#i really like how it turned out and i'm really surprised i even remember how to draw at all haha

[pucksandpebbles]

BLUE STRIPS, JH86 - PART TWO

"And I know you know what's going on I'm going home, l'ma take it off for him I'ma strip down all your wrongs, yeah" Quinn comes to town to babysit you after the stunt you'd pulled, but you've got other ideas of how his visit will play out.

READ PART ONE HERE

🚨BLUE STRIPS AU🚨

a/n: y'all showed part one a lot of love and a lovely anon suggested a continuation for this story which I took and ran with it - so enjoy! Implications and references to sex but nothing detailed.

wc: 1,8k

Quinn was furious. He stood in front of the door, blocking your exit as you faced him, dressed up and ready to go out, bag in hand and dress leaving little to the imagination. To his imagination. 

“No. No parties. No nothing.” He declared.

You smirked, he was not winning this argument, “Listen, I’m going whether you like it or not. Your choices are as follows. One, you stand your ground and have to face up to the reinforcements that I will call in, or two you let me go.”

“Not going to happen.”

Folding your arms, you sighed, “I’m sure we can come up with some sort of compromise here.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, you simply glared at him - a silent battle of wills occurring between you. 

Then, “You can go,” your face erupted into a smile, “but, I supervise.”

A win was a win. It’d be easy to get away from Quinn under the confusing and pulsing lights of the club, even more so if you could pay off one of your friends to keep him distracted all night. Revenge was a dish best served hot, burning hot, so hot that it scolded. That’s how you’d done it with Jack, and that’s how you’d do it with Quinn.

As you followed him out of the apartment and downstairs, you shook your head, remembering the truly crazy past twenty-four hours of your life.

You’d woken up to a loud, banging at your door - the aggressive noise shot your heart rate up and you’d scrambled off where you’d fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the television to the door, tugging at your night dress which barely covered the tops of your thighs in a desperate attempt to lengthen it. You checked the time on your phone, it was the early hours of the morning. Who in the hell was knocking on your door at this time? With desperate and shaking fingers, you put the key in the door and in the middle of another round of raps, you pulled the door open.

Stood in the darkened hallway was none other than Quinn. Quinn Hughes. Hair dishevelled and wearing his Canucks hoodie. Your jaw almost fell to the floor with surprise.

“Quinn, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I think the question should go more like, what the hell are you doing?” He retorted, pushing his way into the apartment. You side-stepped his movement, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at the brazeness - Jack had to get it from somewhere you guessed. 

Closing the door, you turned around to where Quinn had dropped his duffle bag on your kitchen counter, “Quinn, you should be in Michigan right now, or Vancouver. I don’t really care. But you have no business here.”

“My business here is you. What the hell were you thinking at that bar?!”

You folded your arms over your chest, spitting back, “I was thinking I wanted to get over Jack by getting under someone new. Didn’t know I needed your permission for that. I am an adult, I can do what I like of my own free will. So you can leave.”

Taking off his jacket, and leaning against the counter top, Quinn shot back, “No actually, I’ll be baby-sitting you until further notice. What you did was reckless and dangerous.”

You scoffed, turning your head to the side. Not caring if you looked stroppy or petulant. Quinn couldn’t just come storming in, berate you and then refuse to leave and seemingly prevent you from having any further fun. Well, the joke was about to be on him. Without a word, you returned back to your place on the sofa, pulling out your phone and the groupchat with the girls. What you said was simple, concise and bound to get you in trouble with Mother Quinn. But so what, he’d signed himself up on the ride.

You: Fancy a round two, girls?

The uber ride was silent. Quinn was shifty and awkward and you felt jittery being stone-cold sober as you began to approach the club. Without the aid of the liquid courage, you’d probably have never been into a club before, the loud noises and flashing lights had a tendency to spike your heart rate and make you shaky and nervous.

Your legs wobbled slightly as you got out of the uber, Quinn took your hand, helping you down.

“It’s the heels,” You smiled, but you had a terrible feeling that he could see right through you.

You met the girls inside, hastily knocking back a couple shots to shake off the feeling that was beginning to settle into your bones.

After the first couple of rounds, the dance floor was your destination. Although you just couldn’t relax, feeling the glare of Quinn hot against your skin. You groaned, turning to your friend,

“I need someone to get rid of him for me.”

