Honestly, it didn't matter to you if the rumors were true or not. Natalie wasn't the sort of person to resort to violence without good reason. And from what you heard, she would've had a very good reason.

You climb out of the car and follow her through the trailer, into her bedroom. It's so Nat, with posters all over the walls, stacks of CD's on her desk and on the floor. A beat-up acoustic guitar sits in the corner, and you make a mental note of it. Clothes are in piles all over the floor, but you honestly couldn't care less about the state of her room. It felt good, to be somewhere lived in. To be around someone that understood your living situation

Natalie sits down on the edge of her bed, smiling at you. The gesture was enough to make you feel a bit more comfortable, and you found yourself sitting down next to her.

"Have you smoked before?" She pulls out an old Altoids container, opening it up to pull out one of the pre-rolled joints inside.

You shake your head no, pulling your legs up on the bed so you can sit more comfortably.

"No. Well, once I took a hit from some guy at a party, but it was shit and I couldn't stop choking."

Nat laughs at that, lighting up the blunt as the two of you talk.

"That's probably because you just took a hit and had no idea what you were doing. Watch what I do." She makes sure that you're looking at her before inhaling the smoke from the blunt, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. "You're gonna want to cough your first couple of hits. That's normal."

She held the joint out to you, and when you took it, your fingers brushed together. The contact you feel weird, but you chalked it up to the nerves of smoking weed for the first time. This kind of thing wasn't normally something that you'd do.

Tentatively, you brought the blunt to your lips and took a hit. The smoke burned your throat as you inhaled, but you managed to keep from coughing. Nat grins as she notices you holding back a cough, and she holds her hand out for the joint.

You pass it back to her, this time trying to keep your hands from touching. Natalie takes another hit, longer this time, and part of you wants to just stare at her.

As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you immediately snap out of it. You don't want to stare at her, she's your friend. People don't stare at their friends. Get a grip.

Nat holds on to the joint for a little longer this time, taking a couple more hits before she offers it back to you. This time, you get a bit bolder, taking a deeper pull. It takes you a little more effort to keep from coughing, but you manage it.

The two of you stay like that a while, passing the joint back and forth between each other, just enjoying the fuzzy feeling of being high, and enjoying each other's company. At some point, Nat puts a record on, something grungy that you recognize, but don't remember the name of.

You're lying flat on your back in the middle of the floor, and Nat looks down at you, clearly holding back a laugh.

"You doin' okay?" She lightly kicks your shoulder, trying to get you to have some sort of reaction. You nod in response, completely zoned out. The floor just feels so nice.

She looks good, you think. Something about the way she was a bit messy was so beautiful for her. You chalk these thoughts up to the weed, to never really being friends with someone that looks like Nat.

"Can you talk?" Nat's full-on laughing now, obviously finding your position hilarious.

"Do you want me to?"

"Just seeing if you could."

You're not egregiously high or anything, a nice buzz, really. Part of you knows that you should probably go home soon, make sure your dad isn't wondering where you are.

There's just something comforting about Nat's bedroom, about being around someone in the same situation as you. There's no judgement, no fear.

You do end up leaving, eventually. Once your eyes are no longer red and the smell of weed has mostly dissipated. Nat walks you to your trailer, claiming that she's better at defending herself. You don't have it in you to argue. Plus, it's nice that she still wants to spend time with you.

She walks you up to the door, and the two of you stand there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for the other to say something.

"See you tomorrow?" Nat almost looks nervous, like you're going to say no for some reason.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." With that, you smile and walk inside.

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It had been a few weeks since you first smoked with Natalie, and it had become a routine for the two of you. Go to practice, drive to Nat's trailer, and light up.

You should've known your friends would notice at some point.

"How's soccer, y/n?" one of your friends stares pointedly at you, like she knows something. Something you don't even know.

"Oh, it's going really well! The girls on the team are all so nice, and we all play really well together." You stay as natural as possible, trying to gauge what's happening.

"That's sweet," she remarks, in a tone you know means she thinks it's anything but sweet.

"You've been hanging out with the slut a lot recently," another girl chimes in, "Is there something that you wanted to tell us?"

You nearly choke on your water when she says that, and you're sure that you must have misheard her.

"Who?" It takes a moment to compose yourself, looking over at your friend.

"You know who I'm talking about. The burnout? The slut?" When you still look confused, she rolls her eyes, h8uffing at your obliviousness. "Natalie Scatorccio? Pretty sure she's fucked half the school. And it isn't entirely the male half."

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes, but you don't say anything to defend Nat. You know that you should, that she's your friend. But fighting with these girls could cause them to turn on you. And you were hiding too many things for that to happen.

For some reason, your friends don't push further. Why, you're not sure. But you sure aren't going to push it.

Everyone goes back to talking about other things, boyfriends, movies, music. You aren't interested, though. You're too busy thinking about what your friend said. About Nat not just sleeping with guys. Was she gay? She hadn't said anything to you.

Did that mean you had a chance?

Wait. You didn't want a chance with her. You weren't into girls. That was weird. It didn't matter that you felt at home with her, or liked the way she'd laugh at your shitty jokes, or talk about her favorite musicians for hours. You weren't into girls. You weren't into Nat.

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Practice was weird. You kept fucking up, which wasn't at all normal for you. Coach Scott even started yelling at you, which was a blow.

It got so bad that Coach Martinez kept you after practice to run laps, and you expected that Nat would have left by the time you finished. Instead, you found her waiting by her car, looking concerned.

"Hey, are you okay? You seemed really out of it today," she asks, clearly worried about you.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. My friends just said some shit at lunch today, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"What did they say?" And she looks so upset that you want to tell her, but you just can't. You don't want her to confirm that she's gay, but for some reason, you don't want her to tell you she isn't, either.

"Just being assholes. Honestly, I don't know why I'm friends with them. I don't like them very much. Or at all."

Natalie laughs at that, and you feel a little bit better.

"You could, I don't know, not be friends with them anymore?"

"I mean, I could. But you're my only friend besides them. Plus, if I piss 'em off too bad, they'll make my life hell. Not taking that chance."

Nat nods, seemingly understanding.

"Would just hanging out with me all the time really be that bad?" She's obviously joking, but you can't help but imagine, just being around Natalie all the time. Smoking, listening to music, making out-

Wait, what?

There's no way, right? No way that you want to kiss a girl, let alone Nat. Let alone make out with her. You're straight. Always had been, always will be. You were normal. You liked boys. Not girls. Didn't matter how pretty Natalie was. Kissing her was weird. And wrong.

You laugh, trying to shake that image from your head. One person says that Nat may be gay, and all of a sudden you're losing your mind. You aren't gay.

"No, It wouldn't be that bad. Could be kinda fun."

Your mood has lifted significantly from just being in the car with Nat, and you think about what could happen if you just... ditched your friends.

Today is one of the rare days where your dad is home in time for dinner, so Nat drops you off at your own trailer today.

"If they're dicks again, tell me. I'll kick their asses." She's grinning at you, and you stare at her for a moment before it hits you.

You're in love with her. Absolutely whipped. And there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

Instead of a response, you give a tight-lipped smile before basically sprinting into your trailer.

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Going to school the next day might be the most difficult thing that you've ever done. Even more difficult than pretending everything was normal over dinner with your dad the night before.

At least today, your dad could take you to school, and you didn't have to face Nat. And you didn't have practice that afternoon, so you really didn't have to see her much. Which was ideal. You didn't know how you'd be able to deal with being around her. Especially being alone with her.

Your morning is uneventful, and for once, your friends are actually a good distraction. Talking about new movies, new music, being generally entertaining instead of annoying.

Unfortunately, Nat is still driving you home. And there's nothing you can do to avoid it, unless you want to walk. Which you definitely don't.

You're quiet the whole ride, and you know Natalie can tell that something's off. The good thing about Nat, though, is that she wouldn't push. She had her own secrets, and she didn't expect you to share yours.

"D'you want to smoke?" You want to say yes so badly, to just spend as much time with her as possible. Yet there's this fear that the weed will make you spill your secret, and you just can't do that.

You weren't supposed to like her. You weren't supposed to want her. And there was no way in hell she was ever going to know that you did. Never.

"Can't. I have to study." It's a bad lie, and you know it. Nat does, too. But she doesn't call you on it, even though you can tell that she wants to.

"Yeah, alright. See you, then." By now, you've pulled up to your trailer, and you thank her before getting out of the car. It almost hurt to leave her. There was just no conceivable way that you'd be able to act normal around her, especially if you were high.

As soon as you're in your room, you just lose it. You don't get how one girl can have you undone so quickly, but somehow Nat did it. And you hated it. You weren't supposed to want her like that. It was wrong.

Pulling your blanket up to your shoulders, you just cry. You have no idea how to deal with this, how to make yourself normal again. What would people think? What would your friends think? What would your dad think?

What would Nat think? Would she think you were weird for liking girls? Would she judge you? Would she be grossed out that you were into her, of all people?

Of course, there was the high possibility that she was queer. Sure, she hadn't said anything explicit, but there was a vibe about her. Not to mention all the rumors.

Despite the comfort of Natalie potentially being gay, you couldn't keep from crying. You knew mascara was staining your pillow, but you couldn't quite care.

The rest of the night was spent crying, until you eventually cry yourself to sleep.

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Two weeks.

Two weeks of pretending that you weren't in love with Nat, two weeks of pretending you weren't gay, two weeks of struggling by yourself.

You couldn't tell anyone, and it was absolutely killing you.

Sure, you thought about telling Van. You noticed the way that she looked at Taissa. But telling someone made it real. Telling someone solidified the abnormality of you.

So, you kept it to yourself. Sure, it was torture. But at least it was safe.

Nat was still driving you too and from school, and you had gotten the courage to smoke with her again. Things were almost normal, despite you knowing that they weren't.

Today was different, though. And you could feel it.

The weird part was that the difference wasn't with Nat. The ride to school was the same as always. Both of you quiet, still waking up.

No, the weird part was your friends. As soon as you got to school, you could tell that something was off with them. Everyone was giving you weird looks, and they were all barely talking to you. It scared you, the thought of them finding out your secret.

Turns out that they did figure your secret out. Just not the one that you thought.

"Surprised you can afford food," one girl says as you sit down at your usual lunch table.

"What?" You're confused. Why would they think that you can't afford to eat?

"You know, it's just that usually people with your... financial status... get free lunch. That doesn't look like free lunch." She smiles, a sickly sweet sort of look that makes your stomach drop.

You're silent, not exactly knowing what to say in this situation.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed! It's not your fault that you're trailer trash," another girl chimes in, that same fake kind look on her face.

It takes so much strength to keep from completely breaking down, knowing that if you did, they'd just get worse.

"Is that why you never want to go shopping with us?" A different voice is added to the mix, and you hate that they have this kind of power over you.

They keep berating you, insulting your trailer, your clothes, your lack of a car. Even your looks get commented on, and you hate it more than anything.

How they even found out where you lived was a mystery to you. You were so careful, and Nat would never tell them. She knew how badly you wanted to keep your living situation under wraps.

Eventually, lunch does end, but you don't go to class. There's absolutely no way that you could face anyone. Not your now ex-friends, and absolutely not Natalie.

Instead, you hide in the bathroom, spending the remaining two class periods locked in a stall. You know that you'll have to see Nat when she drives you home, but being alone for an hour and a half will hopefully give you enough time to calm down before you have to see her.

You cry. Of course you cry. Your life is falling down around you, and you're sitting in a bathroom stall. There's nothing to do but cry. You cry over your friends being horrible, you cry about the trailer you're living in, you cry about leaving your old friends behind to move. Mostly, though, you cry about being in love with a girl.

It's midway through last period when you pull yourself together, and by the time your face is back to its normal color, you've got ten minutes to get looking like yourself.

It doesn't take long to fix your makeup, and by the time the final bell rings, you look normal. Nat won't be able to tell that you were crying in the bathroom for half the day.

When you walk out to her car, Nat's waiting for you. As soon as she sees you coming, it's like she knows that something's wrong. She doesn't say anything, but she changes the music to something that she knows you like, which is her equivalent to giving you a hug.

While you appreciate the gesture, it just makes you lose it all over again. You're in the passenger seat of Nat's car, sobbing for the second time today.

"Shit, are you okay? What's wrong?" She glances over at you, still driving. "Do you need me to pull over?"

You shake your head in response, urging her to keep driving. It's impossible for you to get words out through your tears, and Nat doesn't try to get you to talk anymore. Instead, she drives you to your trailer and walks you inside.

Natalie leads you to to your bedroom, sitting you on your bed. For the first time in your friendship, she wraps her arms around you and gives you a real hug.

The contact doesn't keep you from crying, in fact it almost makes it worse. But you feel safe in her arms, like the words from your former friends can't touch you here. You have the vague thought that your mascara is staining Natalie's shirt, but she doesn't seem to care.

Both of you stay like that until you stop crying, Nat holding onto you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. Its uncharacteristically soft for her, and it feels special. Like you're someone she trusts with softness.

When you're finally calm enough, you pull away from her and start to explain what happened. Her arm stays around your waist, and you don't attempt to move it.

"My- my friends, they, uh, they found out... where I live." You're stuttering and tripping over what you're saying, and luckily Nat gets it from just those words.

"And they were asses about it?" she asks, and you nod. Her grip on your waist tightens, and she looks pissed.

"You don't deserve that shit. It's not like you can control where you live. Not to mention you're twice the person any of those girls will ever be." Nat somehow pulls you closer, and you feel such a strange mix of emotions.

"That- isn't everything." Maybe it's the contact, maybe it's how sweet she's being right now. Maybe you're just sick of hiding.

"What else?"

"I think I'm gay." The words come out in a rush, and you're not sure Natalie even understood what you were saying. That is, until she responds.

"Why do you think that?" Her response isn't at all judgmental, and you feel a little better saying your next words.

"I like a girl."

Natalie laughs, and for a moment, you internally freak out. Is this where the judgment comes in?

"Yeah, I guess that'll do it."

You can't help but laugh at her answer, and everything feels so much better. As much as you're grateful that she's not asking who the girl is, you almost want to tell her that it's her. Almost.

"I thought you might hate me."

"For being gay? You know I'm bi, right? Bisexual?"

The confirmation doesn't exactly shock you, but it's still a bit of a surprise. How easily she says it.

"I didn't. Know that."

"Surprise, I guess. I'm queer too."

"Did you... feel weird about it? Like when you first... figured it out, I guess."

She nods, and you feel a sense of relief. That you weren't the only one who found your own queerness a bit jarring.

Natalie doesn't try to reassure you that you're normal, that there's nothing wrong with you. She knows it's not going to make anything better immediately.

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, just decompressing from the insanity of your day. That is, until you speak up.

"I can't believe I told you that." The panic had started to set in at this point, and you regretted saying anything to Nat.

"It's not like I'm going to tell anyone, dude."

"Yeah." That makes you feel a bit better, although you're still freaking out a bit. You look up at her, giving a small smile, and there's a look on her face that you can't exactly put your finger on.

For some reason, neither of you seem to be able to look away from the other. It's almost as if you're in a trance, or like someone put a spell on you.

Suddenly, the two of you were kissing. It happened so quickly that neither of you could say who initiated the kiss, but neither of you pulled a way.

Nat's lips were chapped, and a bit rough against your own. Despite that, the kiss was soft. Something you didn't exactly expect from Natalie. One of her hands is still on your hip, and the other moves to run through your hair. Your own hands cup her cheeks, feeling her soft, pale skin under your fingers.

Every thought of how wrong loving Natalie is leaves your head. It's like she's kissing away all of your fears, and you're so grateful to her.

Eventually, you break apart so you can take a breath, and Natalie looks so beautiful. Somehow even better than she normally does.

"So, the girl you like..?" Natalie's smirking, and she clearly knows that you were talking about her.

In lieu of a response, you roll your eyes and flip her off. She laughs, clearly enjoying fucking with you. You aren't annoyed, not really. You're too giddy for that.

Nat pulls you down onto your bed so that you're lying down next to each other, and you feel so content in that moment.

"You know those girls are the worst, right?" You can tell that Nat is both trying to make you laugh and being completely genuine.

"Yeah."

"Good. You deserve to be treated better than that."

You nod and press a quick kiss to her lips, as if to say "thank you." She grins, pulling you into her side.

"Feeling like smoking now?"

[aniesvision]

𝟐𝟗- 𝑳𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍

𐂂 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚡 𝚏!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 (4289 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔), 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒓𝒆𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 (𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒅), 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒗, 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 (😠), 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝚊/𝚗: 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘 ☠︎︎ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ☕︎

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒏, 𝒓𝒆𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒔.

small words: backstory | normal words: nowadays

🍂

All the kids were reunited in the garden, playing, talking, laughing. The teacher looked at all the little ones, making sure they were safe and using their creativity. At that age, there wasn't much space to learn about love, but you, with your little arms and hands, were happily laid on the ground, legs swinging back and forth as you wrote an almost intelligible letter to one of your classmates.

"i like you more than i like my best doll!"

It was your way of telling him you wanted to get to know him, to play together, share your toys and communicate. You stand on your feet, walking towards him and poking his arm. When he turned around, you extended both hands, giving him your handmade letter. It took him a few seconds to understand what was that, but the way he laughed at the piece of paper immediately made your face shift to a sad expression.

He made fun of you in front of everyone, the teacher made him apologize, but months passed and your classmates still made fun of you because of it.

🍂

You're a rebel, stressed, sad teenager. Your ideal day is staying in, alone, watching Supernatural or some "freak shit" as your parents call it. You don't really have friends and you prefer to sneak out late at night to take long walks and enjoy the moonlight. You don't do drugs, smoke, drink or date. You're a very reserved person and to explain why you don't want anyone around ever: you're scared of talking to people.

You only talked to people whenever you needed to or when it was random talk, not ever expressing your feelings or talking about what you like, what you want, what you do on your weekends.

That same guy who destroyed your heart when you were only a baby, barely a child, was the same one you'd still look at in class. Not even the heartbreak was enough to push your feelings away, and that was embarrassing. You never talked to him, and managed to be very discreet whenever you looked at him, but it was still stupid.

In high school Chris became the funny, cool kid, a lot of girls wanted to be with him and he was (obviously) the hockey team captain. You were just the weird kid, the one people didn't even know existed even though most of you studied together since kindergarten.

You didn't want to make yourself seen, so you didn't go to parties, didn't go out, didn't do extracurricular activities, didn't go to games or other high school things. You were almost like a ghost.

Eventually you made one single friend, it was inevitable, she insisted and you eventually made an exception. She was nice, and talked too much, which gave you the opportunity to stay silent. You went to your first party ever after she begged you so much to go with her that you felt bad, and little did you know that day was going to be your revenge day.

You and your newest friend were leaning against a counter in the kitchen, she was talking nonstop and you were observing your surroundings. Your eyes quickly met his, and for the first time since kindergarten you felt like he saw you too. Your heart was about to leave your body through your throat when he walked in your direction, trapping you in between him and the counter with that same smug smirk on his lips.

He didn't remember you. And he tried to flirt with you. You wanted to say yes and make out with him right there, but it would shove all your years of suffering in the trash. The realization of what you did only came by when you turned him down and made people around laugh at him for being rejected for the first time ever.

School was finally over, you kept in touch with the friend you made and years passed without you having any knowledge of what happened to Chris.

And then, you saw him, the same blue eyes through your computer screen. He looked better, happier, all grown up. And when you saw he was loved and cared for by the internet now it didn't shock you.

Your one friend once again dragged you on a girl's trip with her. She wanted to finally embrace her new age of 21 and go crazy in Las Vegas, and how could you say no to her? You decide to explore alone when she goes to a casino, both of you expect them to let you in even though you were months away at 21, but of course they didn't, so that leads to you buying some tickets to a random event called Power Slap.

And life knows how to surprise you. Your seat was next to no one other than him. Your eyes meet his, your heartbeats race and he smiles at you. He. Smiles. At. You. What are the odds?

-Guess you're following me now, huh? -He asks, with a cocky sarcastic tone.

Although you were blushing, you still managed to roll your eyes and scoff.

-You wish.

-So you're into violence, I see. -He nods to the ring, legs slightly spread.

-I don't mind violence when it's for fun. -You reply, involuntarily allowing him to use his imagination.

-Hope you had fun violently turning me down in high school. -He shrugs.

He remembers this. Of course.

-I did. Did you have fun breaking my heart in kindergarten?

You look at him with one eyebrow raised, sitting in your designated chair and crossing your arms and legs.

He seems to think for a few seconds, confused when a light finally appears above his head.

-You're the letter girl! -His mouth opened in shock, but there was still an amused expression on his face.

-Unfortunately. -You basically whisper, turning your head in the direction of the arena, the blue colors of the stadium illuminating your face with the minimum effort you made in putting on some natural makeup.

Chris's eyes scan all your details, in silence, the smirk slowly growing back. He shifts in his seat, adjusting his hat.

-I still have it, you know? -He says, now looking at the arena too.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, not believing his words at all, and he notices it without having to look at you.

-It's back in my place, in L.A.

It was obvious you weren't believing him yet, so you decided to ask questions, if he was lying you'd find out.

-You're in L.A now, then?

He hums in response, nodding to his side.

-I live with my brothers, well, not with Justin, but Nick and Matt. We were invited to watch the event.

"Oh, right, he's a youtuber now." you remember.

-How fancy. -You tease, turning your attention back to the ring.

-Why are you here? -He asks, seemingly curious.

-It's my friend's birthday, but I can't go with her to the casino so I decided to watch whatever this is to pass the time.

He chuckles next to you, eyes not leaving your figure like he was examining a piece of art.

-Why did you keep it? -You finally asked what you wanted to know.

-I liked it. -He shrugs, with a small smile.

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes, and as much as you wanted to punch him in the face, you couldn't exactly bring yourself to do it.

-Yeah, so much that you made everyone make fun of me for years. -You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

-You had your revenge, didn't you? -He smirks, clearly amused.

You don't even respond, anger consuming your body. Suddenly the Power Slap event seemed interesting. You tried to pay attention to the hoster, the loud screams, and the show of lights. The amount of things going on made you nervous, but you didn't want to feel bad again because of one simple conversation.

The first competitors get in the ring, waiting for the sign to start before slapping each other's faces. It caught your attention, at first you thought "why would someone do this?" and then you were cheering with the crowd and wanting to see more.

-Where are you staying? -Chris leans to ask, when the first victory was announced.

-Why? Want to spend the night with me? -You tease, unamused, looking at him and arching an eyebrow.

-Maybe. -He smirks again, licking his lips and scanning your face.

-I'm not available. -You reply, giving a look at his brothers who were nosily watching the conversation.

-Yeah? You're dating or something? -He insists.

"Why does he have to be so annoying? If I knew this in kindergarten I'd never write that stupid letter" you think.

-No, just not interested.

He chuckles, of course his brothers were talking about it in their seats as well. The lovely Chris Sturniolo being turned down once again, by the same girl.

-C'mon, I want to make up for being an asshole in kindergarten.

He leans even closer, ignoring his brother's teasing and placing his arm behind your chair, turning his entire body to look at you. You study his expressions, thinking about his words. Even though you're sharing a place with your friend, you still have your own room. But, it's Chris, out of all people. You should hate him, although you're kind of even.

-You can ask me to leave anytime. -He assures.

"I can't get out of this situation without hating myself with any decision I make, so I might as well make the worst one."

-Fine. -You sigh, picking up your phone and checking the time.

-Give me your number. -He gives you his phone. -In case we get lost.

You roll your eyes again, typing your number on his phone and handing him back.

𖧷 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𖧷

We didn't talk too much, just a few comments from him whenever something happened in the event, but I was patient enough not to drag him to the ring and slap him myself.

When the event was finally over I texted my friend to know if she was still at the casino, but got no answer. I stood up to leave and next to me, Chris was saying his goodbyes to his brothers, actually following me without saying anything until we were back on the street.

-I can pay for the uber. -He says, handing me his phone with the app already open.

I don't even try to say otherwise, typing the hotel name. I hand him his phone back and cross my arms, feeling the cool wind hitting my skin.

-So, what have you been doing? -He asks, placing his free hand in his pocket.

-College, and working on a library. Didn't get so lucky as you did. -I look at him, a small smirk growing on his lips.

-You've seen my videos? -He raises an eyebrow at me, like knowing I've seen him was somehow funny to him.

-Not exactly, I've seen some cuts.

He nods, eyeing me up and down, but turning his head to the other side. We stay silent and soon the uber arrives. He opens the door for me and sits next to me, glancing at me every now and then. I didn't want to talk to him more than I needed to and he seemed to notice it, not pushing my patience.

We get into the hotel and I search for my room keys in my purse, opening the door and turning on the lights. I pick up my phone to read the text my friend sent me back letting me know she was still in the casino and she'd be out for a bit longer. I sigh, walking to my room and hearing Chris's footsteps behind me. I throw my purse on the desk, turning around to look at him, his eyes scanning the room and closing the door.

I sit down, starting to undo my shoes.

-You know, you were the first girl to reject me in my life. Definitely not the last, though. -He steps forward, taking a seat next to me.

I laugh, pushing my shoes to the side. He still dares to just speak whatever comes to his mind.

-Someone had to. -I shrug, taking off my jewelry now.

He stares at me with attention, moving his arms back to prop him up.

-I thought you liked me more than your best doll. -He teases, making me stop what I was doing and basically freeze.

My cheeks blush as I recognize his words. He truly remembers. He still remembers my letter.

-That was a long time ago. -I whisper, still shocked that he said those words to me.

It doesn't make sense, why would he remember it? Why do I care so much? Did it stick to his head without him meaning to or did he read it again after that?

-But you wanted to kiss me back, I know that. Why didn't you?

I hate him. I hate this. Why did I let him in? Why did I let him come back to the hotel with me?

I stand, walking to my suitcase, looking for comfortable clothes to sleep in. He follows me with his eyes, taking his own shoes off. I grab a large t-shirt and pajama shorts, giving him a quick look.

-Maybe I didn't. -I reply, getting in the bathroom connected to the room.

I change quickly, also taking off my makeup before leaving. I was nervous, I shouldn't be, but it was hard to be okay in this situation. The worst of all is to know that even years after I still feel so nervous around him. I had my revenge, my crush went away, but he was right there and this makes me confused.

He was using his phone but his eyes met mine as soon as I opened the door. The same gaze I felt all night, scanning my body like he had never seen a woman before. I sit down with my back resting against the headboard, avoiding looking too much at him.

-I didn't just come here because I think you're pretty, I actually want to know you. -He turns to face me, scooping slightly closer. -If you let me, of course, I can always just go away, I don't want to make you uncomfortable.

I ignore my heartbeats, meeting his blue eyes and allowing myself to let my guard down, at least a little bit.

-You're not making me uncomfortable, I'm just not used to this.

Chris smiles, hesitatingly reaching his hand to touch mine, waiting for any sign of discomfort, but I let him grab it and he immediately interlaces our fingers. His hand feels so soft and warm, it's almost familiar, although we never held hands before. I don't really know what is it that I'm feeling, but it's scary.

-Well, we can just talk, I don't mind. -His thumb caresses mine. -And I think I owe you an apology, I didn't mean to make our colleagues make fun of you, I was just a dumb kid.

I giggle, crossing my legs to get more comfortable.

-I guess I get it. Why did you keep it? The letter.

-I meant it when I said I liked it. -He shrugs, with a smile. -The first letter I ever got from someone, first love letter, first rejection, all from the same girl. Not a common thing, y'know?

He laughs, making me laugh as well. I didn't mean to get comfortable with him, but for some reason, he reminded me of the little version of him. Seeing him again after so many years makes it hard to deny that yes I liked him for too long, from kindergarten until long after school ended. Even when I rejected him, it was my revenge, but also my biggest regret.

-Well, you were the first person I wrote a letter to, a love letter, and the first guy I rejected, so... -I shrug.

-First guy you rejected? -He asks, with disbelief.

-Guys didn't exactly try anything with me, Chris.

-That's crazy, you were always mad hot. -He shakes his head, making me laugh at how naturally he said it.

-You're an idiot. I don't know how you didn't get rejected before me, but you must've liked it if you're back for more. -I tease a hint of amusement in my voice.

-You didn't reject me tonight. -He smirks, leaning closer with his same old confidence.

-I still can reject you. -I smile, trying my best to act nonchalant.

But I was so close to passing out. Time did him so good, he's being nice, my feelings are all over the place, he has always been my one and only crush and it's weird that I've never felt interested enough in anyone else. Seeing him was a coincidence, but made me hope that it was destiny instead.

Hating him seemed easier, but I just couldn't hate him now, not when he was... well, being him.

-But you won't. -His voice is lower, but firm.

I stayed silent, too nervous to speak, his eyes scanning my face to make sure I was okay with every move he made. His free hand scoops closer to me, stopping next to my hips on the bed, his other hand holding mine and his body leaving towards mine, making our faces get so close that I could see his freckles.

-At least I hope not. -He completes, his eyes dropping to my lips.

What do I do now? Why does he look even better up close? Why is my heart racing so bad? It's not possible that my feelings came back so easily, is it? Why can't I move? He's getting closer, his lips look so kissable.

His hand leaves mine, reaching my cheek and brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. He scoops even closer to me so now his legs are touching mine and without waiting too long he finally presses his lips against mine.

And I don't push him away.

The kiss is slow and delicate at first, almost shy. But soon we let our feelings get involved and it's different, it makes me feel butterflies, and it makes his free hand squeeze my hips, pulling me even closer to him.

We pull away to breathe and he caresses my cheek, smiling at me.

-I waited so long to do this. -He chuckles, making my heart melt.

All my efforts to push him away and to stop liking him were useless. My heart wanted him again.

-So do it again. -I whisper, letting myself wrap my arms around his neck.

He immediately kisses me again, his hands exploring my body with no shame, fingertips running up and down my uncovered thighs. He asks permission to slide his tongue in and I let him, his arms effortlessly pulling me to his lap, my legs on each side of him.

-I don't mean to rush things, but I want you so fucking bad. -He mumbles against my lips, lowering his kisses to my neck.

I tilt my head to the side, giving him more access and letting myself enjoy this, I waited longer than he did to feel him close to me.

-I'm all yours. -I whisper in his ear.

His groan was audible and he turned us around so now I was laying on the bed on my back and he was hovering over me. He gave me no time to even process what was happening before kissing me again, this one full of desire and need, his hips grinding against mine and one of his hands lifting my leg to wrap it around his waist.

I slide my hands under his shirt, feeling his skin and leaving light scratches on it. Our lips only separate for him to take both our shirts off, making the moment even more intimate.

His lips lower to my neck, collarbone, and the valley of my boobs, biting my skin to leave purple and red marks all over it. I could barely wait to feel more of him, my own hands unclasping my bra and throwing it on the floor as he kept the assault on it. Chris's eyes scan my bare breasts like it was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

-You're perfect. -He whispers, swirling his tongue around my nipples.

I moan softly, reaching for his hair and pulling him even closer to me. It's hard to believe that this is happening. His hands feel perfect on my skin, his hair is soft, and his kisses are addictive.

After giving the same amount of attention to both my nipples and leaving more purple marks, he lowers himself in between my legs, looking for permission before sliding down my shorts and panties at the same time, throwing them aside. His breathing hitches as he looked at me, licking his lips and squeezing my thighs with his hands.

-So perfect. Even prettier than I thought you'd be. -He whispers, kissing the insides of my tights.

I didn't even have to ask him to do anything, his tongue quickly licking a stripe from bottom to top, sucking my clit gently. I grip his hair tightly, arching my back and moaning at the feeling, encouraging him to keep going.

Chris eats me out like he is starving, adding a finger to increase the pleasure. As my moans grew louder, his pace got faster, his mouth working on me perfectly.

-Fuck, Chris. -I whine, my legs starting to shake.

A smirk shows up in his face, his eyes meeting mine.

-My name sounds so good coming from your lips.

He pulls his lips away, adding another finger and thrusting them into me even faster. My walls were clenching around them, his fingertips curving to hit that perfect spot, the sounds coming from me turning both of us on even more.

My orgasm hits me like a train, his lips meeting mine to muffle my loud moans. Groaning against my lips, he takes his fingers off me, using his hand to unbutton his pants.

-Fuck, need to be inside you right now.

He kneels in between my legs, pushing his pants and boxers down. My eyes widen a bit when I take a look at him, he was bigger than I imagined he'd be. I bite my lips, admiring his body as he hovers me again with a smirk on his lips.

-You good? -He asks, with a hint of amusement.

I simply nod in response, wining when I feel him sliding his tip up and down my folds. There was no room to talk before he aligned with my entrance and pushed all of him in at once.

-Oh, fuck. -I crave my nails on his biceps, eyes rolling back.

-Shit, you feel so good. -He sighs, waiting for me to adjust to his size.

He starts thrusting at a slow pace, using one of his arms to keep him up and the other to keep my head still, wanting to make things truly intimate with eye contact. All of me was so sure at that moment that he was all I'd ever wanted and all I'll ever want.

-You're so pretty. -He whispers, cupping my cheek gently.

-You're perfect. -I answer, without thinking too much, pulling him into another kiss.

His thrusts became deeper and faster, his muffled sounds turning me on so much that it didn't take long for me to feel another orgasm building up. When he pulls away from the kiss, he buries his head on my neck, biting and kissing it as he fucked me like no one else.

-Chris, so close, don't stop. -I cry out in pleasure, wrapping my legs over his waist.

It only makes him go deeper, groaning in my ear and moving his hand from my cheek to my throat, choking me lightly.

-Give it to me, cum all over my dick. -His voice is low and hoarse, getting me even closer.

A few more thrusts and I was making a mess for him. My moans were loud, my body was squirming and my legs shaking, my walls clenching him so hard that it led him to his own climax, painting my insides in white.

We take a moment to capture our breaths, panting heavily with him still on top of me. He pulls away, collapsing next to me.

-Are you still in Boston? -He asks, turning his head to look at me.

I look at him. His hair was damp and messed up, his cheeks pink, his face and body sweaty, and he still looked perfect to me.

-Yeah, still in Boston. -I agree, smiling at him.

-Good, I really want to keep seeing you. -He smiles back.

-I thought you were in L.A. -I say, confused.

-We go back to Boston a lot, and kind of live in both places. I can see you anytime I'm back there, if you want to, of course.

-I'd love to.

He pecks my lips, helping me clean up and put my clothes back on. We take a moment to eat and talk normally before going back to my bed, where he spent the night with me.

Fortunately he kept his word. We texted every day and when he traveled back to Boston he asked me to hang out.

Unfortunately for my friend she heard a lot that night in Vegas that she shouldn't have when she came back to the hotel. But at least she's still my friend and she's happy that I'm finally with the only guy I ever loved.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 ✍︎

➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @mattnchrisworld @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @phimstarz @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitch @larallott

[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track two: kowalski, status report

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, toge bullying, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

"I SHOULDN'T CUSS in this, right?"

It’s the day before the other four artists premiere their sets at Battle of the Bands, and you haven’t been home since six in the morning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and the pursuit of the story, parked on a high stool across the bar from the one and only Ieiri Shoko.

Toge leans on the counter beside you, opting to stand. He’s agreed to pay for the next snack run in return for you letting him be your partner. You both know you’re going to end up doing most of the writing, but you don’t really mind. Toge would if you asked him to, but you love this kind of thing in a way he just doesn’t. Plus, he’s better with a camera than you, and he’s taking photos tomorrow night.

You laugh, pulling out your phone to record. “You can say whatever you want as long as it’s honest. Be candid.”

“You might regret saying that!” Gojo calls from the back, and Shoko silences him with a glare.

“Are you coming or not?”

Gojo grins and finishes up whatever he’s putting away in the storage room, then strides out and leans his elbows on the counter.

“Do you mind if I record?” You point to the open voice memo app. “Makes it easier to quote you correctly.” You also just hate running interviews when you’re scribbling hand-written notes the whole time. You’d much rather have a genuine conversation and worry about the details later.

Shoko waves a hand airily. “No problem.”

“Absolutely,” Gojo says. “You can probably sell that for thousands.”

You set the phone on the counter, next to one of the tiny pumpkins scattered across it in celebration of the beginning of October. You and Toge bounce back and forth as you run through the standard start-of-interview checklist, having them spell out their names, getting their ages, hometowns, degrees, all that jazz. And then you launch into the stuff you really care about.

“So, you opened The Fix about ten years ago now, correct?”

Shoko nods. “Yeah, a little over two years after we graduated.”

You look at Gojo, whose eyes are even more alarmingly blue in the daylight. “And you were hired right away?”

“Utahime first, then me,” he nods. “Best for last, y’know.”

Shoko snorts. “We knew each other in school. I just took pity on him.” She smirks as Gojo’s jaw drops. “You can quote that.”

“Right, so all of you were friends in college. And you came together to start this place—what was the idea behind it?” Toge chimes in. “You said you studied nursing, Shoko?”

And you sit and listen as Shoko explains. Back in college, she was at the top of her class. By graduation, she’d been accepted to basically all the best med schools. She had her pick. She could do whatever she wanted. But she realized that what she wanted wasn’t that at all.

The medical field is brutal, she tells you. It’s all late nights and emotional burnout. People yelling at you, misplaced anger when you give them the bad news. Getting attached to people only to watch them waste away.

“I needed to get out before I got too far in. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits. “But I wasn’t cut out for it. I have so much admiration for medical professionals, but I couldn’t be one of them. A few clinicals and I was already feeling the consequences of giving too much of myself and getting nothing back.” She shrugs. “So I named it The Fix, as some kind of homage to the medical background. And I figured I’d just make sure it’s safe.”

Something sits heavy in her gaze as she stares at something behind you, middle distance, like she’s remembering.

“Why a college bar?” you ask, nudging the phone across the counter to pick up her voice better. “I mean, the extra security, thinking about underage drinking, dealing with a bunch of broke university kids. You could’ve just as easily opened a different bar in a more lucrative area. What was the appeal?”

She smiles crookedly. “Appeal. Well. My senior year, I was working in the local ER. And I saw… god. So many kids came in there needing their stomachs pumped, or kids who’d done laced drugs, gotten roofied, harassed, it was… I mean, it was a city university club scene. They weren’t safe. And I just felt like I needed to give them that. I couldn’t stay there as a nurse or a doctor. But I could do this.” She shrugs. “Sorry. That was probably way too much.”

“No,” you say quickly, smiling at her. “That was—that’s what we came here for. Shoko, that’s amazing. And it’s not selfish, taking care of yourself. You’re still here taking care of others.”