“Why is he even here?” She shouted back over the hard beat of the music.

You shook your head, brushing your hair off your shoulders and the way it was already beginning to stick to the back of your neck. 

In response, you yelled back, “Baby-sitting me apparently, after the stunt I pulled on Jack the other night.”

She rolled her eyes, continuing to shake her hips to the country song blasting over the speakers. You watched as she glanced over at where he was standing by the bar and then her gaze flickered back to you.

“You know what I would do if I were you?”

Your eyes sparkled with interest, you leaned in closer as she whispered in your ear, “Get with him.”

“Who, Quinn? I can’t!”

She knocked shoulders with you, a horrible teasing smirk on her face, “Sure you can, the opportunity is staring you right in the face.”

You paused, looked over your shoulder at him.

She continued, a smile flashing across her face, “Think about how pissed off Jack would be. Plus, I’m sure the sex is great.”

“I-” You tried to come up with an excuse but you couldn’t. The last time you’d refused to listen, you’d ended up looking at pictures of Jack getting back out there while you sobbed into your cup of coffee. 

“It’s petty, but it’s brilliant.” You relented.

She sighed, throwing her hands up in celebration, “Finally you listen!”

“But what makes you think he’s down?”

“Girl, the way he looks at you? That man wants it bad.”

She pushed your chest, spinning you around and sending you through the crowd, with a final whisper in your ear.

“Go get him girl.”

You slunk your way through the crowd, trying to avoid a drunken stranger bumping into you with a full cup of whatever. Your eyes locked onto Quinn, he was watching, looking right at you as you moved towards him. When you finally reached him, leaning on the bar next to him, you said, 

“You gonna drink something or are you gonna stare at me dancing all night.”

He shook his head stoically, scoffing a little but it just came out defensive, “I am not staring.”

You smirked, leaning in a little further, “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know I have a great ass.”

A moment elapsed, his mouth was stuck open a little as if he was trying to speak but nothing was coming out. 

He turned away from you, looking back into the swarm of people on the dance floor. His recovery was weak, you knew that, “I was not staring.”

Knowing you’d hit the jackpot, you already had him hooked, you leaned in to whisper in his ear, “If you want a piece of it, all you have to do is ask.”

He reeled around, shaking his head, voice harsh, “You are my brother’s ex-girlfriend. Jack’s ex-girlfriend. I cannot-”

“-fuck me. Sure you can Quinn.”

He countered, “It’s weird.”

“What is it they say?” You smiled, cocking your head to the side, “The heart wants what it wants. 

Both of you are shaking. It’s a need now, this wanting is taking over you and you know Quinn feels the way the energy in the room seems to pulse around you two. 

It’s only a second, when he leans in, breath warm and hovering just above your cupid’s bow - you’ve barely had time to process how fast he’s moved. You can’t help but hold your breath as you face each other, barely apart but not even touching. Then you meet, he moves in, slow and fast all at once and it’s like lightning has struck your body, you feel electric where his lips meet yours. His hands press onto your hips and they tingle with the sensation of how his warm fingers grip your flesh. They move upwards as he tongues further into your mouth. One hand brushes away your blonde hair and cups your jaw. You sigh as he kisses you - leaning back into it. When he pulls away, gently, you immediately want more, instantly addicted to his taste. A small whine escapes you.

“You’re not too drunk for this are you?”

You smile, “Trust me, I’m not.”

“Good.”

It was a scramble from there to get in an uber and back to your apartment. Your kisses were hot and messy in the car, as he thumbed at the skin of your bare thighs visible below the short hem of your dress. The contact and simultaneous lack of it was driving you crazy. By the time you were laid out on your bed, he’d already reduced you to yelps and whines. 

The whole drunken affair was something else. As you writhed on the bed under him, you silently prayed for your poor neighbours who could almost certainly hear your moans and cries through the wall. But Quinn was loving it, and your friend was not wrong - the sex was the best you’ve ever had. Mad and full of passion in a way you’d never experienced before. You forgot about revenge on Jack and how heartbroken you’d been only a few days earlier and simply lost yourself in Quinn.

Until the next morning.

It was the obnoxious ringtone of Quinn’s phone that stirred the both of you, bare limbs sticky and tangled up in each other. Wearily, Quinn grabbed it and accepted the call.