You don’t know Gojo well. Most of your stories about him come secondhand from Nobara, who knows him through Megumi. She paints the picture of a flamboyant, obnoxious bartender who’s more like a weird uncle to her than anything. From what you’ve seen of him at The Fix, you know this to be mostly accurate—he’s rarely serious, always taking flack from the students and giving it right back, ragging on Utahime, begging Shoko to play his playlist instead of Geto’s and knowing she’ll never cave. But now, as he listens intently to Shoko, you think you’re seeing another side of him.

There’s something troubled on his face as she speaks, like he wishes he could reach into the past and help. Like he regrets it.

The bar’s not the only thing that has a different side in the daylight.

“She’s right,” Gojo tells Shoko. It’s not much, but she looks up at him a bit surprised, something in her expression softening. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, not quite there but not quite not. “You’ve got a pretty big heart under all that RBF.” Shoko rolls her eyes, the moment over.

“What about you?” You turn to Gojo, nudging the phone his way. “Why a college bar?”

Shoko turns toward him, leaning a hip against the bar, just as curious as you are. “I think kids deserve to be kids,” he shrugs. “And if I—if we—can create a space where it’s actually safe for them to do that, it feels important.” His gaze shifts from you and Toge to the empty bar, the stage and floor and high-top tables that tomorrow will be full of music and laughter and students knowing they’re allowed to let loose here.

“There aren’t a lot of places out there that are exclusively for students,” he continues. “It’s this weird phase, college, where you’re figuring out who you are, trying to take risks without losing too much. It’s a lot. And you look at the crime rates, date rape drugs, theft, DUIs, in the city, and it’s just—this place gives them the room to learn and grow and mess around and have a good time without the danger of the… I don’t know. The outside world. Does that make sense?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop, then seems to abruptly remember the recording and stops. “I think it’s just… well, no one’s allowed to take youth away from young people. So that’s why I’m here.”

You wonder what Gojo was like in school. He majored in gender studies, which you’re pretty sure is what Todo is at least minoring in, too—you’re not sure how it’s applicable to anything, but Nobara says he likes to pull his diploma out from behind the bar and say he’s an expert in women. It seems a far cry from this rare, more subdued version of Gojo you’re seeing right now. You’d guess he’s grown quite a bit in the time he’s been here. And Shoko’s been here to witness it.

He’s not a business owner, like Shoko or Geto. And according to Nobara, he definitely doesn’t need this gig to make a living. He’s here because he wants to be.

“These last few years have been nice, in particular,” he offers. “Just ‘cause some of us have kids going here. I mean, you know the Fushiguros. Suguru’s got the twins. And I know Ino’s not Nanami’s kid, but they’re tight.”

“Wait, what?” Nanami is the bar’s primary security guy, a bouncer who never lets a fake ID fool him. He’s part of the reason this place is so safe. Toge spins to look at you as you blurt out the question, caught off guard. “Uh, sorry. I just didn’t—I didn’t know they knew each other.”

Shoko studies you with tired, intelligent eyes, and you can’t help but feel the tables have been entirely flipped. You’re the one being interrogated, wordlessly, by the woman across the counter. You feel like every thought in your head is scrawled across your face for her to read.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, unaffected. “Ino looks up to him a lot, I think. Even though he’s an old man who reads the newspaper for fun.” He snorts. “He’s a good guy, though. And Ino’s a good kid.” He finally clocks the way Shoko’s looking at you and cocks his head, appraising.

Thankfully, Toge cuts in with another question. “So, we’ll be around tomorrow for the bands and to take some photos and observe,” he explains, glancing at you to make sure he’s got the information right. “Will Geto be around?” You’d wanted both owners’ perspectives, and now that Gojo’s reminded you of the twins, you’re even more curious.

“Yeah, Suguru and Utahime will be here tomorrow night,” Shoko says. “And Nanami. Geto would totally be down to talk to you some other time, too, when it’s a bit quieter.”

“Amazing,” you say, pulling the phone back toward you. You’ll need details, follow-ups, but you need to process this first, write some things down while they’re fresh in your mind. ‘Thank you so much for this. We appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid,” Shoko says, waving you off. “See you tomorrow.”

As you turn off the recording, Gojo and Toge have already devolved into conversation about the bands and predictions about tomorrow night. A few posters are scattered across a low table near the door, and you pick one up, smiling at the blocky lettering advertising Black Flash. There are posters advertising all of the artists, and they look amazing, straight out of one of the alt rock venues in the wider city.

“They’re sick, right?” Gojo calls, nodding to the posters. “I gotta hang those up, actually. Thanks for the reminder.”

You wave goodbye to Shoko and Gojo and lead the way out, Toge just behind you.

“Man,” he says, and you brace yourself, recognizing his teasing tone for what it is. “They said Ino’s name and you look like scared Bambi or some shit.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, elbowing him.

He holds his hands up. “I’m just living in pursuit of the truth! Like Kusakabe would want.”

“Is your camera battery charged for tomorrow?” you say in a blatant attempt at a topic change.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Toge Inumaki, chronically irresponsible student and—”

“Okay, sorry I asked, holy shit.” He sticks his tongue out at you. Then he hesitates, frowning, and then he’s pulling out his phone and calling someone in his favorites list before you can see who it is. “Hey,” he greets. “What? No, she didn’t kick me out. Hey. Hey.” You snicker and Toge glares at you, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Yutaaa,” he whines. “Do you know where my camera battery is?”

—

Even when you’re not the one on stage, you live for Fridays at The Fix. Tonight you’re doing double duty—because of the dual elimination at the end of the round, all of the competing artists are here. It’s not a requirement, but you want to see what you’re up against, and the sentiment seems to have carried. You and Toge are also in reporting mode for your project story.

The band on stage right now is… well, you can’t say new wave metal is really your thing, but it’s definitely theirs, and the audience is loving it. The Cull, you write in your notes. Look up names.

You couldn’t make out the lyrics if your life depended on it. It’s three guys and a girl, vaguely familiar, but you’re fairly certain they’re seniors and absolutely certain they’re baked right now.

“God, this is loud.” Yuta winces, turning to face you, and then his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. You divert your attention from the stage and just catch the brief commotion in your periphery. Nanami has a kid by the elbow, and he’s escorting him out the side door, expressionless. The kid’s obviously drunk out of his mind, tripping over himself, shouting something that Nanami doesn’t bother to respond to.

Maki follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose up in distaste.

“Who’s that?”

“My cousin,” she says flatly. You glance quizzically at Megumi, who is definitely standing five feet away and not being escorted out of the bar.

“Dude, how much family do you have at this school?”

She sighs. “Just Mai and Megumi and him. Naoya. He’s a piece of shit.”

“Clearly,” Toge says. “He broke the M theme. No respect for the family alliteration.” Maki kicks him in the shin.

“One last round for The Cull!” Panda calls from the stage, and your ears slowly, very gradually stop ringing with the raging new wave music. The stage techs get to work behind Panda as he introduces the next group.

“Up next, making their debut, we’ve got a sophomore girl pop trio. Give it up for MOTION CAPTURE!”

There’s a big cheer from the bar, and you turn to see Geto grinning. Three girls take the stage, the blonde one grabbing the mic and adding, “All caps!” The girl beside her is very obviously her twin sister, though her hair is straight and dark while the blonde’s is tugged into pigtails. Light and dark. The girl on keys has a long, black bubble braid that she pushes out of the way as she settles in to play.

The blonde plugs in her electric and calls out, “Alright, I’m Nanako.” She tests out a chord, the sound reverberating, filling the bar all the way up to its high ceilings. “That’s Mimiko, that’s Remi, and we’re just here to have a good time.”

“Hey,” a voice says behind you, and you jump. You turn to find Takuma holding two drinks, offering one to you.

“Oh! Aw, thanks, you didn’t have to do that. How much do I owe you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Takuma—”

“Nothing,” he reiterates. “Anyway, The Cull. Thoughts?”

You take the drink and try it while you think on your answer—it’s the same thing Nobara got you last week. How did he know?

“I didn’t really understand any of the lyrics,” you admit, shrugging. “They weren’t bad. Not really my genre. Do you know them?”

Takuma shakes his head. “I had a gen ed once with that Rin kid, but I don’t know the other ones. These girls aren’t bad, though.” He’s right—they’ve launched into an Olivia Rodrigo cover that’s actually decent. They could work on their voice control, but they’re young and fun and having a good time and working the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

You sing along, alternating between your drink and exchanging quips with Toge and talking with Takuma. You like this new balance between your band and his, the easy camaraderie.

When the girls wrap up their set, you whoop and cheer and Kirara shamelessly watches Hakari move things off the stage, arms bare in his cut-off tank.

“You’re subtle,” Takuma tells her, and she tugs his beanie down over his face.

“Hey!”

You grab his drink before he can spill it and grin as he yanks his hat off and readjusts it. His hair is a fluffy mess underneath, and it’s kind of endearing.

When the girl pop trio is done, two guys take the stage, one in white and one in black. They’re clearly related, dark hair and pale skin and piercing eyes, and Panda introduces them as the Kamos. You don’t know if they’re brothers or cousins or what. But they’re good—they sing a few alt rock covers, play guitar.

“Damn,” Nobara sighs, a little longingly, her gaze settling on Choso as he takes over the chorus. “They’re…”

Beside her, Yuji wrinkles his nose. “Dude. That’s my half-brother.”

Nobara hums noncommittally. “And?”

He groans, tipping his head back and staring at the exposed beams of the ceiling, run through with colored lights. “Why does this always happen?”

Toge is taking more photos of them than is strictly necessary, considering your story is about the bar and not the band, but you let him have this. Scattered throughout the crowd are more kids with cameras, freshmen from the entry-level reporting classes with big underage stamps on the backs of their hands. Somebody mistook Toge for one of them earlier, and Maki hasn’t let it go all night.

You jot down atmospheric notes on your phone, little things that’ll help set the scene for your project lede, keeping an eye on the bar as much as you can. Geto has jumped in at the bar, which he usually does when the place gets busy, and Gojo is terrorizing Utahime again.

“How’d your interview go?” Takuma asks, nodding at your notes. It shouldn’t faze you so much that he remembers what you told him about your story, but you can’t help the little kick of your heart in your chest at the reminder.

“Good! Really good.” And then you catch sight of Nanami, back at the door after calling a cab for Maki’s asshat cousin. “Actually, Gojo mentioned you.”

Takuma’s brows shoot up. “Gojo? Why?”

Nanami has always seemed incredibly reserved, stony and silent in a way Takuma has never been. You don’t want to pry, but you’re also curious about the relationship between them, how they met, what they are to each other. The journalist in you wants to know.

And then there’s the part of you that just wants to know Takuma.

“Well, he was talking about the twins and the Fushiguros, and he kind of mentioned something about you knowing Nanami?” You try to sound casual, jerking your chin toward the door where Nanami is posted, like a tall, blond guard dog.

“Oh,” he says, surprised, but he shrugs, not seeming too alarmed by the question. “Yeah, I’ve known Nanami for… a long time. He’s kind of a mentor. He’s the reason I met Fushiguro in the first place, actually, ‘cause of him knowing Gojo.”

You’re considering asking how exactly they did meet when the Kamos wrap up, Nobara staring up at them dreamily, and the stage clears out for the final artist.

Whatever questions you had are thrown out the window, because you know who this is. Everyone knows who this is.

Fifth-year student and resident SoundCloud rapper, Ryomen Sukuna. Or D!SH0NORED1, according to the posters.

“Oh, here we go,” Megumi groans.

Despite his reputation on campus, you don’t know anyone who’s actually close to Sukuna, except Uruame. You mostly know that he deals at the skate park and that he’s clean about it.

And that his raps are truly, genuinely horrible.

He lets Panda give a stilted introduction and launches into a verse, mic too close to his mouth, making hand gestures or stepping to the beat of his backing track. His tattoos are even more stark and bold under the stage lights.

“My blood type’s B, your type is me, my zodiac Caprisun, it might be controversial but you’re still lookin’ at me, son!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kirara mutters. “I’m gonna bleach my eardrums.”

“Caprisun?” Nobara whispers. “Oh, dude.”

You might be a terrible person for thinking it, but watching this guy’s performance makes you feel infinitely better about your odds of advancing in the tournament.

His final song is a new one he introduces as Frosted Flexin’, and Maki looks like she’s about ready to keel over dead.

“Frosted flexin’, I'm the cereal king, pourin' oat milk in the mix, yeah, I'm doin' my thing,” Sukuna spits in his low voice, swaggering up to the front of the stage. You are trying so hard not to lose it.

“Sukuna being an oat milk truther wasn’t on my bingo card,” Toge says.

“Got the swag of a squirrel and the brain of a dove, call me trash, but you're still showin' me love.”

“Thoughts on the amount of swag a given squirrel possesses?” you ask Takuma. He laughs, loud and bright, and then seems to very seriously consider the question.

“I don’t know if campus squirrels have swag. They live in luxury. They probably eat better than we do,” he says. You can’t argue that—you did once see a squirrel outside your sociology class run by with a full bagel in its mouth. “The wilderness squirrels, though, I think they got a scrappy kind of swag. Like, I wouldn’t cross them.”

You nod sagely. “I want them on my team in the apocalypse.”

He nudges you with a shoulder. “Am I on your team?”

You glance at him, make a show of looking him up and down. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you think he’s blushing a little. “I don’t know. How fast can you climb a tree?”

Sukuna is nearing the end of his song, now, saying, “Off-tune, out of sync, yeah, I know it's a sin, but you'll play it back twice 'cause I still might win.”

He actually, physically drops the mic and Hakari swoops in and catches it, clearing his throat and saying into it, “Yep, friendly reminder that equipment’s expensive! Everyone give our last artist of the night a hand, yeah?”

There’s scattered applause and more than a few confused faces as Sukuna lopes off stage, and Panda hops back up to explain the voting system for anyone who wasn’t here last week. “QR codes to the Google form are posted around the bar,” he says.

Out of all eight artists, the bottom two will be eliminated. You’re nervous. But voting was open last week too. You can’t vote as a member of the band, and it’s all done through school Google accounts to avoid double votes or the link getting sent out to non-students.

“Open until tomorrow morning,” Panda reminds the audience. “Results and second round schedules will be posted on the Instagram at some point tomorrow! That’s it for this Friday at The Fix. Have a great night, folks. Get home safe.”

Gojo whoops dramatically from the bar, and Panda gives him a weird look before getting off stage.

Your friends start heading toward the door, and you grab Toge and excuse yourself to catch Geto at the bar. Gojo sees you first. “The newsies!” he calls.

“Like the musical?” you say in lieu of a greeting. “Banger soundtrack.”

“I could dance on newspapers,” Toge says.

“Geto!” The Fix’s other owner smiles at you, soft and genuine. Part of his dark hair is pulled back and the rest hangs loose over his shoulders, a stark contrast to Gojo—like the Kamos, you think, or like Nanako and Mimiko. Light and dark. “We were wondering if you’d be down to set up a time to talk. Has Gojo told you about our story at all?”

Geto smiles, drying a glass and leaning against the bar. “He told me he’s gonna be the front page of every paper in the city, which I assume is a horrid exaggeration,” he says. Gojo looks affronted. “Shoko mentioned you’re doing a feature for class, though. I’d be happy to.”

“We have our Monday night class time open for field reporting the week after this one,” Toge offers. “Will you be around?”

“I will indeed. Utahime, too, if you want to speak to both of us. And Gojo won’t be here, which might be beneficial for you.”

“Suguru,” Gojo gasps, pretending to stagger back. “You wound me.”

“Mhm,” he says, unaffected. “What time works best for you two?”

You set up a time to interview Geto and Utahime, then say goodbye to him and Gojo and run to catch up to your friends. It’s a nice night, and since you didn’t have to deal with instruments, you all decided to walk.

“How goes the… journalisming? Journaling?” Takuma asks when you fall into step beside him.

“Good, all good. Reporting is maybe a better word, but valiant effort.”

“I like journalisming. Can you just submit words to the official dictionary? I’m gonna do it.”

“No,” Toge says, and you blink. He shrugs. “What? I tried once. But the only submission form I could find was for the Bureau of Linguistical Reality and it wasn’t like, a legitimate dictionary form. There’s all these requirements, it’s horrible.”

“What word did you try to submit?” you ask warily, not sure if you actually want to know.

“Some things,” Toge says solemnly, “are better kept secret.”

The night is hazy, only small rays of moonlight piercing through the cloud cover, and you make your way through the campus roads guided only by the streetlamps and Maki’s reliable sense of direction.

Part of you wants to ask Takuma to come over, or Yuji to insist the band come over to his place again, just so you can keep talking. But you have work to do, things to write and transcribe, lists of follow-up questions to make, and that’s only your workload for this one class. You still have exams this week, and you need to study now so you can balance it with rehearsals. Assuming you actually advanced to round two, that is.

And part of you worries you might be taking this too fast, too. You don’t typically integrate people into your life so quickly. You like spending time with Takuma and Kirara and Yuji and even Megumi, though he’s pretty quiet. You just don’t want to jump in too far too fast.

At your place, you say your goodbyes and head up to your room to get some work done. Toge uploads his photos and puts them in your project folder on Drive. And you spend the night doing what you do best, aside from drumming—writing.

Youth for the young: JU alumni run safest live music bar in city limits

You don’t even notice the time until it’s past one in the morning, and you’re nearly asleep at your desk. The dark has crept across your room, the only source of light the desk lamp and your laptop screen. Finally, you push the computer shut and flick off the light, flopping into your bed. A few missed messages pop up when you hold your phone up, wincing at the bright screen.

takuma: just letting you know i made the treacherous journey home safely takuma: many miles of hardship takuma: thought i was gonna die halfway there

You smirk and type out a reply.

you: did kirara have to save you takuma: i resent that takuma: (yes) takuma: wait why are you up it’s so late you: journalisming you: why are YOU up takuma: travel adrenaline takuma: (coding project due monday that i just started) you: TAKUMA

The next text to come through is a voice note, and you can’t help smiling as you hit play and his voice fills the open air of your bedroom.

“Okay, in my defense, I thought it was due next Monday. Which maybe isn’t my defense because it means I just can’t read due dates, or maybe I just can’t read, but I thought I had a lot more time and then one of my classmates texted me asking for help on this block of code and I told him I hadn’t started and he was like oh my god, Ino, it’s due in three days, and I was like no it’s not, we have so much time—turns out we don’t have so much time, so I’m over here staring at my screen until the vessels in my eyes pop—”

He yawns, and it makes you yawn too, despite the screen separating you. “Sorry, agh. Anyway, I have to write this program that uses some kind of randomized generator…”

You find your eyelids fighting gravity, exhaustion washing over you as he explains the project and all the reasons he’s not that worried about getting it done by Monday because actually he’s on a roll and it turns out the code isn’t that different from a similar project he did last year so he can just lift the main blocks over and wow, he’s tired, and you stifle a laugh as the voice memo comes to an end and he says, “Okay, gosh, I should go to bed. You should go to bed. Stop journalisming, Skip, get some sleep. G’night.”

You grin, plugging your phone in and sending him a voice memo of your own.

“I’m done journalisming. Still haven’t written that story on you, though. Night, Takuma.”

The last thing you see before you fall asleep is his reaction to your text. It’s a thumbs up, but after a few seconds, it disappears, replaced with a heart.

—

“I’m gonna die,” Nobara groans.

You’ve been checking Instagram every hour on the hour for the bracket results, but to no avail. The five of you are sprawled out in the living room, a Fleetwood Mac record spinning in the corner, cups of coffee and tea and scattered remnants of breakfast dotting the table and the floor and the windowsill.

You have post notifications on for the Battle of the Bands Instagram page, but you check anyway, as if you somehow missed it.

“Okay,” Maki says. “Cut it out. No phones.”

“Maki,” Toge groans. “How do we live with the suspense?”

“Go around and give a rundown of your week?” Yuta suggests.

“Aw, highs and lows, it’s like elementary school,” Nobara says happily. “I’ll go first! High: annoying slacker guy in my marketing class got a shit grade on the group project and the rest of us got As. Low: Skipper won’t give me Ino lore.”

“Lore,” you mimic. “I don’t have any lore. We’ve known each other for like, two weeks.”

“That’s enough time for lore,” she insists. “What’s your high? Ino?”

“Okay, jeez,” you say. “Maybe it’s that Toge and I had a really good first interview for our project story.”

Toge blinks at you.

“Fine, maybe it’s Takuma.”

Nobara grins in a way you can only describe as malicious. “Okay,” you say, pointing at her. “Low: whatever that is.” She sticks her tongue out at you.

“My low is Skipper bullying me in class,” Toge says. “And my high is she said she’d be my partner, so I’m not gonna fail.”

Yuta nods sagely. “Maki?”

“Uhh,” she says eloquently. “My parents won’t stop pestering me about fall break. But I aced a test on Thursday in anthro, so there’s that.”

“You’re not going home, right?” you ask. She shakes her head resolutely. Maki doesn’t go home unless she absolutely has to—one thing she and Mai actually have in common.

All of your phones go off at once, a mix of buzzes and beeps and Apple watchfaces lighting up, and Nobara screams. “I can’t look!” she cries. “Someone tell me!”

You click on the notification and pull up the post, heart racing.

The first slide is a generic Battle of the Bands announcement with the cool ass graphics you’ve been seeing on the posters. Whoever designs those needs a raise. The second image is the bracket for next Friday, with the first knockout round of three—only one group will move on to the finals. “Who is it?” Nobara asks anxiously, pacing the room. “Oh god, I’m gonna die.”

“Shibuya Incident,” you read off, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Angel.” Nobara groans overdramatically. “And the Kamos.”

You swipe to the next screen, heart in your throat. OCTOBER 18, it reads. THE CULL. CURSED TECHNIQUE. BLACK FLASH.

“Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god, we made it!”

Toge yanks you to your feet and starts hopping around the living room, and Nobara shrieks with joy as you pull her into the celebration. Even Maki and Yuta are sporting wide smiles as they watch the three of you bounce around like kids on a sugar rush.

“What, no Sukuna?” Maki teases when you’ve calmed down. Toge clears his throat and does his best impression, going as far as to make his pants sag a little around his waist.

“Frosted flexin’, I’m the cereal king, pourin’… uh, duh nuh nuh, something doin’ my thing,” he says in a deep voice. “Uh… squirrel? Somethin’ fuego, that’s Spanish, uhhh…”

“Oh my god, let me look it up,” Nobara cackles, pulling up SoundCloud. “It’s I’m the king of bad decisions, got a throne made of Legos, took a bite of my mic and said these bars are fuego.”

Yuta physically winces. “Does he really sag his pants like that?”

Toge shrugs. “It felt right in the moment.”

“Wait, who’s the other one eliminated, then?” you ask, running through the bands in your head. Yours, Takuma’s, Black Flash, the Kamos…

“Motion Capture,” Maki says.

“No, it’s all caps. You have to shout it. MOTION CAPTURE!” Toge hollers. Nobara snorts.

You aren’t entirely surprised, but you have a feeling the girls aren’t too put out about it. They’re young, too—they’ll have their time to shine eventually.

You grin, flopping back onto the couch. “Okay, rehearsal when? Tonight?”

“Yeah, I have to go to a friend’s to figure some stuff out for a project, but I’ll be back at like… five?” Yuta says.

“Oh, fuck, I gotta go too!” Nobara says, darting toward the stairs.

“Group project?” Maki asks.

“Shopping! I gotta pick Miwa up in like, ten minutes!”

Maki rolls her eyes fondly. Yuta stands up and grabs his bag, heading toward the entryway, and the rest of you gravitate instinctually to the kitchen. Nobara is out the door moments later with a wave and a shout, and Toge grins.

“What,” Maki deadpans, not a question.

“I printed memes to hide on her Polaroid wall. Be right back.”

You snort, turning your attention to the window to watch Nobara cruise down the block. The view of her sleek, small car is interrupted by Yuta’s jungle of plants.

“I hope they’re not too cold,” he says, frowning as he tugs a jacket on over his white hoodie. “Do they look okay to you?”

“Yeah,” you say, pointing to the one in the white, ovular pot. “Especially this one, it’s getting so big! What’s his name, Snorlax?” Yuta had a phase where he named at least six plants in a row after Pokèmon.

“No, that one’s Rika, after that TV show,” Maki corrects, not looking up. Yuta blinks, looks between her and the plant, whose vines have started to creep up the window. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Both of your eyes on her have her looking up from her phone, expression flat and unaffected. “What?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn’t know… anyone paid attention.”

Maki shrugs. “You talk to them out loud.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Yuta laughs and waves one last time before he walks out, closing the door behind him. You count to five in your head and then whirl on Maki, entirely unable to keep the shit-eating grin off your face.

“Kowalski, status report.”

She blinks at you. “What?”

“I said—”

“No, I know, just—on what? What happened?”

You groan, dragging the heels of your hands down your face. “Maki. Please.” You gesture wildly between her and the door, wondering if she’s genuinely this oblivious or if she’s just as good a liar as Mai. “Are you—did we not just witness the same interaction? Jesus, Maki, put the boy out of his misery!”

Seeing Maki frazzled is not a common occurrence. The most agitated you ever see her is talking about her family or trading passive aggressive jabs with Mai. This is an entirely new sort of disarray—she’s flustered.

“I—what?! I can’t do that! And he’s not miserable. He’s that nice to everyone.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands with your elbows on the counter. “Maki! He likes you. And your face is telling me you like him back.”

She scoffs, turning her head down and crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not messing things up by dating my bandmate. We live together, Skip, he’s my best friend, if things got messy—”

You hold up a hand. “First of all, offensive. I’m your best friend. Second of all, I hear no denial. Also, it won’t get messy. You are the two most mature people in this house and you know how to separate personal from practical. If anything, it’s gonna kill the vibes of the band and the house if you just keep stewing in the sexual tension.”

“Oh my god,” Maki groans. “There. Is. No. Sexual. Tension.”

“There’s always sexual tension,” Toge announces, walking in and jumping up onto the countertop, legs swinging. He looks between the two of you innocently. “What are we talking about?”

“You might be of some help, actually,” you say, turning to Toge with your hands clasped.

“Uh, actually? Not oh, Toge, you’re always so helpful, thank god you live with me and keep my life interesting—”

“Nevermind.”

“No, pleeease,” Toge insists, sticking out his lower lip. “What?” His gaze shifts to Maki, who’s blushing a furious red. His mouth turns into a small O. “This is about Yuta?”

You didn’t think she could get any more scarlet, but here she is.

“Does everyone think that?” she groans, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Toge shrugs. “I thought we were all just quietly skirting around it until you both snapped.”

“Nobara doesn’t skirt around anything,” Maki says.

“Well, there’s no way she doesn’t know,” you point out. “Maybe she just respects both of you enough to leave it alone.”

“Hah!” Toge snorts, poking you in the ribs. “That means she doesn’t respect you. She wants the Ino lore.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara about the memes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Abruptly, you realize you never got around to Yuta for highs and lows, what with the chaos of the brackets dropping. “Ah, guys,” you say. “We missed Yuta.” You pull up the house group chat.

you: YUTA DROP YOUR HIGH AND LOW IN THE CHAT you: YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN freak no. 1: yes you are utah: haha aw that’s nice utah disliked a message from freak no. 1 utah: uhh low is maybe that toge keeps leaving memes all over our room. like i keep finding them tucked in my notebooks and everything freak no. 1: SLANDER freak no. 1: LIBEL you: not the same thing freak no. 1: SHUT UP utah: high is someone remembers the names of my plants!! :) nobara: Sorry, using voice text while I drive. Who knows the names of your plants? You and God? utah: maki! :)

“Okay, well, respond,” Toge says, poking Maki in the side. She glares at him and likes Yuta’s message.

“Guys,” she says exasperatedly. “What the hell am I supposed to do? Does he know?”

And you’re not sure, honestly. You don’t know that Yuta is even aware of his own feelings, let alone aware that Maki reciprocates them. You shrug helplessly. “How about… ask?”

“Jesus,” Maki says.

“Not him, Yuta.”

Maki socks Toge in the shoulder and levels him with a disdainful look. “You are the bane of my existence.”

“And the object of all your desires,” Toge proclaims in a horrendous Bridgerton accent. He made you watch all of it with him in two days. Maki refused.

Now, she just shoves him, and he squeals as he falls off the kitchen counter.

“Children,” you sigh. “Do you need to be separated?”

“Yes!”

—

“Why is this so hard?” You stand with your feet planted on Takuma’s skateboard, which is confoundingly, entirely different than balancing atop your longboard. “Oh my god.” You lurch forward as the board rolls a bit to the left, unable to stifle the squeal that comes out of your mouth.

Takuma stops it with one foot.

“Your center of balance is lower on a longboard,” he laughs. “Like, here.” His hands wrap around your waist and you tense under his grip, and he immediately freezes, jerking his arms back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No! No, it’s okay,” you blurt, sheepish. “I just wasn’t expecting it, I—here.” You try to fight the blush furiously rising in your cheeks as you take his wrists in both hands, putting them back where they were. You clear your throat, suddenly too warm. “Um. Okay, so—do you turn the same way?”

“Pretty much. You just lean,” Takuma says, and you shift your weight to your heels, letting him steady you. “It’s a bit harsher than you would on a longboard, though. Unless you want me to send you right into kickturns?” His tone is teasing and you pretend to consider, tapping a finger against your chin.

“Mm. Maybe later.”

You’ve been at the skate park for a while now, and you’ve only recently ditched your longboard for the skateboard. Takuma brought the extra board you saw hanging on his wall the other day, and he uses it to demonstrate while you practice riding back and forth, getting a hold on your balance. After you feel like you can make it a good distance without pinwheeling your arms, you come to a staggered stop beside him.

A flash of blue-green hair grabs your attention, and you watch a kid in a lightning bolt hoodie slip under the ramps. The park has been pretty deserted today aside from a few guys doing tricks in the pit, a chilly Sunday with the sunlight muted by the clouds.

“Ooh, drug deal in action.” You poke Takuma in the side.

“Ah, probably Sukuna. He deals here all the time.” Sukuna’s business is one of those things everyone’s aware of but nobody talks about. He’s consistent and pretty safe, as far as drug dealers go, but he’ll deny any involvement while smoking a joint if he has to.

“Who’s space buns?”

“Uhh…” Takuma narrows his eyes, and the guy slips out again. “Damn, that was fast. Oh, that’s Hajime. Another senior, I think. They hate each other. Fastest deals I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder how much of his songwriting is just… while he’s really, really high,” you muse. Swag of a squirrel doesn’t strike you as a particularly levelheaded thought, but hey, it’s certainly memorable.

Takuma leans in and says conspiratorially, “I’m pretty sure I heard him dropping bars here the other day when I was with Yuji.”

You snort and look up at one of the smallest ramps, one you think you could handle without falling on your face, and point to it with a raised brow.

“Oh, moving up in the world?” Takuma kicks his board up and starts walking over, and you do the same. Before you put the board down at the top of the ramp, though, you hold it up to the light, noticing a few short, white hairs caught on the surface.

“Is this… fur?” Maybe there was a cat hiding out somewhere when you were over. Kirara seems like she’d have a cat.

Takuma sighs. “Yeah, the dogs shed like crazy. It gets everywhere. I don’t think I even left that on the ground.”

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him until he looks back at you. “Dogs?”

“What? Yeah, Fushiguro’s—”

“Fushiguro has dogs? Dogs plural? In the house?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” you cry. “What? Oh my god! Where were they on Wednesday? How many? What are their names?”

Takuma leans back on the rail next to the ramp, grinning. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. Oh my god. They’re so cute. Tsumiki had them Wednesday, I think. Mandated auntie time. Do you wanna meet ‘em?”

“Do I want to meet them?” you repeat, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Uh, yeah. Are they home? Oh my god. I love dogs.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he deadpans, but he’s smiling still. “Yeah, they’re home. And you can meet them if you go down this ramp without dying.”

“You’re cruel,” you say, situating yourself on the board. “But I will. And then I’ll meet the dogs and become their best friend and they’ll love me more than you and Megumi combined.”

“Confident.” He comes up beside you, checking your stance. The ramp didn’t look steep or long at all from your vantage point across the park, but now that you’re atop the board, it feels suddenly very steep and very long. “You got it. Just don’t panic, keep your stance.” He drops his own board and cruises down the ramp, hardly even trying.

“Okay, go!” he calls from the bottom. “C’mon, Skip, the dogs are waiting.”

“Oh, god,” you murmur, the wind catching your words and whisking them away. You ball your hands into fists and push off, planting your foot back on the board and trying to keep your knees bent, but not too stiff, as you careen down the ramp. Don’t panic, keep your stance. You’re at the bottom in what feels like nanoseconds, and the sudden shift from ramp to flat ground has you stumbling off the board with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak of alarm.

“Nice!” Takuma laughs as he catches you, the board rolling a few more feet ahead. His arm is wrapped around your front, the other holding you up by the shoulder, and this time you don’t tense under his hands.

“Thanks,” you say a little breathlessly, grinning, the tiny spike of adrenaline making you almost lightheaded. He lets his hands drop when you’re steady on your feet, and part of you mourns the warmth a little. But there are more pressing matters at hand. “So, about those dogs?”

You opt for your longboard on the way back down your street, cruising along beside Takuma, who has his extra board tucked under his arm. You’ve got a lot to do tonight, all the last-minute preparation for another crazy week, but you can and will drop everything to pet a puppy. Or two. Always.

And they’re actual angels. Big, fluffy angels on earth, one white and one black, and they’re all over you the second you open the door.

“Hi!” you say happily, sinking down to their level. The white one immediately tries to burrow into your lap. “Oh, hello! You’re so nice, aren’t you?” You glance up at Takuma. “Where’s Megumi?” You grab the white one’s collar and check the tag—Shiro.

“Shiro thinks she’s a tiny dog,” he says, bending down to ruffle the fur behind her ears. “Uh, Fushiguro’s at the animal clinic. He works there Sundays. And Tuesdays, I think.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, he’s a vet student. You didn’t know?”

“I did not.” The black one is licking your face, and you giggle and check his tag, too. Kuro. “Hi, Kuro. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s got such a soft spot for animals,” Takuma says as he kicks off his shoes. “You should see when they both try to sleep in his little twin bed. It’s ridiculous.”

“I love them,” you say, burying your face in Kuro’s scruff. “Hi, doggies. You’re awful cute, you know that? Mhm. Yes you are.”

When you finally look up again, Kuro’s cold nose nudging insistently at your palm, Takuma is leaning against the wall, looking down at you with his phone discreetly angled your way. “Takuma!”

He laughs, not bothering to hide it anymore, very clearly taking photos of you with the dogs. “It’s cute!” he insists. “I’ll send them to you. Proof for Fushiguro of your master plan to make them like you more than him.”

“And you,” you remind him.

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

You gesture pointedly to the two dogs, who are all over you and not him. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get all of Shiro’s white fur off your black jacket later, but it’s worth it.

“You’re new,” he says. “New scent. It’s the novelty factor. I am their favorite.”

“You sure? I’m pretty hard to compete with.”

He smiles, looking from you to the photos he took of you and the dogs. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.”

—

The first half of the new week goes by in a rushed routine of classes, homework, and rehearsals, each night ending with you collapsing into bed, new and old lyrics fighting for dominance in the back of your mind. Sticks re-taped and drum heads re-tuned, assignments turned in and drafts edited. Your classes are ramping up as midterms approach, and Yuta bounces between his own work and poking his head into everyone’s rooms, making sure they don’t forget about dinner.

Toge follows through on his snack run promise, and the two of you spend hours on Tuesday afternoon trading two different flavored bags of Doritos back and forth, Toge writing photo captions while you edit your story lede.

Takuma, Hakari, and Kirara have offered to help Cursed Technique record a single on Wednesday night, and the five of you have been drilling the new song you wrote up, down, and sideways.

Finally, Wednesday arrives, and you’re all crammed into the recording studio space, instruments set up and headsets tuned in.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nobara says to Hakari on the other side of the glass. She taps a finger on the mic in demonstration, and you hear it in your own headphones.

“Great,” he says. “Skipper?”

“Skipper? I hardly know her,” Toge says, earning a harmless smack upside the head from Yuta and a not harmless smack upside the head from Maki.

“I will throw these at you,” you tell him, holding up your sticks. Toge sticks his bottom lip out, pouting.

A snicker from beside you draws your attention back to Takuma, kneeling just beside the throne as he adjusts the kick mic. He has you hit it a few times while Hakari monitors the levels. You feel oddly self-conscious like this, him looking up at you, but then he smiles and it’s not strange at all. It’s stupid how fast he can put you at ease with a look.

“Nice,” he says. “Okay, that should work, yeah, Hakari?”

It’s Kirara who answers, “Yeah, you’re good.”

Takuma stands up, claps his hands together once, and looks at you. “Okay. Kill it, Skip.”

“Yessir.” You salute him with a stick and he makes his way to the other room, closing the door behind him.

“All good?” Yuta asks, glancing at each of you in turn before giving Hakari a thumbs up. It’s strange to be on this side of the glass, to think about your music being played back, to think about it on Spotify, out in the world.

“Next Fix,” Takuma says into the mic, locking eyes with you through the window. “Take one in three, two…”

The song starts out simple. You click your sticks together near the mic, on two and four, while Maki lays down a four-bar loop.

Yuta keeps glancing at Maki while she plays, utterly unaware, and the look on his face is so soft you want to shake Maki by the shoulders until she does something about it.

Nobara’s got her eyes closed with the headset over her ears and her hands around the mic, entirely engrossed in the song.

“It’s comin’ on, comin’ strong, spinnin’ up out of the blue, mmm,” she sings, stretching out the vowels. “And I’m on the ground, bleedin’ out, until my next fix of you, ooh.”

Now you start up with a light rock beat, closed hat and a bit of a dragging buzz on the snare hits. Just as you transition into the beat, Toge comes in with some low chords and Yuta moves down the line in syncopated sixteenths.

Hakari is nodding approvingly and Takuma has a wide grin on his face, and you can’t help smiling back.

“I need it like a lung,” Nobara sings, swaying a bit. “I need it like a light. It’s got me twisted up. I need you here tonight, tonight, tonight, oh, oh, I wanna—”

And this part is your favorite—Nobara sings each two-syllable phrase while you pound on the toms twice, emphasizing it with the kick, and then the backup vocals echo her. Get my (get my) next fix (next fix) of you (of you, of you, of you.)

Kirara pumps her fist in the air twice, in time with the beat, and your bandmates can’t keep the smiles off their faces. You’ve got something here, you really do. This might be your best one yet.

When the song’s over, Nobara whoops and tugs off the headphones, jumping around the cramped studio space with a grin on her face. “That was so cool! Oh my god. Guys, we sound good. We actually sound good.”