You could hear the yelling voice through the phone from where you were laid on Quinn’s chest. It was Jack. Of course.

“You fucked her? You fucked my ex-girlfriend?!”

Without thinking, you grabbed the phone from Quinn’s hand and said into it, “Yes, he did, thank you.” 

Then, simply hung up. You let the phone fall into the white sheets. You and Quinn looked at each other. You whispered,

“What the hell did we just do?”

And yet, you didn’t regret it. Not for one second.

[campingwiththecharmings]

The Set Up

AN: Inspired by a prompt from this list. I'm not sure how I feel about this as it didn't turn out the way I wanted but I'm posting it anyway lol. Happy Star Wars Day! May the 4th Be With You 😊

(Un-beta’d)

Your friends set you up with The Perfect Guy™️

Rated: M-ish (very, VERY slight, honestly just rating it this just in case lmao) Words: 1,218 Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader (pretty sure it's GN, please let me know if that's incorrect) Warnings: References to sex but no overt sexual content, awkwardness, drinking/tipsiness, mentions of past drunkenness, please let me know if I missed anything. AO3

——————

“Let us set you up,” they’d said. “It’ll be so fun,” they’d said. “We have the perfect guy for you,” they'd said.

The Perfect Guy. Right.

Just so happens you’ve already dated this particular Perfect Guy.

Well, maybe “dated” wasn’t the right word. “Had a history with,” maybe? Or, more like “shared a bed with”...

It was late last year, after one of many missions in the Outer Rim. You’d been having a drink at the Cantina, drowning your sorrows after the loss of a friend. He’d been doing the same for similar reasons. You’d gotten to chatting, commiserating, slinging back drink after drink, and had soon ended up outside Poe’s quarters sloppily making out against the door. He’d been solid, and warm—and such a good kisser—and Maker, you’d just needed the comfort he was offering. So, you’d slept together. You don’t remember too much, just flashes here and there, but it must’ve been awful because the next morning, he was nowhere to be found. You’d been embarrassed to say the least but thankfully you didn’t really run in the same circles. You’d never told anyone about it and it appeared he hadn’t either, so you’d just tried to forget about it.

“Poe,” you say, voice shaking slightly. “Long time no see.”

He has the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable, which gives you some hope that he’s not a complete nerf herder. 

“About that–”

You cut him off with a hand, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He pauses, lips still parted. He nods after a moment, briefly averting his gaze.

An awkward silence falls between you before he breaks it with a question. “Still drink spice rum?”

Your eyes widen a little in surprise—he remembered your preferred drink? “Oh, um, yes.”

He smiles gesturing toward the bar. “Can I get you one?”

After a moment’s hesitation, you nod. So, this date was still on then?

He returns and hands you the glass of rum, just the smell of it putting you a little more at ease. “Thanks.”

Silence falls between you again, but it’s less awkward somehow. 

“How’s BB-8?” you ask, gingerly sipping on your drink.

Poe’s eyes light up at the mention of his droid and it kind of warms your heart a little. “He’s good, thanks. Just got back from a mission in the Mid Rim so he’s getting cleaned up by the techs at the moment.”

You nod, trying to make yourself relax a little. “So the mission was successful then? I know you can’t go into details but…”

He nods enthusiastically, his mouth otherwise occupied with his Jet Juice. “Yes, definitely successful.”

“Good,” you reply, wetting your lips.

Poe’s gaze briefly drops to your mouth and your skin heats. You swallow hard, the memory of what kissing him felt like popping into your mind unbidden.

Kriffing hell, you had to get out of here.

But you don’t, instead choosing to torture yourself with more awkward conversation. You talk about a lot of things, but none of it feels natural. Not even after four spice rums. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he offers you an out, explaining that he has an early call tomorrow. Relieved, you jump to your feet, swaying a little, your head spinning a little. Maker, maybe four spice rums was too many on an empty stomach…

You feel Poe’s hands on your shoulders as he tries to help steady you, a concerned look on his face. 

“You okay?”

You chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “I think I just…stood up too fast.”

He looks unconvinced but doesn’t try to stop you as you move to walk away from the table you’d been sitting at, your legs feeling like jelly. 

“Hey, um, maybe I should walk you back?” he offers, eyebrows raising hopefully.

You shake your head, then immediately regret it, the quick movement making the room spin.