“Damn,” Kirara calls. “Okay, girl drummer. Good shit.”

“Not bad for a first run,” Maki admits, adjusting her bass strap over her shoulder. “Do we wanna try recording backups separately at all?”

“Good call.” Takuma nods. “Let’s run that again without the backups and record them over, see what happens.” He’s in full producer mode, flipping switches, colored lights reflecting in his eyes as he and Hakari talk shop away from the mic. He’s good at this, you realize, running sessions like this, making sure things go where they need to go, that everyone’s heard, that things get done. It’s a little bit like watching him skateboard, or seeing him on stage. There’s a confidence to him here, a smooth, easy energy. He’s in his element.

“Alright,” he says after a minute. “Let’s hear that again.”

And you play it again. And again. And again. And you are so in love with this moment, with your band, with a couple rowdy kids on the other side of the window, the rasp in Nobara’s voice and the expression on Yuta’s face and Maki’s obliviousness and Toge’s consistent, head-banging keys, and your drums and your words and the music, and the lyrics feel right to you.

You need this like a lung.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32

a/n: GUYS. loml @shutuppeter is so downbad for soundcloud rapper sukuna that she's writing fanfic of my fanfic😭 credits for frosted flexin' are all hers LMFAO so go check that out (MDNI for that one though).

yutamaki nation rise. also, i kinda love this fic. there may be spinoffs for other characters in the works...

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 11

Warnings: Cursing, smut

Billie

The bedroom is silent save for the sound of Billie and Glen’s combined breathing, both of them panting as they lay on the bed in a sweaty tangle of sheets and naked limbs.

Billie smiles to herself, her whole body feeling spent. She’s positive she’s never come that many times before, certain in that moment that Glen is absolutely the best sex of her life. It isn’t just because she's so attracted to him either - he really is just that fucking good.

Riding his face, the way she’d all but screamed his name as she’d come, and the way he’d gripped her thighs and held her over-sensitized body down onto him so that a second orgasm almost immediately followed the first. 

She’d slid down off him and Glen had quickly reached for a condom, soon pulling her back onto his lap and sliding oh-so-deliciously into her. Billie had ridden him until her legs had given out, before he’d rolled them over and slotted himself between her thighs. He’d lifted one of her legs and rested her ankle on his shoulder, driving into her until she was dangerously close to coming all over again. Breathy and desperately wanton at this point, Billie had reached down between their joined bodies to play with herself as he’d fucked her, the sight quickly sending Glen tipping over the edge right after Billie.

“I can’t believe we ended up at the same place tonight” Billie muses, her breathing finally slowing.

“I can’t believe how fuckin’ sexy you looked tonight” Glen replies, turning to press a gentle kiss to the side of Billie’s head and making her smile reflexively, “Seriously peach, you have no idea the effect you have on me”.

Billie rolls onto her side and props herself up onto her elbow, loving the way Glen’s eyes run down her naked body.

“I don’t know if you just heard the sounds I was making, but I’d say the effect you have on me is much the same”

Glen grins like a cheeky school boy, and Billie can’t take her eyes off his face.

“I love the sounds you make, and I love knowing that you’re making them because of me”

Billie grins back, her lips still feeling kiss-swollen. 

“It’s kinda hard to be quiet when you use your tongue like that” she replies softly, a shiver running down her spine as the memory of his mouth on her spreads throughout her belly, “Or your fingers. Or your dick”.

Glen laughs and trails his fingers down her side, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She lets out a silent breath as she looks back at him, her eyes glancing briefly at his muscled chest. 

“Do you mind if I have a shower? I hate sleeping with a face full of makeup and the smell of club on me”

“Of course not darlin’, was just thinking I wanted to do the same thing” Glen replies, yawning adorably and running his fingers through his sandy blonde hair.

Billie smiles before she leans in and kisses him, rolling over and off the bed and making her way to the bedroom ensuite. She can feel his eyes behind her drinking in her bare skin, glancing over her shoulder and grinning to herself when she finds him lying on his back naked and doing just that.

She exhales silently, deciding then that she could absolutely get used to the sight of naked Glen Powell in the bedroom. He’s like a Greek god statue - perfectly sculpted, with a perfect dick to match. Mmm.

Billie walks into the adjoining bathroom, noting all the dark, luxury furnishings and smooth, cool stone, reaching into Glen’s enormous double shower and switching on the water. She ties her hair up into a messy bun high on her head and takes a second to look at her bare self in the mirror, watching as the steam from the shower starts to fill up the room. 

She hears Glen step into the bathroom and suddenly he’s behind her in the mirror’s reflection, Billie’s eyes flickering over him in all his naked glory as she watches him pull out a spare towel and hang it on the shower hook beside his own. He turns and winks at her in the mirror, bending to press a gentle kiss to her shoulder, before taking her hand and guiding her into the shower with him.

It’s sweet and soft, and not at all a repeat of their previous few showers together, Glen’s arms wrapped around Billie’s torso as the spray runs down her back. She closes her eyes, savouring the heavenly warmth of both the water and Glen’s embrace, dipping her head forward to rest on his shoulder as her chest presses against his. She smiles against his skin when she feels his lips on her temple, listening to the rustle of bottles and moments later smelling the spicy, sweet scent of Glen’s body wash.

It takes her by surprise when she feels the loofah against her back, realising that he's washing her as she feels him sweep along her skin. The delicious scent gets stronger - a combination of wood, citrus and something sweet like vanilla, that smell that she's come to associate as uniquely him, feeling a wave of peace wash over her as she stands in his arms. It's a moment of calm after a busy, non-stop night, and Billie still can't quite believe that showering with Glen Powell has become somewhat of a norm in her life over the past week and a bit.

She smiles to herself again, realising that there's nowhere she'd rather be than here right now, exhaling heavily as she revels in the feeling of Glen's hands gliding over and down her back.

She's not sure if it's the alcohol from the bachelorette or the post-orgasm hormones that's clouding her thoughts but for a split second her mind wanders - acutely aware of a sudden warmth in the depth of her chest, an otherwise foreign feeling that she hasn't felt for the longest time. Like a butterfly slowly awakening, starting to unfurl its wings after months spent wrapped tight and closed. She sighs silently, allowing the feeling to take over her for just a moment longer, lifting her head when she feels Glen's hand cup her cheek.

“You okay?”

Billie nods, her lips stretching into a soft, content smile.

“Perfect”

Glen grins back at her then - effortlessly handsome even with his hair wet and flattened to his forehead, water droplets dripping from his long blonde lashes. He’s so gorgeous it almost hurts Billie to look at him, and she silently thanks whatever higher power is up there for making her lucky enough to be able to see him like this.

Eventually they finish the shower, Glen wrapping his towel low around his waist and looking so sinfully attractive that Billie has to actively work to stop herself from staring, wrapping her own towel around herself as Glen disappears into the bedroom. She takes the tie from her hair and runs her fingers through her long curls, thankful that her hair still looks half decent as she looks at her now makeup free reflection. Her skin is blotchy from a night of alcohol and partying and she can't help the momentary sting of panic she feels at being completely bare in front of Glen without even her skincare - her thoughts suddenly pausing when he appears behind her holding out a t-shirt.

“Here you go darlin’”

Billie takes the shirt gratefully, immediately clocking the orange Texas Longhorns logo across the chest and she smiling because of course that's what he's given her to sleep in. She slips the shirt over her head and drops her towel as Glen disappears into the bedroom again, returning seconds later dressed in loose navy sweat pants and holding a spare toothbrush in his hand.

“You look good in my shirt, peach”

Billie chuckles, smoothing the shirt down over her body. “And your saying that has nothing to do with this right?” she quips, pointing to the orange bull symbol emblazoned on her chest.

Glen laughs, deep and throaty, leaning his hip against the bathroom counter and looking back at her appreciatively. “Texas orange does look real good on you too” 

Billie grins and turns back to the mirror, looking over the loose fit of the shirt and the way it ends high on her naked thighs. The material is soft against her skin and smells deliciously like Glen - the next best thing to having his arms wrapped around her. She sets about brushing her teeth and Glen does the same, Billie feeling her heart swell at the domesticity of the simple, shared task as she watches him bend and rinse his mouth.

“Just gonna go let the boys out” Glen says when he’s done, leaning over to kiss her cheek, his hand finding her hip and giving her an adoring squeeze, “Meet you in bed?”

Billie nods, smiling with a mouthful of toothpaste and hearing him whistle for Brisket and Nugget, watching through the mirror as he retreats into the bedroom. 

When she retires to the bedroom a few minutes later she finds him already in bed, one arm tucked behind his head and the other outstretched on the adjacent pillow. He smiles at her lazily, the sight making her stomach squeeze in the best way, Billie slipping in beside him and relaxing against the silky, charcoal coloured sheets.

Her own lips tug into a smile then, feeling Glen’s lips press to her temple as he drapes one arm across her torso and pulls her in close, Billie closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep dreaming sweet things about the man holding her.

---

Glen

“I’ll send you the link” Megan’s voice says, Glen pinching the bridge of his nose as he holds his phone to his ear listening to his publicist speak, “Try not to stress Glen, they haven’t reported who she is and at this point there’s no way to tell either”

Glen nods, exhaling heavily. “Thanks Meg”

He barely listens when she reminds him of the meetings and engagements he has for the rest of the week, responding with clipped single words before the phone call ends.

Glen throws his phone onto the coffee table with more force than usual, the loud clang startling Brisket and making him look up from his spot on the adjacent couch curiously. 

“Sorry bud” Glen says, walking over and patting his fluffy head comfortingly, flopping onto the couch beside him and dropping his head back dramatically.

Thirteen days.

Thirteen days was all it had taken for his little bubble to burst. Some part of him always knew that it was inevitable, but still he hadn’t expected for it to happen so quickly.

His phone beeps and he begrudgingly leans forward to retrieve it, opening the message from Meg and clicking the link she’d sent through. He exhales heavily through his nose as the website loads, scrolling down the page to find the pictures in question. 

As it turns out someone had taken photos of him and Billie at the club last night, which of course had been posted and quickly circulated online. The pictures showed Glen and Billie on the dancefloor, Glen’s hands low on Billie’s hips with his head angled towards hers, Billie’s face turned towards him but otherwise largely obscured by her long hair. He rubs his face with his hand, skimming the words on the website - most of it speculation about the ‘brunette beauty that’s caught the Top Gun: Maverick star’s eye’, along with a recap of all his previous relationships. He sighs out loud, Meg’s words about not being able to tell who she is replaying in his head and providing him a glimmer of reassurance. 

He puts his phone down and takes a second to think, suddenly debating whether or not to tell Billie. He wants to be honest with her, but he knows that bringing this up is a risk to whatever they have together, especially so soon into it. He’s never before dated someone that wasn’t somehow in the famous circles herself, and more than that he’s never dated someone while being at the level of fame he’s currently at. Being in the public eye is difficult, even more so when it’s thrust upon you without warning. He has no way of knowing how Billie would react to this news, how she would deal with the changes that would inevitably affect every facet of her life, and more than that, if she would even want to deal with it. 

Glen drops his head back on the couch again, closing his eyes for a long moment.

On one hand, telling her about this now could jeopardise everything between them if Billie decided that it was simply all too much. On the other hand, not telling her about it meant that he risked her finding this out on her own - a surely unwelcome surprise that she’d know he kept from her. Neither option sounded good to him, as both risked him potentially losing everything with Billie. Still, not saying anything would allow him to stay in their bubble a little longer, delay the inevitable as it were, before the rest of the world found out and they had to deal with the worst parts of his job. 

His eyes flash open when his phone beeps again, reaching over to pick it up and smiling when he sees Billie’s name on the screen. He hasn’t seen her since Sunday, since they’d slept in together, had a lazy breakfast in bed and then proceeded to play house for the rest of the day. They’d ended up watching Jurassic Park in Glen’s theatre room following a passionate discussion about each other’s favourite movies, quickly discovering that the dinosaur blockbuster a long time favourite of the both of them.

That had led to them watching the rest of the Jurassic franchise from the original first movie all the way to the final Jurassic World film, with a brief rewind during the third one when Glen had gotten distracted having Billie’s bare legs in his lap - especially when she was still only wearing his Longhorns shirt and nothing else. That had led to his hands wandering and before long he had Billie splayed out on the theatre recliner, licking between her thighs like a man starved, eventually bending her over the armrest and fucking her until they were both crying out each other’s names. 

Begrudgingly, Glen had eventually driven Billie home late on Sunday night, though not without several attempts to get her to stay over again - Billie countering by saying that she couldn’t live only in his clothes to which Glen vehemently disagreed. They’d messaged back and forth since then, sending pictures and asking about each other's days, a face-time call on Tuesday evening after Glen had finished with a sunset photoshoot for GQ. 

Today, Thursday, he knew that Billie went to pilates with the girls in the late afternoon, having texted her how it went. She’d just responded to his message just now, letting him know as such.

Glen grins, his thoughts immediately taking a sinful turn.

It was really tough tonight! So much leg work. My poor glutes are on fire🔥

Are you volunteering? 🙈

Sounds like you’ll need a massage then 👀

He chuckles out loud, not wasting any time in responding. 

He can picture her smirking, laughing at his playful words, wishing he was there with her to hear it. 

Anything to get my hands on that perfect ass of yours, baby 🍑

You’re bad, Mr Powell

That doesn’t sound like a no darlin

Oh I’m absolutely not saying no. I’m always down for a massage, especially from you 😉

Glen can’t wipe the smile from his face then, loving their constant playful, flirty banter. He grins at the screen when she replies with a wink emoji, letting out a breath and deciding not to tell her about the photos - at least not yet anyway. He wants to enjoy the two of them for just a little longer, to enjoy being himself with Billie without the added stresses of his job, to explore whatever this was growing between them. He puts his phone down and looks over at Brisket beside him, reaching over to pat him and ruffling his silky white fur.

You’re bad, Miss James

“Wanna go for a walk buddy?”

---

Billie

Billie smooths back her high ponytail in the bathroom mirror, taming some stray fly-away hairs from her pilates sweat session. She readjusts her clear framed glasses and flicks off the light, walking out of Bec's bathroom and back into the kitchen where the girls are sitting. She can hear them both talking and laughing, her feet momentarily pausing underneath her when she hears a third voice - a thick, Texan accent that she's become very familiar with over the past two weeks.

Glen?

She steps out into the kitchen to find Sloane seated at the island bench and holding Billie’s phone, Bec beside her and similarly looking at the screen, apparently on a facetime call.

“What are you two doing?” 

Both girls’ heads snap up at the sound of her voice, an innocent smile on Sloane's face, gesturing to the phone in her hand as if taking a facetime call on Billie's phone is the most normal thing in the world. Bec only grins, shrugging her shoulders innocently and picking up her glass of wine, taking a sip and moving to sit back on her stool.

“Glen was calling, so we thought we'd answer and say hi” Sloane quips matter-of-factly, her long ebony ponytail swishing over her shoulder as she tilts her head at Billie's narrowed eyes, “Here, say hello”.

She hands Billie her phone and Billie shoots her a look that says ‘I'm going to kill you the second this call is over’, Sloane pulling a face and picking up her wine glass, glancing at Bec beside her with a grin. Billie exhales silently through her nose and lifts her phone to eye level, feeling her frustrations instantly subside the moment she sees Glen smiling at her. He looks as gorgeous as always, his hair longer and his chin covered in more hair than she’s used to seeing, making him look stupidly handsome and rugged.

“Hey darlin’”

“Hey you, how are you?”

“Better now” he says grinning at her, Billie’s heart doing a backflip in her chest, “Sorry for interrupting you and the girls, I thought you’d be home by now so I thought I’d call”

Billie smiles, shaking her head, ignoring her two wide eyed friends staring at her across the bench. 

“Don’t be sorry. Normally I would be home by now but as you can probably tell we’re just finishing off a bottle” Billie says, glancing at the girls and rolling her eyes when they both act offended.

Glen laughs, loud and throaty, the sound echoing in the expansive kitchen.

“Anyway, I was just calling to see what you were doing Saturday, to see if you wanted to do something?”

Billie bends and rests her elbows on the bench, tilting her head as she looks at the screen.

“I actually have plans on Saturday” Billie breathes, a hint of disappointment colouring her voice, “I have Mason---Bec’s son’s, birthday party”

“Oh that’s okay, what about---”

“Glen you're more than welcome to come on Saturday!” Bec shouts suddenly, interrupting Glen and making Billie’s head snap up at her friend. 

Billie shoots her friend a threatening look with just her eyes, Bec responding with an innocent shrug - Sloane beside her looking positively gleeful. 

Billie looks back down at the screen to see Glen’s eyebrows raised in surprise, his mouth half opened, half smiling as if he’s trying to work out if he heard her correctly.

She opens her mouth to speak but Glen beats her to it, telling her that he’d love to come, as long as Billie is okay with it of course.

Billie blinks rapidly, processing what’s just happened. Half of her is excited at the idea of Glen wanting to spend time with her and her friends, while the other half wants to kill Bec for springing this idea on her without giving her time to think about it.

“I mean---yeah, of course!” Billie says, trying her best to stop herself from stammering her words, Glen’s smile growing wide when she speaks.

“What time is the party?”

Billie turns the phone around so that Glen can see Bec, taking the opportunity to mouth the words ‘what the fuck’ to the girls without Glen seeing and shaking her head when they ignore her, instead only smiling sweetly.

“It’s at 1! And it’s a pool party, so bring your swimsuit” 

Almost instantly the idea of Glen shirtless in the pool makes Billie’s insides flip in the best way, her mind wandering as Bec rattles off the rest of Saturday’s details.

Billie turns the phone back around to face her, swearing she sees Glen’s face light up when his eyes find her. They talk for a few more minutes before Glen says that he doesn’t want to interrupt her and the girls anymore,  telling Billie that he’ll text her and shouting his goodbye’s to Bec and Sloane. Billie nods, grinning back at him through the screen when he winks at her, offering her own goodbye and watching as the call ends.

She puts down her phone and grips the edge of the bench, looking up at both of her friends sitting across from her and inhaling deeply through her nose.

“What. The. Fuck?”