“Okay,” you hear Poe say, his warm, strong hands steadying you once more. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”

He threads your arm through his, his voice soft as he directs you to wrap your fingers around his forearm for more balance. It gets better the longer you walk, your feet less clumsy, the room less…spinny. You’re pretty much back to normal by the time you make it to your quarters.

Wordlessly, you key the door code in, the familiar snick of the door opening reaching your ears.

“Thanks for walking me back,” you tell him softly, staring resolutely at your feet.

“Of course, anytime,” he says, slowly releasing you from his hold. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you chuckle breathlessly, stealing a brief glance at him. “Just a little embarrassed.”

He tsks, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside the door. “Embarrassed? What for? Not like I haven’t seen you drunk before.”

You snort, shaking your head at the low blow. “This is true.”

He’s smiling when you finally meet his eyes, the tension between you thawing slightly. You stare at each other for a moment, Poe’s face shifting before he looks away. He chews his lip, drawing your attention as he says, “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it but—”

“I still don’t,” you interject, averting your gaze once more. “Look, I get it. It was bad. Let’s  just…be adults and move on, okay?”

Poe’s brow furrows at your words. “What was bad?”

You scoff, not daring to meet his gaze. “You know.”

“I really don’t,” he argues, sounding genuinely perplexed.

You sigh, annoyance flickering in your chest. “The sex obviously.”

“Y–you thought it was bad?” he asks after a beat, stepping a little closer to you.

His proximity forces you to meet his eyes.

“You’re the one that left,” you whisper, swallowing thickly as you begin to walk into your room. “Good night, Poe.”

His hand on your bicep halts your progress and you snap your head back toward him, the quick movement making the hallway spin for a moment. 

“You were the one that left.”

Your mouth opens and closes wordlessly before you respond. “What?”

Poe leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your cheek. “I left to go get breakfast for both of us and when I came back, you were gone.”

No, that’s…that’s not possible…Is it? 

“I–,” you begin, exhaling heavily. “When I woke up, you were gone. So I thought—-”

He curses under his breath, releasing your arm as he runs a hand through his curls. “Listen, I would never—,” He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. “I’m so sorry you woke up alone.”

His words ignite a spark in your chest, the warmth of it permeating, spreading out toward your fingertips. “Thanks.”

“Could we—,” he begins, wetting his lips. “Could we maybe start over?”

You smile softly, meeting his earnest brown eyes. “I think I’d like that.”

He smiles back, relieved.

—

The next date you have ends in Poe's quarters again, but this time you remember every second—every kiss, every sigh, every brush of skin against skin. It's so good. He makes sure you know he's still there in the morning, too, waking you up with his head between your thighs.

Maybe your friends were right, maybe he is actually The Perfect Guy.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

[mgu-h]

Feeling so hopeless after this race. I sat through oscar winning 3 races in a row and its only race no. 6 I can’t take it anymore. Exactly whats the point of having superior pace when other drivers are happy and willing to push you into a wall and your own boss doesnt care to support you? All the while the lando discourse has reached generational levels of toxic. It’s damned if you do, damned if you definitely don’t. How are you handling this?

I'm really sorry to hear that F1 has got you down!! 🫂 I'm feeling pretty okay about things actually, optimistic even, and I know that's not the vibe of the fandom right now, but it's based on what I've seen of Lando's performance and the quality of the car. It's early May, and the last race of the year is in December, that's how many points are left on the table. There's eight race weekends before summer break, we're not even halfway there, and Lando's only improving. He won the sprint and got P2, qualified ahead of Oscar, which all means he had a very encouraging weekend after Jeddah. It could have been better, sure, definitely, but I don't dwell in the realm of coulda-shoulda-woulda, you know? I take the results and move on.

You have to remember that last year Max went into Imola 33 points clear of Checo, and 60 points clear of Lando, and the season still almost slipped away from him. Yes, Oscar has won four races, but Lando has only won one, and yet he is only 16 points behind, less than one DNF from Oscar away from getting ahead, because his results have been so consistently strong. Three P2s, a P3, and the only time he was off the podium it was a P4. Qualifying for races is 3-3, neck and neck. He is clearly happier with his control of the car, and is very close to putting together those essential Q3 laps. If he'd not lost pole to Max, I think he would have won Miami by a mile, but he did lose pole, and that hurt his race. His pace was tremendous, and he got P2, the ultimate damage limitation.