---

Previous Chapter

TAGLIST:

@angclvings @auntiegigi @friedchips-blog @memories-in-bw @maeleelee @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93 @itsjustkhaos @kneelforloki @djs8891 @lovemesomevesey @entertainmentgirl80 @buckysteveloki-me @stankface @fore45fore @sqrlgrrl2 @mrsevans @stinkerbelle007 @smoothdogsgirl @alwayshave-faith @marvelouslyme96 @meldizzzle @winterassassin1804 @impossibleblizzardstudentposts @cevansbaby-dove

[emrikae]

aot cast modern au jobs in my head:

eren: cybersecurity specialist. i feel like erens one of those kids that suck in subjects like lang-lit or fucking geography but have an impressive talent in anything techi. i think growing up eren was a competitive gamer and i imagine him being pretty rich in the sense where doctor daddy grisha and also big bro zeke are always spoiling his brat ass with the latest technology. he gets so good, he initially goes into uni wanting to become a game designer but after a brief fallout with his dad when he dropped out and eventually had his allowance cut (a period where i think eren dips into underground hacking and also modelling?) he falls upon the sexy salary in cybersecurity (and saw how thrilling- and damn easy !for him! - the job is) he changed course. i think eren eventually builds his own successful company and becomes one of those rich folks who say that school aint shit.

mikasa: president of a major sports team. mikasa takes over pretty young (like early 30s) after old uncle kenny was involved in some ‘reiss scandal’. initially mikasa was labelled ‘princess’ (derogatory) by dumb angry hooligans who thought a woman would curse their current standing, jokes on them cus that same season the club broke their 20 year curse by reaching the championships. i also think old pictures of gothkasa gets leaked on the internet but it only brought her more praise. but i actually dont think mikasa stays in this job for very long, shes always wanted a quiet simple form of income anyway so when her baby brother comes of right age and maturity she passes the baton to him and lays back as just a shareholder before shes even 40. i also believe mikasa in another universe wouldve loved to be an archivist.

armin: celebrity marine biologist/activist that went viral online during lockdown. he gets his own fanbase and is termed ‘biologist bae’ cus of his cute looks. a tv producer who fell into his corner pretty much fell in love with him after seeing armin deliver a spiel about endangered dugongs. invites him to a bunch of talk shows and the viewership goes so high (a large portion of it being teenage fangirls who want to ‘save the ocean’ too!) he manages to score his own show where he eventually meets his future wife.

annie: senior tv writer who got with armin after working with him on his show. she usually works on sporty reality shows and competitions even though shes a big time introvert. known for her sharp dont fuck with me work ethic, annie gags at how easily she fell into ‘biologist baes’ charm, hates how shes just like the 14 year old fangirls who try to sneak into their shoots. but anyways, annies the ace at her job been going hard for about 15 years but ultimately decides to retire early after having her second child and really liking how ‘biologist bae’ was making enough dough for the whole family.

sasha: influencer cus shes so pretty and fun. was a design major so all her vids have a ‘aesthetic’. now she prettily promotes lifestyle hacks for all the girlies. she also has a set of vids called “what my chef husband cooked for me today” . i think also further on she ends up being one of those moms who shoots vlogs and reviews with their kids.

jean: jeans a classy guy with artistic talents so i imagine him being a successful automotive designer for a luxurious car company. a mommas boy, he used his first fat pay-check to buy his mom a sleek ride thats a little too fast for someone her age. dudes insta page is what you’d expect from a posh car enthusiast with flashy posts of either him, his car, his mom or all 3.

connie: real estate party man. he really climbed his way up and becomes a man of many stories, friends with everyone and plenty of connections. the old hustle got him familiar with the best locations in the city, and now with his excellent salesmanship dude manages to sell at least 3 huge properties a week. i also feel like connies one of those dudes to finally settle down in his 40s -50s (with someone half his age).

historia: i believe queenbee was made for wedding planning. she has her own company before her first job ever but damn is she good at it. being brought up filthy rich, historia is familiar with the highest quality of things, knows whats on the market that only the small percentage of rich people know and will get clients their dream wedding to a t. moreover, she also loves to play cupid (canon!) and is always up to planning her friends weddings (and baby showers, and birthdays parties, and…)

ymir: i imagine ymir being on the board of directors for a bunch of ngos. she had a tough upbringing, was probably moved around from one home to another and could see how hard life is for anyone working at minimum wage. she grew up to be a little spitfire in school, hadnt taken it seriously until she reached senior year and bonded with a school staff named Ms Ymir Fritz. With the wisdom and kindness she learnt from her old teacher, ymir wanted to pay it forward and decided to make a living helping those in need.

reiner: idk why, but i feel like reiners a softie at heart and i imagine him having a nice cozy candy shop. probably fighting old childhood demons and the parental neglect he faced, his cute little shop comes as part of his healing journey to compensate what he missed out on in his youth. its sweet (but a little heartbreaking) that reiners favourite part about his job is getting to witness and be a part of the joy that emerges between families when they enter his shop.

bertholdt: a nurse just cus i think bertholdt would know how to be gentle with the patients. hes got a soft way of speaking that makes vulnerable people feel safe and comfortable. hes also wildly knowledgeable in flexibility and keeping your muscles in good shape that he conducts morning stretches and sometimes yoga in one of their recreational halls.

[heartstringsduet]

(ignore me accidentally unfollowing you while trying to send an ask)

for your prompts:

"Why are you following me?"

Hi Jen <3 Don't worry, I accidentally unfollow peeps too sometimes haha. We all do I think. Thanks for your prompt. I tried not to overthink it and it might be half-baked (not Ben&Jerry's ;)) but I hope you still like it. "Why are you following me"

His father might have been the one to tell him to trust his gut, but it was Tía Lucy who taught Carlos about the sixth sense. Her sixth sense told him when he had pulled out some of her herbs to chew on them when he was a toddler, his father’s seemed to be when Carlos got reprimanded at school and even later at work, his mother’s seemed to be knowing when he needed a hug even when he tried everything to appear like he didn’t.

Carlos’ sixth sense tingles as he rounds the corner of the candy aisle — and stops.

As expected, someone crashes right into his back. So he had been right about being followed. Sixth sense, gut, intuition. Whatever it was, it didn’t disappoint.

“Sorry!”

He’d only seen the stalker from the corner of his eyes, so to turn around and be faced with someone that walked right out of his dreams congeals Carlos momentarily.

What he didn’t expect to blurt out when he reinhabits his frozen body is, "Why are you following me?" 

It is true. This is the third aisle he’s felt the eyes on his back, the third aisle the stranger had stayed the exact same distance, the third aisle Carlos had had enough and tested his theory.

It’s one thing to think it, another to ask it straight out but Carlos stays cool. Even when he sees the slight flush of the man’s cheeks and the way he licks his lips and leaves a sheen. He stays totally cool. Unaffected and not lost in the slope of high cheekbones. 

“Uhm…I’m not?” the stalker says.

“I’m a cop, I know when I’m being followed.”

The stalker’s eyes widen — light green irises in full glory — before he quickly schools his face. “No you’re not.”

Carlos tilts his chin up. “Wanna see my badge?”

He gets a raised eyebrow and a smirk as a response that makes his stomach do a full loop. It hadn’t been an innuendo but the reaction makes his face feel hot.

The stalker’s tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth as he seems to think on what to say. “Okay.” He blows out a breath. “Okay. I followed you because you got the last Mexican Hot Chocolate ice cream and, frankly, I need it more. So if you don’t mind, could I buy it from you?”

Carlos frowns into his basket where he picked up both a tub of Cookies & Cream and apparently the reason someone followed him through the store for the past ten minutes.

A part of him doesn’t really care about the flavors, knowing the nephew he was planning to buy it for isn’t picky, but a bigger part prompts him to ask, “Who says I don’t need it the most?”

It seems to stump the other guy just like it stumped Carlos before. “Believe me, there is no way you do.”

“Unless I see concrete evidence for that need, I’m afraid I can’t give my tub up.”

It’s impressive how lowering his eyebrows makes the guy’s eyes look like a stormy sea, glistening as he blinks and suddenly Carlos gets washed into sadness with him. It’s there and it’s gone as the guy pushes past him.

“Nevermind.”

Carlos watches the rigid back retreating, the hands turn into fists and release. Before the man can forever stay a stranger, Carlos calls, “Wait!”

The guy turns.

Carlos jogs the few steps toward him, compelled to bridge the distance quicker. “It’s already pretty melty. Do you want to share it in the parking lot? I promise not to ask about your awful day again.”

He holds the guy’s stare again, like he will all night on the curb of the H-E-B, half a tub of ice cream long melted against he bamboo forks. A few years down the road, Carlos will think of that moment and realize his sixth sense hadn’t been about being followed. It had been a sign of his soulmate being close, giving his heart no chance to miss him.

[twopoppies]

i’m currently 22, and sometimes i think about when harry was 22 and it kind of shocks me because he was such a man already. 22, 23, and i feel like he’d lived so much, had done so much. i think about where i am in life, who i am, and although i’ve had grown up due to the loss of my parents, i still feel like such a child. i can’t speak for how he felt (or feels), but he gave off such a mature energy already. like you would expect from someone who’s seen a lot of things, done a lot of things. back when i was a kid/teen, the artists i admired (harry included) were, like, in their early twenties, and it felt so unreachable, so far, like they were proper adults. 21 years old felt big, far, adult-like. and now i’m here, and yes, i have matured, but how come harry looked like such a man already when he was only 22. because now that i am 22 i see that i’m only starting, i’m only beginning, and i feel, at heart, like a scared child so much of the time. and he was already such a guy, a grown up. writing songs about sex, and coke, and love, heartbreak. i’ve never experienced any of it. makes me think of all the things he was exposed to, all the things he did, to be at that point when he was still so young. i know people live different lives, but every time i compare myself with 22 year old harry, i’m like, man. the fuck.

LOL! I think you're really among the majority, love. Most people your age might feel grown up when they look back at themselves in high school, for example. But you're really still so incredibly young. Not having experienced the same life as a wildly successful pop star who found love at 16 and by the age of 22 had already recorded 5 albums, toured the world many times over, and made more money than most of us will see in a lifetime, is not really much of a stretch. I mean, I had done a fair bit by that age, but when I look back at myself at 22, I don't think I could have ever handled myself with the charm and grace he did. And I was much more often a scared child than an adult.

Give yourself time. We're not all meant to be Harry Styles. Who you are and where you're at is good. I like to look to people like him as inspiration. I want to be as kind and forgiving. I want to be as open and curious. I want to be as courageous with my creativity. I want to live life fully as I think he does. And we all have our specific journies.

❤️

[wordsofelie]

🌌The stars he left in the sky

Oikawa x f!reader

Part II:🎋The footprints he etched on the earth (coming soon)

Summary: The stars he left in the sky are nothing compared to the footprints he etched on the earth.

or when you fall in love with Oikawa Tooru, only to have your heart collapse into his orbit.

Content warnings: angst, high school & time skip setting, manga spoilers, swearing

Words count: 4.5k

You shouldn’t have been impressed by stars. After all, they were just distant objects burning quietly in the void, destined to explode in silence. Yet, every time you looked at them, a feeling of greatness gripped you.

But they were out of reach. You knew that. You would never touch them; they were bound to the laws of science. You had known this since childhood.

And it made sense, really. Stars exist on a scale far beyond your own. So why did you ever think you could change that? Why did you let yourself believe you could stand beside one? Naivety had swept you up, convincing you that proximity was possible. But no matter how far you stretched your arm in their direction, they remained a universe away. And so did he.

You met Oikawa Tooru during your second year of high school, a time when everything seemed to fall into place for you. You were diligent, sharp, and unassuming—the perfect daughter, the good student, the nice friend. Life was predictable and neatly organised. You weren’t really popular in school, didn’t really care about romance and boyfriends. You just had a normal life, and you were fine with it. But that’s precisely why you found it strange when he, the infamous volleyball captain and your senpai, started taking an interest in you.

Your eyes met his for the first time when you went to the third years floor to discuss a club matter with someone from his class. He got up from his chair the second you called for your clubmate’s name.

“She’s not here. Should I deliver a message for you, chibi-chan?” He spoke.

You found the nickname weird but tried not to look flustered by it.

“I…yes. Thanks, I guess.” And you handed him a paper, he looked at it with attention.

“You’re in the baking club, huh?” He read on the paper, “would you bake me milk bread someday?”

You tried to ignore the pressure coming from his classmates glaring at you, “Sure, if you want, Oikawa-senpai.”

Before you could leave the classroom, he asked for your name because “it’s only fair since you already know me.” And his charming smile made your ears warm.

After that, he often came across you. He always made sure to linger on you when you walked past by in the corridors, fasten his pace to reach you on your way to school (leaving Iwaizumi on his own, not that it disturbed the outside hitter).

And you found yourself looking for him more. You wanted to see him everyday. And little by little, it made your heart beat loud in your chest.

“Hello there, chibi-chan. Mind if I join?” he sat next to you one afternoon in the library and leaned over your shoulder. “What’s that book?” he asked.

“I’m preparing for the university exams,” you replied.

“Even though you’re in your second year? You’re so cool,” he said, his lips turning into a smile.

“What about you senpai. Are you planning to go to university?”

You bet he would. Oikawa Tooru wasn’t only pretty and athletic, he was smart and studious. He could get accepted in the best schools; get the highest scores in everything he would do.

“Me? Nah, I’m going to be the best setter in the world.”

In the world. Those words should have been your first warning, but the glow of his confidence made you blind to how far his dreams really stretched. He was bright, made of light. You were attracted by him the way meteorites are pulled into an orbit. There was nothing you could do about it anymore, you couldn’t look away from him. So when he asked you to be his girlfriend a few weeks later as he walked you home—“Even though it’s my last year and volleyball’s my priority, I promise I’ll take care of you. If you’ll have me, of course”—you didn’t hesitate and said yes, under the starry night.

Oikawa Tooru was the kind of boyfriend who made you believe in true love.

Every morning, he was there waiting for you in front of your house, his scarf loose around his neck, cheeks pink from the cold. On bitter winter days, he let you slip your frozen fingers into his coat pockets, teasing you about how small they were. For your birthday, he somehow convinced—or maybe, forced—Iwaizumi into helping him bake chocolates for you.

The taste wasn’t too bad, but you told him that next time you would teach him how to bake proper chocolate biscuits. You liked to hear him talk about his passion, and in return, you talked about yours.

When you sat together in his room for what you insisted were “homework sessions and nothing else,” his hands inevitably found their way to your hair. He would twirl strands around his fingers, brushing it with the same precision he used to set a ball. It would always end up in heated kisses sessions.

You gave back in your own way. You never missed a game—not even practice matches—always in the stands. Your cheers were never as loud as his fangirls, but it was always your voice he heard first. At lunch, you peeled fruits for him, offering slices in a delicate handkerchief. He didn’t even like apples, but when you held one out with that quiet smile of yours, he couldn’t refuse.

He liked your baking, though it was never enough sweet for his taste. The first time he tried your chocolate mousse, he stuck out his tongue and wrinkled his nose.

“Heh… Too bitter,” he told you.

“Oi! Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi growled. “Say thank you, it probably took hours to make.”

“Oops, thank you chibi-chan.”

Matsukawa looked at you with a detached look, “don’t mind the guy, he always puts two spoons of sugar in his hot cacao.”

“Matsuuu!” Oikawa whined, “I’m sure everybody does that, right?”

“You’re gonna dye of hyperglycaemia someday.”

The setter pouted and he hid his face into the crook of your neck, “help me, I’m being bullied.”

Everyone laughed, expect for your boyfriend who pretended to be hurt and Hanamaki who was trying to find the definition of “hyperglycaemia” in his biology book.

You didn’t bake him much after that. It’s not that you didn’t want to but rather you were scared it wouldn’t meet its liking, and you had to focus on your studies anyway. You needed to be great for him so he would be proud to tell the world you’re his girlfriend.

When he failed to make it to Nationals, your eyes held no pity—only love and respect. That was the moment he realised how rare you were.

At first, you both kept your relationship quiet.

“That’s how you know she’s different,” Makki had said.

“All the other girls would be screaming from the rooftops,” Matsukawa added.

Oikawa only smiled. You were special. So special. But he only truly understood how special when it was too late.

After high school, his world shifted.

Even though losing at the semi-finals had been a heavy pain, Oikawa never allowed himself to feel down on failure, or at least he didn’t show it. His dreams reached far beyond high school volleyball, beyond Japan itself. So, when he created the opportunity to train in Argentina under his hero, José Blanco, he didn’t think twice. Even if it meant leaving his family and Iwaizumi behind.

Should he have felt guilty when you promised to get a part-time job to save for visits, while a quiet voice in his mind whispered that he hadn’t thought of you at all when making his decision? Maybe. But when you asked if long-distance was okay, he still said yes.

It was the second warning you ignored.

You had never been like Iwaizumi Hajime, you were not able to read between the lines the way he did, or to decipher what Oikawa hid behind his pretty face, so you trusted him.

You believed it would be alright. Your first love would last (but every seventeen-year-old would think so; it is an incredibly naive time to fall in love).

The day he boarded the plane for San Juan, you started your final year of high school.

“Tell me when you get there,” you said, forcing a smile to hide the sadness, “and send me plenty of pictures. Call me every day.”

“I will,” he answered. “Go on now, or you’ll miss your entrance ceremony.”

Move on, he should have said instead.

Distance, it turned out, was more than just eighteen thousand kilometres. It was in every missed call, every half-hearted apology, every time zone that stood between you.

The “plenty” of pictures you had asked for became sparse, dwindling to nothing. One day, you learned he had cut his hair short through a post on Instagram. He didn’t even tell you. You cried all night.

Oikawa was amazing. Articles were written about him, fans started queuing outside arenas just to catch a glimpse of him, coaches from all around the world praised his sets. And each time you read something about him, you remembered. Remembered his brightness, his light. Remembered he was a universe away, out of your reach.

You were a mere object; he was a beautiful star.

And that reality hit you in the face on a May evening, a year after he left.

You had planned to talk but the phone call came late at night. You tried to picture him, somewhere in his room, the sun coming through his window, where it was the moon on your side of the world. Maybe his face was glowing faintly from his phone screen, maybe he had dark circles under his eyes like he often had when he trained too much. Maybe his brown curls were falling on his face. He probably looked handsome anyway.

“Will you come for Christmas?” you asked at some point during the call.

He paused. Too long.

“I’ll try,” Oikawa said, his voice sounded polished but there was something brittle beneath his words. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, after your exams.”

“Do you promise you’ll call?” You hated how childish your voice came out, but you were desperate to have him on the phone. You wanted him to the first you would hear after your exam.

“Promise,” he said. And though his tone softened with a warmth coming from an impossible distance, you doubted.

When the exam ended the next day, you waited for his call.

He will call, you repeated a few times in your head. He promised.

But as the evening turned into night, your phone remained silent in your pocket. After what felt like longer than the exam itself, you started walking, though you didn’t know where you were going.

You only stopped at some point in front of a shop. It was the smell that drew you in.

It was a little pâtisserie tucked between two tall buildings. Inside, it was warm and so you sat somewhere by the window. It was oddly comforting.

You weren’t hungry, you didn’t even know why you were here, yet, when the waitress asked what you wanted to eat, you found the courage, somewhere deep in your gut, to order something.

“What would you recommend?”

“Try the black chocolate cake,” she said. “It’s my favourite.”

You didn’t regret the choice, and the first bite melted on your tongue, it was rich and bittersweet. For the first time in hours, if not in days, you felt good.

When you stood by the door, on impulse, you asked, “Is it hard? Becoming a pastry chef? Running a shop like this?”

The woman smiled, “it’s hard work,” she said. “But it’s worth it.”

What if it was worth it for you as well?

Your phone finally rang just past midnight.

“Hey,” Oikawa’s voice came through. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. Are you okay? How was your exam?”

You hesitated before saying. “It was fine.”

You could have told him in details how it went, what exercise you found hard, which ones were easy, but somehow, you found yourself losing the will to do so.

“Is everything okay?”

“You promised you would call.”

You heard his mouth opening and closing a few times, “I know and I’m really sorry. Training went longer than expected and since I became the starting setter, I really need to put more effort into work.”

You stayed silent, to be honest, you didn’t even know what to say. Should you have gotten mad? Gotten sad?

He was the one to continue the conversation.

“Listen, I won’t go home for Christmas.” He finally admitted with a long sigh.

You stopped breathing. You couldn’t move. In this moment, you were convinced that if someone looked into your heart, they would find nothing but broken pieces, “Why?”

“I’ve been offered to play for the National Team here. But I need to apply to become a citizen first and the appointment with the embassy is around Christmas.”