If you're curious, here are my way to stay sane and enjoy F1 as a Lando fan: I do not check the tags on here, I turned off 'based on your likes', I've blocked a lot of antis, I've filtered names of blogs that I don't want to block but have harsh or upsetting takes. I mostly follow people who post pictures of Lando or fanfic about him. I am not on twitter, not on tiktok, not on instagram. I check F1 news at most once a day, and on sites I trust to be pretty factual and neutral, not opinion based, often AP. I basically do everything I can to focus on Lando himself. Right now I'm watching a half an hour long interview with him, and enjoying it so much. He's a smart, nice, earnest, and talented guy. I don't ever think about Oscar on purpose, don't worry about team PR, don't think about rumors. The media say a lot and it means very little.

I want Lando to win the WDC this year more than anything, of course I do. I'd be really sad for him for him to miss out on this golden opportunity, and even more sad if his teammate, a driver that I am at best neutral toward, wins it. BUT. Zoom out. I think Lando is going to be in the sport for a long time, I hardly think he's at risk of leaving it. He's a multiple race winner, who took his team to the WCC last year, and is consistently on the podium this year. If this ends up not being his year, I'm still going to enjoy watching him on track, as I know he's going to keep putting in good drives. It won't be the end of my world, or his world, if he has to try again in 2026. I believe he can do it, he's in prime position to go on a run of his own, and Oscar has had ups and downs in his momentum as well. We have to wait and see, and I'm a patient person.

I understand why people are upset with McLaren's leadership and PR. I do see what signals they are taking and extrapolating toward catastrophe, but I would be genuinely, deeply surprised if the things people are saying are really true. McLaren simply does not have deep enough pockets to both buy out Lando's expensive, long-term contract, AND pay for the most expensive driver in the sport to join, that's even if Max is interested. Lando is hardly performing like DR in terms of lack of points, the team is getting 1-2s and leading the championship by far. There's simply no reason for them to spend that much money. It's so unlikely I would be genuinely astonished at how irrational it would be if it happened. I think Lando needs to win a couple races, take back some momentum, and everyone will forget that this was even a thing to speculate about.

It will be ok 🫂

[spirk-fic-recs]

hiii i dont know if youll be able to find this bc its kind of a basic premise and i havent been able to track it down for the life of me, but. it was on ao3, and it was a classic tos friends to lovers with a focus on them sharing a bathroom. i believe it was spocks pov because the clearest scene i remember is them brushing their teeth at the same time like in bring it on and spock remarks how kirk brushes his teeth illogically while spock like holds his electric toothbrush on each tooth for 5 seconds exactly or something like that. thank you for being a resource for this at all regardless of the results, ive checked for blogs that do this before and havent found any. 🫶🫶🫶🫶

Hey @miserabelmagical! Unfortunately I was not able to find it, but thank you for the ask, regardless. The search led me to some really cute fics, THEY JUST REALLY DONT HAVE THE TOOTHBRUSH THINGYYY :<<<< Anyways, thanks for your kind words! And though I might not have found it, take these recs that you can add to your domestic spirk archive:

Move on in and Make [Room for] Love (TOS/AOS, 12544 words) by TheLadysBlush

A recently bonded Jim and Spock begin sharing quarters on a full-time basis. Fills a charming prompt by SoldierGirl called “Shackin’ Up.”

This fic has everything you were looking for (except the toothbrush scene ughhhh) -- getting to know each other in close quarters, plus just the cutest domestic fluff! Knowing your partner's quirks, now that you share a room all the time. Closest match I could find.

warm (TOS, 2014 words) by Sir_Bedevere

"You're going to look after me?" Jim said, suddenly a little shy. Jim Kirk, shy? He must be more tired than he thought. "Come," Spock said, turning on his heel and leading the way to the bathroom. "I will administer to your needs." After a tough day in the field, Jim is feeling more than a little overwhelmed when Spock offers to help him through it.

Spock's bangs (TOS/AOS, 1702 words) by kotekru

Spock likes to keep his hair neat and trimmed to perfection, so after a long away mission he locks himself in his bathroom to cut his hair. Enter stage left: Jim. What happens will shock you!

Sweet dreams (I love you) (TOS, 4190 words) by decidedlynotheterosexual

After a late night working in Spock’s quarters, Kirk falls asleep in Spock’s bed. It becomes a habit. Or, Spock and Kirk fall softly in love with each other, even though they’ve loved each other all along.

I Have Been, and Shall Always Brie, Your Friend (TOS, 2356 words) by Pseudonym677

Captain Kirk goes to Mr. Spock's quarters for their nightly, completely professional game of chess, and finds a surprise waiting for him. And even more surprising is the logic behind it.

And there's that! I'm really sorry I wasn't able to find what you were looking for, and that you enjoy these stories I've collated regardless :D Happy reading! -M

If anyone is familiar with the fic, don't hesitate to reply to this post and help our friend out:)

[mahajio]

Hey, I remember this comic! I am beyond happy to see this absolute gem polished to perfection and packed with so much beautiful detail! At first I began typing out a comment on Bluesky, but then I realized you also uploaded it to Tumblr, so I can just ramble to my heart's content without having to divide it into several smaller comments. This is especially nice since there's three whole pages of beautiful artwork I want to gush about!

First of all, the dire wolves look EXCELLENT! Supremely intimidating fellows, alright. You've drawn their fur immaculately with so many little individual tufts of hair, and the way you drew their maws ups their intimidation factor significantly. It's a killer panel to open up with, if I do say so myself. Neither Marcille nor Falin look particularly impressed by their display though, which makes perfect sense considering they're both experienced adventurers and one of them is perfectly capable of blowing their heads off with very little effort. I will say that it makes the whole scene look very funny!

Every single panel is a delight to look at. You really did go all out with this, and I couldn't possibly be happier! One fun thing about writing comments like this is that I get to look at every panel for an extended period of time, and it just never gets old, I tell ya! Marcille looks so tired and fed up with everything, which is very funny, but I also absolutely ADORE the way Falin gestures at Marcille to stand back. That genuinely adorable face, followed up with her confident, sparkling smile and a big ole thumbs up, is just perfect. Seeing the back of Marcille's head with the black lines and little sweat droplets had me in shambles for some reason. I honestly don't know why I spent a full minute laughing at that, but I think it's probably because it contrasts Falin's confidence so insanely well.

The shot of Falin hyping herself up and preparing to deal with the dire wolves just as Laios instructed her is epic! I've said this many times before, but HOLY MOLY, your art style is EPIC! It suits Dungeon Meshi perfectly, and man oh man you draw the red dragon like no other! Falin looks confident, and the fact she feels as though she's backed by the most powerful creature in existence just hyped me up, even despite the fact I know exactly what happens next. I also love the line "No dogs will push me around anymore!" Because she was always dead last in the dog hierarchy back home. She'll make her brother proud, she'll show Marcille she makes for a great mate, and she'll show these dire wolves she is not to be messed with! Even though the red dragon is such a small, borderline negligible part of her being, I like the idea of Falin entertaining little urges here and there and feeling empowered by the idea of having a little goober inside of her. Falin's expression in the last panel of the first page looks freakin' INTENSE, which makes Marcille's tiredness and confusion even better, hahaha! I absolutely love what you did with the two in this comic!

When I saw the small critter you drew to show how Falin's bark sounded, I nearly died. I was drinking a cup of tea with honey and a cloud of milk, and all of that shot directly into my lungs! I'm surprised my desk and keyboard remained completely clean, because I was coughing for a solid minute or two just laughing at Marcille's expression with delicious, smoking hot tea on my face and clothes AND THAT SILLY LOOKING CHIHUAHUA IS SO FRICKIN' AAAAAAAAHHH!! FALIN LOOKS SO INTIMIDATING WITH THE WAY SHE BARKS BUT IT'S JUST A YAP LIKE HOLY MOLY I CAAAAAAAAN'T!!!! The dire wolves look so confused, too! That little doodle of two looking at each other and just wondering what the hell this random feathered fleshbag they encountered is trying to accomplish before going right back to their initial plan of tearing her throat out is incredible. Again, they look incredibly intimidating, and that makes their confusion all the more funny!