“I’m not going to university,” you informed.

There was a long silence again. Oikawa was probably waiting for your disappointment or congratulations. But neither of those things left your mouth, “What? Why not?”

“Because,” you said and your voice started trembling slightly, “I’ve decided to become a pastry chef.”

“But… you’re so smart. You’ve always talked about university. I mean, baking is nice but that’s just your hobby, right?”

The words hit like a slap, and something inside you snapped. “My hobby?” You repeated his word. “I’ve been baking for I don’t know how many years. That’s the only thing that truly makes me happy and you call it a hobby? Of all people, I thought you would understand what it’s like to pursue a dream. But of course you wouldn’t even know this was my dream, heh? You’ve never really paid attention to me anyway.”

“That’s not true,” his voice rose. But you didn’t let him finish.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tooru.” You tried to hold your ground even though your stomach twisted and your throat tightened. “I think we should break up.”

“What? Wait, shouldn’t we have a real conversation about it? I-I will call you tomorrow morning, alright? Try to get some sleep first.”

“No, sorry Tooru. It’s over. Good luck with volleyball.”

There was a muffled sound on the other end—a sob, barely stifled—but you ended the call before it could break you more.

The days that followed felt like a blur. He sent a few messages—apologies, explanations—but you didn’t answer.

You told your parents you wouldn’t apply for universities here in Japan, they couldn’t hide their confusion at first but supported your choice after your brother mentioned how happier you would be if you did what you really wanted.

(You made sure to bake your little brother dozens of cookies.)

You started researching schools and ended up going for the one that stood out the most: l’École Ducasse, in Paris. It felt like a long shot, but you applied anyway.

A few days later, an email arrived. You opened it with trembling hands, your heart was pounding in your chest.

You’ve been invited to attend the exam, in France.

You stared at the screen.

“I knew you could make it nee-san,” your brother grinned.

“I didn’t get in yet; I still need to pass the exams.”

“Yes, but you’re going to Paris.”

Your eyes were filled with tears, happy tears. And in a rush, you booked your ticket and began packing your bags.

For the first time in years, you felt like you were moving toward something that was truly yours.

Maybe, just maybe, life wasn’t entirely against you.

When you stepped into Paris at the age of nineteen, you didn’t imagine it would become your home for the next five years—but it did. You passed the entrance exam and began your studies. The first few months were tough. You missed Miyagi. You missed the crisp sound of cicadas in the summer, the quiet beauty of snow-draped mornings in the winter, the comforting taste of miso soup, and the warmth of home. Everything felt foreign—the dormitory walls, the sound of words, even the stars above you.

Still, you told yourself it was for the better.

Some days were great, especially when your teachers praised your work. Other days were marked by a single, damning silence—the kind that hurt more than any harsh critique. You’d lie awake at night, blaming yourself.

Who did you think you were, chasing this dream? You were no Oikawa Tooru. You didn’t have his tireless hard work or his ambition and would definitely never polish your instinct the way he polished his. You found yourself missing him more than when you broke up with him. You missed his curly bed hair, the lock that fell on his eyes when he was sweating after practice, his wink to you from the court after a powerful serve, the face of disgust he would make when you baked dark chocolate mousse.

Regrets invaded you; homesickness ached your heart.

Had you made a mistake leaving Japan? Had you walked away from your true love?

You were on the verge of giving up the next morning. Still, you decided to get up to attend the chocolate-making workshop with students from a year above you. Afterwards, you decided that you would talk to your director and move back to your hometown.

“Bonjour,” you murmured hesitantly. You were still struggling with French. You looked around the room and tried to remember the right orders of words to ask a question, “Est-ce que c’est là… I mean… Ici pour le classe de chocolat?”

Shit, you know “classe” is feminine, so what did you get it wrong? What are they going to think of you?

Your eyes fell on your feet. You were tired.

“Yes, welcome,” someone replied.

The words weren’t in French but in Japanese. You blinked, startled, and turned toward the voice. Your own language sounded familiar and foreign, and somehow, both felt like a lifeline.

“Well, well. Isn’t this Oikawa Tooru’s girl?”

It took a moment to place him—Tendou Satori. But you had not doubt it was him with his red hair, his thin silhouette and curled smile. Your ex-boyfriend would often refer to him as “Ushiwaka’s freak middle”, you had also heard, probably from Iwaizumi, that his nickname was “the Guess Monster”.

Class began, and Tendou ended up as your partner. He was just as sharp and quick-witted as you’d heard, but also kinder than you’d expected. After the session, you wanted to find a way to spend more time with him, so you came up with the excuse that you had a few questions about chocolate making, since it was his speciality. Instead of brushing you off, he asked if you wanted to come with him “somewhere nice”, you said yes. He led you through the Parisian subway, chatting the whole way, until you found yourself standing in front of a small Japanese restaurant tucked into a side street.

The owners welcomed you warmly. They were from Akita, just next to Miyagi, and when they placed full plates of oysters and steaming gyutan in front of you, you didn’t wait a second to bring your hands together in clap and with a grin (and a little drool at the corner of your mouth) exclaimed a loud “Itadakimasu.”

You shared a few beers and had zunda mochi for dessert. It tasted like home and more.

“It gets easier,” Tendou said as you walked along the Seine later. “You just need to find your own rhythm. Do you still want to give up?”

You opened your mouth in shock. You never talked to that guy before tonight, and still, he had been able to read you like an open book. You simply offered him a smile and a “of course not.”

The Friday evenings at the restaurant became a ritual, it was always followed by long walks by the water. Paris felt less overwhelming with Tendou around, you even came to believe that meeting him was a miracle. And so, slowly, you found yourself thinking less and less about Japan and about Oikawa.

One evening, as the two of you strolled, you tried to be discreet, but Satori noticed right away. He always noticed.

“You keep looking up,” he said, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

“It’s just… we don’t see the stars here. In Miyagi, they’re so clear and bright.”

“It’s because of the pollution.” He said matter-of-factly.

“But what do you do when they’re not here?”

“There’s water,” Tendou replied after a moment, he didn’t stop walking. “And trees, and buildings, and wind. They’re here and they’re close. You can touch them and feel them. Isn’t that better than stars?”

You smiled faintly, and the pain in your chest seemed to be relieved, even a little. “I was always scared of what Tooru would think of me. I thought, if I didn’t succeed, if I didn’t become something impressive, he’d stop walking beside me. I wanted to go to university to become a lawyer or an engineer just so he’d be proud. Am I weird for following my dream and breaking up with him instead?”

Tendou glanced at you, then grinned suddenly. “See that rat?”

Startled, you followed his gaze to a fat, black rat scurrying across the cobblestones.

“Most people hate them. Think they’re dirty and gross. But no matter what, rats keep doing their thing. People try to chase them away, kill them even, but they always come back.”

“Are you comparing me to a rat?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Rats are cute.”

“Not the ones in Paris.”

“Fair.”

You both laughed, the regrets eased.

“What I mean is,” Tendou said, almost turning serious, “there’s something you’re meant to be. It’s up to you to figure it out. But once you do, you’ll always be drawn to it. Your cakes are amazing. I think you’ve already found your path. So, stop worrying about whether that loser would have been proud of you or not.”

“He’s not a loser,” you said instinctively.

“Come on. It’s just between you and me. I know you want to say it.”

“Well…” You hesitated, “maybe he is a loser.”

“You can say it louder.”

You turned toward the Seine, cupped your hands around your mouth, and shouted, “OIKAWA TOORU IS A LOSER!”

Tendou burst out laughing again, and so did you.

That night, you went back to your dorm and, perhaps because you felt a pang of guilt, you sent Oikawa a text (because he really was not a loser, you were simply a bit heartbroken). You attached a photo of yourself in your chef’s uniform, smiling brightly.

“If you ever come to Paris, you can visit my school. We have a restaurant, and I’ll bake you milk bread.” you wrote, “I’m happy here. I hope you’re happy too.”

He replied quickly. “You’re so cool!!!(*´◡`*)” A moment later, he sent a picture of himself on a mountain peak, lying in the snow. “This was in Patagonia a few weeks ago… I got high on coca leaves. It’s supposed to help with nausea. It didn’t for me >﹏< But I’m glad to know you’re happy. I’m happy too.”

You laughed quietly at his message. You wanted to tell him more; that it was hard, and that you cried a lot, you almost wrote it down. You imagined him answering that it had been hard for him too, working even more than in high school, learning a new language, fitting in a complete different society. The two of you, maybe, weren’t so different after all. But you decided to keep those thoughts to yourself.

“Do you have one of those big white hats, like the real chefs?” he texted.

You scrolled through your photos. There was one selfie with Tendou where you were both grinning, wearing tall chef’s hats, you sent it. “This one?”

A few seconds passed before he called you.

“First Iwa-chan, now you? Traitor,” he accused. You knew he was pouting on the other side of the phone as he told you about Iwaizumi and Ushijima meeting in California. You asked for updates on his childhood friend. The call stretched on, two or three hours, his afternoon overlapping your late night.

“Shit, I have to go to my physiotherapy session. You know for my knee. I’m good though,” he added quickly. He suddenly remembered the old times in high school when you scolded him for not going to the doctor even though his knee hurt or when he forgot to apply the anti-inflammatory cream. “But I prefer when you’re the one putting it chibi-chan.” (he would always get you to do it).

“Tooru… thank you. I mean, for everything you taught me. Talent really blooms when you let it.”

This was a moment you knew you’d always remember. It was like an in-between, a raw instant and it made you feel like your universe was finally meeting his.

Stars were distant objects burning quietly in the void, destined to explode in silence.

However, they don’t explode to disappear, no, they create something new. They die and then, they are born again.

“And thank you”, he said, his voice softer now. “For teaching me to believe in myself.”

You never asked what he meant by that. Maybe he said it out of politeness. Maybe he truly meant it. Either way, you wanted to keep those words in the back of your mind forever.

Years passed, and your hard work paid off. You got an internship which turned into a permanent position at the prestigious Ritz in Paris.

Eventually, life pushed you to London. You climbed the ranks and carved out a name for yourself.

One day, Oikawa walked through the doors of your workplace in the UK, always so charming but more confident than when you met him. He was visiting from Argentina, he explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to drop by unannounced. You made him a chocolate mousse (you didn’t forget to add two extra spoons of sugar in it.)

Tendou, meanwhile, often took the train to visit you. You would always go out in the city to try the best pastries and rank them (it would usually end up with a stomach ache). He never stayed too long, but his visits would brighten your days.

You loved Europe, deeply, it had a special place in your heart now, but maybe it was time to go back, you found yourself thinking one day. Not because you’ve failed here, but because you missed Japan—its sounds, its tastes, its skies.

When you returned home, you noticed how brightly the stars in Miyagi shone, but you knew there was one, on the other side of the ocean, that shone even brighter.

Slowly, you stopped searching for stars above you. You began to think that what you have here on earth is enough. Perhaps what you’ve been seeking all this time isn’t a thousand kilometres away or in some distant universe. Maybe it’s real. Maybe it’s closer than you imagined.

Maybe it’s already within reach.

And one day, it might find its way to you (but that’s another story).

author notes: this will be the first part of a 2 parts story. i really enjoyed writing it so i might post the second part before i start writing ‘and i will wait for you (a thousand springs, a lifetime)’, my apologies 🫣

btw as a non-english native speaker i found it really challenging to write in the past tense, so i really hope the grammar and stuff is consistent, please tell me if you see mistakes <3

lots of love

Elie

[sliced-peaches]

hit it off right

Jeong Jaehyun x reader | 5.8k | friends to…?

After hearing about him for what seems like forever, you finally meet Jungwoo’s hot roommate. But it’s a lot more wholesome than anything else.

📀 now playing: say it - maggie rogers // decent - bas, amaarae // perfect places - lorde // dear to me - electric guest

a/n: seeing Jae getting drunk with YoungJi did something for me. I miss him and it’s really hard being a military wife. this is part of a larger collection coming soon, so nothing spicy. pls enjoy~

mentions of: other nct members, bff! Jungwoo, alcohol consumption, marijuana usage, light flirting, honestly tho everyone is just shy and cute and silly

A few days before the party, you’d asked Jungwoo what kind of wine his roommate liked. Since it was a celebration, you figured you should at least bring a gift.

“He told me to tell you to not bring anything.”

“How could he even know?” You whine, incredulous.

“Because I know you and your habit of balling out on people who are being celebrated.”

There’s not much you can say to that. You are known to bring a nice bottle of something that suits the taste of the one being celebrated. You love to see the joy on someone’s face when they get a tailored gift.

It’s the least you could do for someone when you notice their hard work. It feels good to appreciate someone, especially a friend like Jungwoo. It’s only natural you’d extend the perks to his roommate, right?

“You talk to your roomie about me?” You coo, poking his cheek. Setting his coffee cup down, he nods, seemingly pleased to share this piece of information with you.

“In passing. I told him you were coming, that I invited your coworker, too. I’ve gushed about her to him a few times. He just kinda smiled? Not in a weird way. Like… I don’t know. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he said he was happy to hear that. So-“

“Sounds like he’s in full support.”

Jungwoo smiles, bringing the cup back to his lips. Then he gives you a sly look over the rim before he speaks again.

“He also asked me about you.”

“What about me?”

“I guess I talk about you all the time, right? I told him about your art, all the art shows you’re in. I’m sure I’ve shown him a picture of you before, like from that time we went to the beach.”

“You showed your roommate my bikini photos?”

His eyes widen and he starts to immediately apologize when raise your hands to cut him off.

“Wait. Did he like them?”

“He… didn’t say much of anything if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Which doesn’t really mean anything, honestly. Sometimes he just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“…okay that’s a little better.”

It’s hard to imagine Jungwoo living with someone who doesn’t talk as much as he does.

The way you two often communicate is rapid-fire, dramatic, occasionally riffing off the other’s jokes. He likes to share his thoughts out loud and use you as a sounding board. You like to ramble about abstract art ideas and the special interest of the week.

Trying to picture your yap king living with someone who probably makes three facial expressions a year (says Jungwoo) makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall.

“How much have I told you about Jae? I know he’s always out, or at work so….”

His roommate’s name is Jaehyun. All you really know about him is that he’s close in age to Jungwoo, he used to be really competitive m, and that he has a cousin somewhere in Europe. Not much else past that.

“One time I was over you showed me a photo or two from when you guys were in high school. I’ve seen him in your stories too.”

“You said he was cute! I forgot about that.”

You recall a guy with dark hair and a cute bowl cut, wearing the same basketball jersey as Jungwoo. When you said cute, you were referring to their round faces and goofy hair cuts. The more recent pictures on Instagram were usually from an angle where you couldn’t really see his face, but he was always dressed nice from what you could tell.

“He was! Little cutie stranger man.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, so about that. He’s was cute but now he’s, like, super handsome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s hot. Bulked up, started dressing nicer, smells good. His jawline is insane. He should actually model. I didn’t know he was going to look like that when we grew up, you know?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Damn, you ever told him all that?”

“All the time, actually. He’s so sick of me. At this point I’m just saying something that’s objectively true. You’d be lying if you thought he was ugly. So that being said-“

He whips his head towards you, you watch a plot and scheme form in his brain. His lips curl into something devilish.

“Careful not to fall in love with my roommate, yeah?”

You blink at him, two times. Three times.

“Huh?”

His words sounded like a warning, but it feels like he very much would prefer you do the opposite.

“I just feel like he’s someone you’d fall for.”

“You’ve never seen me fall for anyone. Not once since you’ve known me.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying… I think you guys will get along well.”

“Don’t hope too hard, but I’m sure he’s lovely.”

Sighing, Jungwoo offers you a sympathetic look. You ignore it and instead check for any emails from the art festival you’re vending at later in the month. It’s not much help, as you can still feel his eyes on you.

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“I don’t think playing matchmaker with your friends is that good of an idea,” you clipped.

Right before you met Jungwoo in senior year of college, you’d been in a relationship that ended pretty badly. You were in love, and you think he was, too. At one point at least.

But when things run their course, and you stay in them too long, they start to drain you of everything.

You’d lost a lot of time and energy trying to be pretty enough, interesting enough, desirable enough to keep the spark alive. To keep his attention. But to no avail. It was like he was just waiting for you to leave.

After a while, feeling empty and settling for whatever he could toss your way was too much to bear. It was just time to let go.

It was hard when at the end, you realized he just didn’t love you like you loved him. But was too scared himself to be honest with you about it.

Heartbreak was one thing, but grieving a relationship that wasn’t all that real was another. It took you a long time to move through that pain.

Jungwoo watched you put a lot of effort into rebuilding your personality, your self worth, your confidence. He was nothing but supportive, as were your other friends, dragging you to every show in the city, joining you at a new cafe or listening to your new ideas about art you’d been neglecting. And Jungwoo’s friends were a wonderful addition to your life, as well.

It was beyond being choosy- you’d taken yourself out of the dating game altogether, focusing on work, art, your friends. Yourself.

Now you were very careful not to let anyone in and disrupt that. It’s been a beautiful life to fall back into; you’d hate to lose it to the wrong person.

Jungwoo is nothing but understanding still, squeezing your arm instead of pushing any further.

“Well, regardless, I know you’ll get along well. Even as friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, a small smile creeping back onto your face.

“Don’t look into his eyes, though, seriously. He’s something else.”

On the trip over to Jungwoos apartment your friend tells you about her day, catching you up on some work gossip and her roommates string of interesting dates.

She laughs at how engrossed you are in her words, loving how excited you are to listen to the tea. You’re asking questions, connecting dots. The entertainment is delicious.

“I’m never on shit, so I’m living vicariously through you guys,” you sigh.

“We’re on shit tonight! I’m excited to party with Jungwoo.”

You flit your eyes over to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, yes. He seems like a good person to party with. He’s always so bubbly and sweet when we go out for coffee, and always supportive of you so he’s good in my book.”

You wish she knew why you were smiling so big.

“He is a sweetheart, and a wonderful friend. I feel like you guys will get along well, I’m surprised we haven’t all gone out before.”

Pulling your phone out, you open your camera to check for a lipgloss reapplication when text from Jungwoo comes through.

woo-ah: 🎶 what’s ur ETA?🎵

“C-can I be honest with you?”

Immediately you lock your phone, adjusting your body to give her your full attention.

“Of course you can.”

She glances towards the driver, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth like she’s telling you a juicy secret.

“I think he’s gorgeous.” Her cute confession has you both giggling like schoolgirls in the back of the rideshare. “Don’t tell him, please!”

“Babe, your secret is safe with me.” You pinch your fingers together, pretending to zip your lips. “You wanna hear a secret?”

Her eyes widen in anticipation.

“I think he thinks you’re cute, too.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“Let’s just say I have insider info.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

you: appx 4 min 🤠

woo-ah: 🪩🕺🫶🏼

You lock arms with your friend as you lead the way into the apartment building, being here enough times to know what floor and that the right elevator is faster than the left.

She’s talking about the book her roommate just recommended her as you get to Jungwoos floor. You even ask her to send you a text, saying that she should start a bookclub as you rap your knuckles on the door.

Jungwoo opens the door, moving to hug you both and welcome you into the apartment.

“Come in, come in!”

Music is playing from a speaker, and a chorus of voices comes from the living room.

You walk ahead of Jungwoo and your friend, who are exchanging thank you’s for invitations and gifts of alcohol, and a chorus of voices welcomes you in the living room.