Falin's enthusiastic yapping turning into a single, confused yap as the dire wolves close in on her was drawn very nicely, and that shot of Marcille's disappointed face is PERFECT! PER-FECT! That grimace was drawn SUPREMELY, chief! The way Falin recoils in surprise from the sudden explosion that completely deletes the head of a dire wolf, with little tufts of fur getting flung around together with a healthy helping of blood was also drawn wonderfully! This entire comic is incredibly expressive, and I haven't even gotten to my favourite expression yet! As an aside, the cave backgrounds in the first and last panel of the second page look nifty. Me likey.

The third page has an absolutely wonderful background in each panel, which I think deserves some special praise, because it makes it all look even more beautiful than it already did! I really need to find myself a better job so I can afford to commission you. Your artwork is incredible! Ha, Marcille's tiredness is very apparent throughout this comic, so her deciding it's about time to call it quits makes perfect sense, and those black lines descending on Falin as she's buried her head in her arms gives me the idea she's ready to call it a day too after that horrible humiliation. The two panels of Marcille sighing and asking Falin if she's okay are very sweet, and I think the sheer tiredness of her expression adds to it.

Now, THIS is my favourite expression in this entire comic! Falin looks surprisingly composed and neutral when she tells Marcille she's okay, but just beneath the surface both she and the little red dragon are utterly devastated. That face right there, THAT FACE OF FALIN! IT IS PERFECT. I CANNOT ADD ANYTHING. IT IS SIMPLY PERFECT, hahaha ooooohhh man! Ooooooh I am cropping that for posterity's sake! PGIsiagduysdgluyllHEEEERR NOOOOOOOOOOSE AND THE WAY HER MOUTHOHAIUGIUASIUGDIUAGUDAGDUI IT'S SO GOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!

Gosh, that last panel cracked me up, too. What an exquisite comic! You never fail to impress, chief!

🐲Dragon vs Wolves🐺

(Read right to left)

[screechingdefendorpuppy-blog]

The Player That Got Played

Part 2

You softly bite your lip and you purposefully trace the sketched lines in your sketchpad. The power behind every edge yet softness can be found on every curve. It had been a crazy day in the studio.

Having Abby suddenly enter the studio in nothing but a robe had been a surprise. But then getting to see what was underneath.. well lets just say that you are lucky to have great cardiovascular health. If not you would've surely died from a heart attack right then and there.

Turning to the next page you continue to admire the sketches you where able to do, even with a shaky hand. As you trace the defined line of her shoulder blades you are startled by a groan.

"Dude, you're drooling." says Ellie as she places the big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

"Who's Drooling?" asks Dina as she waddles in to the living room with the bottle of soda and cups. Last year had been a big surprise to learn about Dinas pregnancy. She had been in a on again off again relationship with Jesse since high school.

It had been a bit rocky when she had found out she was pregnant since she had broken it off with Jesse and had started dating Ellie soon after. Luckily after talking it out they came to an agreement when it came to the baby and had stayed great friends.

Now at almost 8 months pregnant she was ready to pop. That however didn't stop her from getting an education in Botany. She had a plan for her life and she will adjust accordingly and bring her son along for the ride.

Sheepishly you start to close your sketchpad. As Ellie answers her. "This goober on her newly acquired porn."

Dina groans as she settles down on her side of the sectional sofa. Once comfy, she makes grabby hands towards you in a silent request to take a peek. Huffing you hand it over and you lean over to grab some popcorn just to busy your hands.

She low whistles and she looks at the new additions. "Daaaamn, She's a looker."

"HEY!" Protests Ellie

"Oh hush I'm just looking." Dina counters a prevalent smirk on her lips. "She's.. well she's something."

"She's unreal Dina!" you say as you scootch over to show her a particular sketch. "Look at this." you say turning to the correct page.

On it an almost done sketch of today session. only thing missing was more detail and some shading. "She look ethereal! Like she was sculpted by gods!"

Dina makes eye contact with Ellie as you continue to rant about how you had struggled to capture an angle and how you didn't give up till you got it right.

"Wow, she really captured your attention huh?" Dina asks, But before you are able to say anything Ellie interjects.

"Psh please more like she was to enraptured by her-"

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

"TITS!? HAHAHAHAHA" Leah's voice blares out her phones speaker.

Abby is mortified as she watches her friend shake from the full blown cackles after learning about her mishap.

"Full on Leah! it was crazy. I never thought I would see that side of Abby." says Manny from beside her squeezing himself in to the camera view. Abby's tsks at him as she places her hand on his face and pushes him away.