Doyoung and Donghyuck practically race and slide around in their socks to hug you and kiss you on the forehead and you pull them in for a haphazard group hug.

“Long time no see!” Doyoung clasps his hands together. “It’s so nice to have us all together at one time.”

“What a mom, we’re here to get shitfaced.” Donghyuck teasing Doyoung is secretly something you live for, but you pretend to defend Doyoung from him.

“Let us get a few drinks in before you start shit talking him, damn!”

The guys make sure you’re introduced to the rest of their friends, the ones you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. You’ve heard all their names in conversation, usually when talking about some social event or fun times they had back in school. It was wonderful to finally put names to faces, and they were more than happy to do the same for you.

“Jungwoo finally brought you around!” Renjun and Jaemin cheer. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

You blush under all the affection from them.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you guys.”

“Come on, you have to try the cocktail YangYang made.”

Dragging you into the kitchen, you’re flooded by more introductions, jokes and insanely loud laughter, and it feels like you’ve been doing this for years with them already.

YangYang passes you a glass, a sliced lemon garnishing the side and all. You take one sip, then immediately take another. “Wow, this is delicious. Thank you!”

“There are three kinds of liquors in there,” he says, shooting you an apologetic look. “All light, but they told me I had to get everyone drunk, so-“

Before he can even try to apologize, stop him.

“That’s my kind of drink, then!” And you propose a toast with whoever’s in the kitchen.

The cheers begin to die down when someone walks into the kitchen.

Jungwoo has a lot of attractive friends. You knew this from the jump. He’s a model, he had model friends, friends who were in entertainment and the arts. From seeing whoever was on his Instagram story every few weeks, to getting drinks with everyone else occasionally, you’d gotten very used to being surrounded by pretty men.

Jungwoo did not prepare you well enough for Jeong Jaehyun.

“It’s our boy! Congratulations!”

The kitchen erupts into more greetings and well wishes as the man of the hour had just arrived. You sit back as everyone moves into pat him on the back, hug him or, like Donghyuck, kiss him right on the cheek.

Everyone’s voices just turn into background noise as you take him in.

He smiles the most beautiful smile you’ve ever been blessed enough to witness, and you have to force yourself to take a large sip of your drink so not to gawk at him.

Renjun and Jaemin motion for you to come closer, and you use the one solid second you have to steel your nerves as you step closer to them.

Jaemin slings his arm around you. “Jae, have you met our girl yet?”

Renjun playfully shakes his arm. “Jungwoo has been keeping her from us for eons.”

Jaehyun takes a step closer to you. He’s tall, much taller than you, so you have to tilt your head back to fully look at him.

And what a sight to see.

Jaehyun smiles again, a little shy but just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, smile so sincere and kind like he’s smiling at someone he’s known for years.

Extending his hand out to you, he wants to greet you properly. Shakily you place your smaller hand in his. But instead of shaking your hand, he uses both hands to gently hold it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The baritone voice almost knocks you on your ass.

Taking take a moment to will some confidence, some chill to come through when you speak, you swallow and push your shoulders back.

“You as well, Jaehyun. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?”

It’s taking everything in you to sound normal and relaxed, unfazed by this man.

He cocks his head to the side and laughs, his nose crinkling and smile lines that resemble whiskers making themselves visible. The sight makes your head spin.

“A very long time.” He releases your hand, and you place it against the side of your glass hoping it will absorb some of the heat from the exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

With your resolve expiring in seconds, you’re so thankful for Jungwoo making his way into the kitchen. While he introduces your work friend to Jaehyun, you shuffle out the kitchen alongside Renjun and Jaemin.

You sit on the armrest of the couch, listening to them bicker over what game the party should play first, remembering how to breathe.

Jaehyun quietly settles into a chair for one close to you, tuning into the commotion. He doesn’t make a move towards you, and you’re glad even if just for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you take him in.

Handsome isn’t the right word to use, you think. He’s dressed clean and simple, nice jeans and a white t-shirt. The side profile is something unreal, perfect chiseled features but his face still soft and welcoming. His dark hair is slightly pushed back, a few stands falling over his forehead. He leans forward to tap Jaemin on the shoulder, complimenting him on ‘how big he’s gotten’ at the gym, with the younger preening under his praise.

Just in the short time in the same room, it’s clear that Jaehyun is like a big brother. And from what Jungwoo has told you is super sweet and caring. That alone makes you want to know him more, and makes him all the more attractive.

Looking over at you, he offers you a small smile which you mirror to avoid coming off as awkward. Noticing that you are both nursing the same drink, he raises his glass towards you for a small toast.

“To you and the summer,” you offer, raising your glass as you do so.

“I can drink to that.”

You take another large swig of your drink, hoping after the third your nerves can handle more than two sentences next time.

It’s silly, you think, to be this affected by a man. An attractive one, yes. But just a man. A friend of a friend, even.

Jungwoo’s words echo in the back of your mind, that he thought you and Jaehyun would get along well. Part of you doesn’t want to prove him right, but another part of you wonders if getting along with Jaehyun wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

So you try your best to start and make conversation.

“I heard about your promotion, congratulations!”

“Ah thank you,” he says, smiling into his cup. “It’s actually more of a career change.”

“Really? What are you going to be doing?”

He takes a minute to respond, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard in the first place. Before you can repeat yourself, however, he’s speaking again.

“I’m… writing music. Singing some, too. For me and for others.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be working with Taeyong a lot, in his studio.”

Eyebrows raising, you lean in a bit.

“You sing, Jaehyun?”

“Sometimes.” He takes a drink. “I write stories on artists, interview people in music. Do some editing. The company I work for was really cool about letting me try different things, I really liked working for them.”

There’s a moment where you’re not sure if he’s going to speak again, and right when you think you should ask another question he continues.

“But I always wanted to sing my own songs, produce my own work. My current line of business has its perks, a lot of connections too. So I’ve been working on my own stuff on the side.”

You didn’t peg him as someone in performance- he’s so pretty you’re surprised he isn’t a model or an actor honestly. But he doesn’t seem to be anything anyone would think at first glance.

“That’s so exciting. Especially working with friends, I like Taeyongie’s music. And ’m really happy to hear you’re able to chase after your dream.”

“Thank you, I’m excited to share.”

He looks at you through his eyelashes as he takes another drink.

So we’re both trying to numb our nerves, you thought to yourself.

“I hope I get to hear some music from you soon.”

He casts another smile your way, and that’s when you know the liquor is kicking in because it doesn’t send you reeling this time.

“I hope you do, too. Soon.”

“Shots?”

Everyone gathers around in the living room, passing small glasses around to those partaking in alcoholic festivities tonight. You pass one to Jaehyun, who holds it up against the light.

“I haven’t taken a shot in a long time.”

“I got you the good shit, Jae.” Jungwoo holds up two expensive bottles. “Whiskey? Or gin?”

“Oh shit… let’s do the gin. Sticking with lights tonight.”

He asks for your preference, and you do the same.

Jungwoo opens the bottle of gin and pours the first round of shots for the night. After he pours his own, he holds his glass up for a toast.

“I know this is, like, the fourth toast of the night but it probably won’t be the last if I’m being honest.”

Taeyong groans. “I’m betting on at least seven in total.”

“Those are rookie numbers,” YangYang yells out, the younger boys cackling and suggesting higher numbers.

“Anyway!” Jungwoo bangs the gin bottle on the coffee table. “This is the emotional one. It’s the end of the summer and I hate to see her go. But we’re moving into fall, and falling into our new lives-“

Donghyuck pretends to yawn.

“Dude shut up, it’s just Jaehyun-”

“I’m not finished!” And he taps the bottle again, your head falling against the back of the couch in silent laughter. “Thank you all for being part of another summer and thank you guys for coming to celebrate one of my closest, oldest friends.”

“Literally.”

Doyoung throws a pillow at Donghyuck and motions for Jungwoo to continue.

Jungwoo turns to Jaehyun, who’s made his way onto the couch alongside you and your friend. “I’m happy to see you make your wildest dreams come true. I can’t wait to see you become the sexy superstar you were always meant to be. Cheers!”

The room is full of cheers and then groans from knocking back shots with no chasers, but it’s a pleasant burn as it slides down your throat.

You blow a kiss at Jungwoo, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “Your speech was beautiful. Very moving.”

The next hour is filled with mini beer pong (players had to sip water instead of alcohol, many thanks to Doyoung), stories about the boys time in school or how some of them met their partners, and shared soju.

The boys complain that he’ll cheat if he plays so instead Jaehyun shares a strong bottle of peach soju, his favorite, with you and your coworker.

At first, it’s very cute to just watch Jaehyun laugh at all of his friends antics. He enjoys listening, occasionally cracking a few jokes or making funny noises. But he’s more than happy to settle back into the couch and observe.

But he’s also big on being a good host, even if he’s the one being celebrated- if he isn’t offering you another drink he’s offering to grab something from the kitchen for you. They’re small but clear gestures to make sure his couch neighbors are as comfortable as he is.

He’s laid back and quiet but attentive- it has you swooning a bit. It’s a contrast to the rest of the men in the apartment, who are also sweet but characteristically loud and rambunctious. You love it, but it’s fascinating to watch Jaehyun hum and giggle to himself rather than dominate a conversation.

After you clear the second soju bottle and Jungwoo has wedged himself between you and your friend, you think you hear Jaehyun giggle beside you.

“What’s so funny?” You laugh, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He just shrugs, cheeks beginning to flush from the alcohol. He’s pretty like this, you think.

“Are you a silly drunk, Jae?” You tease, catching the attention of Donghyuck.

“Oh man, he’s gonna start getting real silly soon.” The younger man comes to sit on the armrest closest to Jaehyun, affectionately brushing his hair off his forehead. He weakly tries to swat Donghyucks hand away.

“I’m not silly,” he tries to argue, way too cute and whiny compared to the man you met just two hours ago.

“You’re sooo silly right now,” Donghyuck laughs. “She’s going to have to take care of you soon!”

His eyebrows shoot up and he tries to sit straighter, attempting to coolly settle against the back of the couch. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m-“

“Come get some air with us!” Jaemin and Donghyuck pull him up by his arms, with little to no resistance from Jaehyun. He just rolls his eyes as they pull him to his feet.

Jaemin cheers, pushing him towards the sliding door to the deck.

Looking over his shoulder, he nods at you. “Need anything while I’m up?”

You wave him off towards the door.

“No, I’m okay. Go get some air.”

With you beaming up at him, Jaehyun swears the room has gotten a few degrees hotter. The air will do him good.

Jaehyun finds you in the kitchen later, just finishing one of the cookies someone brought. You pass one to him and he finishes it in one bite.

“How many drinks in are you?”

“Shit… I’m at about four. Not including that shot.”

“I think I’m at about the same,” he says, shuffling closer to you at the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

There’s a moment of silence that you share, watching all of his and Jungwoos friends (and yours now) fill up the apartment with laughter (and some screaming- Renjun set Mario Kart up on the tv).

Your heart swells knowing how loved Jungwoo is, as well as Jaehyun.

But then it dawns on you that you haven’t seen Jungwoo or your friend in a while. Before you can mention that to Jaehyun, he bumps his hip against yours.

The alcohol might not have been enough to turn the alarms off in your brain yet, but your body is slow to react to him essentially snuggling into your side. He’s warm, and he smells warm too. Like a vanilla candle. There’s something else you can’t place, but it’s more than pleasant.

“I have to tell you a secret.” He whispers, and it’s cute and kind of whiny.

“A secret?” You say, barely over a whisper. He nods slowly, looking into the crowd.

He can’t see shit, in all honesty.

“I may or may not be a little crossed.”

“That’s what I smell on you?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Just like that, he’s a little more self conscious than he is silly. He smells his shirt in a few different places, earning a laugh from you.

“No, you’re fine. It’s because you’re so close that I can smell it.” He sighs and laughs almost at himself. “Is that where you and the boys went?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually smoke but it’s something like a special occasion.”

“Absolutely it is. You deserve it.”

He simply hums, letting a a few seconds pass before he speaks again.

“You smoke?”

“Weed? Rarely.”

“Cigs?”

“Not once in my life.”

“Good for you, we’re all nicotine addicts in here.”

“Vape away, I could never judge.”

At that you both turn towards the other at the same time, chests inches apart.

His eyes are low from the weed, the whites tinted red. He’s looking down at you, a silly, boyish grin on his lips. You can’t help but blush under his gaze, lips curving into a grin of their own.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” His voice is soft, barely audible. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning into him, wishing to hear him a little louder.

“Of course, I had to support the homie. And play wingman.”

He tilts his head back to glance around the room , the realization hitting him then.

“Oh shit, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Then I guess I did a good job. I barely did anything but whatever.”

He laughs, voice deep and rumbly. “You did great.”

He leans onto the counter, his arm resting closing to where your hip sits against the edge. He slowly shifts his eyes back over to you, looking over your frame. Just once, even his sluggish brain is careful not to get ahead of itself.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

“I am too.” Your skin is on fire under his intense gaze. It’s not so much intense as it is just so warm, so amiable. You deflect to take some of the heat off of you, quite literally. “Jungwoo talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What does he say?”

That you’re so fucking handsome and I’d be stupid to lie and disagree.

“That you don’t say too much, but you’re a really good friend.”

A surprised look washed over his face, then he turns sheepish.

“He’s…… that’s sweet of him.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck, thinking on his next words as carefully as his crossed mind will allow him. “I’m glad you’re his friend. He needs someone like you.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who isn’t as shy as him.”

“Haha, you think I don’t get shy?” It’s funny when you think back on how nerve wracking is was to shake his hand for the first time.

But he’s just giving you this knowing look now, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“If you do, you hide it well.” You could scream. Can he see right through you? “But seriously. You push him to do well.”

Jaehyun is slow to speak, but even inebriated he’s intentional. Something you’ve learned in just the past few hours about him is that it may take him a while to get his thoughts out, but it’s more than worth it to hear what he has to say.

You hang on to every pause like your life depends on it, eager to hear what comes out of his mouth next.

“Before you guys worked together, he was a lot more… reserved. And passive? Like, he’s good at everything he does. We know this. But… he never really sought recognition.”

“You’re right. But he deserves it.”

He nods while he thinks on his next words.

“Yeah. I remember in school he was just happy to pass and be included in things. Never attracted much attention to himself. Never wanted to be in the spotlight. But since working with you, he’s become proud of the work he does. His confidence has grown. He’s louder. Funnier. You pushed him a lot.”

“That’s all him, he works hard-“

“He does, you pushed him though. When he finally started modeling last year all he could do was say how thankful he was for you. How you encouraged him, helped him with headshots. Went shopping with him and made sure he felt good going into auditions. And it took off.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“He… he said that? Really?”

“He did. You’ve been a very good friend to him.”

Blinking away the tears that started to pinprick behind your eyes, you smile at Jaehyun whose own eyes are filled with mirth. Even cross faded, Jaehyun’s words were so sincere and kind.

“Are you crying?”

You sniffle, using your thumbs to collect any tears in the corner of your eyes so not to ruin your makeup.

“I was gonna but I’m okay.”

He laughs that hearty laugh again and ruffles your hair. It’s such a small gesture, but so comfortable. Domestic even. Like you’ve been friends for years. It makes your heart even fuller than it already is and if he keeps it up, it’ll burst before the end of the night.

The alcohol coursing through you is doing nothing but spread this warmth, double time. Happiness feels good coursing through you.

“Let’s get some water, yeah?” He cocks his head toward the fridge. “Doyoung brought some sparkling water.”

You begin to follow him as he takes a few steps backwards. “What flavor?”

“We have…” He starts, opening the door to the fridge. “I can barely see. Wow.”

“Move, I’ll look.”

You hip check him out of the way, and hear someone come into the kitchen behind you.

“I’m no better, but this looks like ginger peach. And calamansi.”

“Pass me a calamansi, please? You want a sparkling water, Taeyong?”

“Do you think it’s a good mixer for gin?” He asks, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear.

Then, that someone yells out: “Another round of shots?”

Laughing, you hand Jaehyun his sparkling water, and pass a ginger and peach flavored water to Taeyong. “Let’s find out, yeah?”

More cheering is heard as you shuffle back into the living room and let Doyoung pour the next round of shots.

He’s a sweetheart and pours the shots right into you and Taeyongs cans, Jaehyun sneakily placing a sealed water bottle next to your foot.

It’s well into the night, the hour a single digit when the party starts to die down.

Jungwoo is in the loveseat for one and a half, your friend snuggled into his side.

You’ve found yourself back on the couch with Jaehyuns head resting on your shoulder and one of his legs swung over Taeyongs. Miraculously, Donghyuck has found a way to lay across you all comfortably.

“I’m going to order a ride home for us soon,” your friend says through a yawn. Donghyuck is already whining, earning some light smacks from the older boys under him.

“We’re so comfy, why would you want to mess up our cuddle pile?

“I’m not cuddling, I’m being leaned on,” you tease, grinning down at Jaehyun who can barely hold his eyes open. He’s trying his best to focus on one of your faces because he sees three, but he’s not complaining.

“Hm… my bad.” He moves to sit up, but Donghyuck just nestles into him even further, and Jaehyun can’t seem to muster up enough strength to (care) knock him into the floor. “I really… I really did try.”

Jaehyun has hit peak silly hours. From little hums and cute noises to the worst dad jokes you’ve heard in a while, you understand what Donghyuck meant earlier. Jaemin and Jungwoo even got him to cutely pose for drunk selfies earlier.

Laughing through your nose, you use the hand that’s free to reach around and pat his cheek affectionately. In this state he instinctually leans into your touch, humming in approval. You have to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks. “Jae you gonna be alright?”

“I told you she was going to have to take care of you!” At that, he and Taeyong had enough and pushed him into the floor. He lets out a squawk as his body hits the ground with a light thud. “Fuck. It’s comfier down here anyway.”

Jungwoo slowly stands up, helping your friend to her feet. “So Donghyuck is sleeping here, literally right there. No blanket. I don’t want to see you using something weird as a replacement either.”

While the boys still present start to bicker some more, Jaehyun taps your knee to get your attention.

“I’ll be okay. Just got a little carried away.”

“You’re okay. Let’s get you to bed then?”

His eyes open a little wider, mouth parting to say something. You wait.

“Are you staying over?”

“No I’m going home tonight.”

He pouts, and it almost sends you to another dimension.

“Aw don’t make that face, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. Good.”

You call to Taeyong, who really isn’t that much better, but he does help you get Jaehyun off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

You let Taeyong handle the hard part of getting him out of his jeans and under the covers, heading to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “Jungwoo, you have any painkiller?”

“In that drawer by the stove.” He stands beside you in the kitchen. “For Jae?”

“Yeah. You want any water?”

“Nah I was good tonight. I’ll be okay.” He purses his lips. “You’re sweet for that. Taking care of him.”

“I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know… exactly what I mean.” You shake your head and walk to Jaehyun’s room, entering while Taeyong exits.

“He’s decent, just whiny.”

“Thank you, I’ll just leave this for him then.”

You approach the side of the bed where he’s sprawled out, eyes barely open but you can see them following you even in the dark.

“Brought you some water. And some painkiller. Take it when you can, yeah?”

“Hm. Tell Jungwoo to give Hyuck a blanket.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before moving to leave.

“Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Hmm…”

unknown number: hey it’s jaehyun

unknown number: jungwoo gave me your number. thanks for coming yesterday. don’t be a stranger!