"Wait who was bare chested?" Owens voice asks from Mels screen view but completely out of frame.

"Abby" Mel tell him. "What!?" he appears over Mels shoulder "You showed off your mosquito bites!?"

Another cackle is heard from Leah's end of the line this time joined by Manny.

"Fuck you, all three of you." Abby says, her fair skin dusted pink. She sulks down further into the worn sofa. This had been going on for and hour now. All thanks to Manny who took it upon himself to go check on his friend after her disappearance.

“Hay mija calmate! At least you got her number.” Manny shoots back.

“You got her number?” Mel asked with a genuine happy smile for her friend.

Abby smiles softly remembering the moment you had hit save new contact on her phone. “Yeah”

“But that was before she exposed her areolas to the art department.” Nora so helpfully interjects while she, from Abby’s point of view, mixes two chemicals together in the campus lab.

Before Abby is able to put her two cents Manny speaks up. “That doesn’t matter cuz this chicken shit hasnt-”

————————-

“Texted you yet?” Asks Dina, eyes wide balancing the popcorn bowl on her belly.

“No” you answer disappointed present in your voice. Ellie gets up and grabs the bowl off of Dina to make some more popcorn. This is gonna be a long night.

Dina opens her arms and you immediately fall into them. She cradles you and places a soft kiss to your temple. You focus on lil spud as he moves inside his protective home. You couldn’t wait to meet your little nephew.

“Give her time. Maybe it was an accident or something. Hell maybe she’s embarrassed.”

“Maybe, I just wish I would’ve been able to talk to her. She literally disappeared once the class was done.” You sink in to the sofa a lil more.

“Hey guys, Jesse just texted that he got out early from his shift and is asking if y’all would like some Korean food?” Asks Ellie from the kitchen.

“Yes please.” Both you and Dina answer simultaneously.

“You should’ve seen her Dina.” You exhale a far away look in your eyes.

She chuckles. “Oh boy, you are down bad huh?”

You nod defeatedly sitting up again but staying close to your best friend “I am Dina I wanna get to know her more.” You poke at a lil bump that emerges on Dinas belly.

“Damn I haven’t seen you this smitten since seeing Haruka tenoh from sailor moon for the first time.”

“Eh I was more of a Sailor Neptune kind of gal.” Adds Ellie flopping on to Dinas side and starts rubbing her belly.

You groan “We were thirteen!”

“And you clearly have a type!” Says Dina.

You huff and deflate into the sofa some more. Then after a but of silence your phone pings with a new message. Picking it up and looking at the screen you find a message from an unknown number. With only the words “Hey.” in it.

—————————

“Hey!?, seriously thats the best you can do!?” Asks Manny. A horrified expression on his face.

“What? It’s fine it’s casual.” Abby argues. Finally after getting completely roasted by her so called friend via video call. She had decided to finally text you.

“More like basic and pathetic!” Manny shouts as he lunges to grab her phone.

“You are spending too much time with Leah and her fashion friends.” She says as she dodges his attempts.

“They make me free clothes and buy me coffee after every fitting as a thank you for being their mo-” he pauses mouth agape. Abby can see that wheels in his head turning and she starts to dread what will come out of his mouth next.

“That’s it!” He basically screams in her face. She jumps and pushes him off of her.

“The fuck is wrong with you!?”

“You Abigail Anderson! Will volunteer your body in the name of… The Arts!” He shouts dramatically.

Abby deadpans

“What?”

“Think about it! She’s already seen you naked! Seeing you like that a fee more times wouldn’t hurt.” He watches her expectantly.

“You’re ridiculous.” She finally says as she goes to get up.

“No I’m a genius that has given you the opportunity to spend more quality time with your chica!”

Before Abby can answer her phone chimes still on the sofa cushion. A small text bubble with your name clear as day on it: ‘Hello, umm who is this?”

Both of them look at the phone then each other and lunge themselves towards it at the same time. A scuffle ensues and Manny comes out victorious taking off with Abbys phone furiously.

“MANNY RAMIREZ ALVAREZ GIVE ME MY PHONE BACK!” Abby shouts after him as she struggles to chase him.

Manny slams the door to his room right as she picks herself up and darts over. Once she is able to get inside she jumps him and takes her phone back.

Both exhausted from the rough housing he relents and gives her phone back to her. Abby pants as she looks down at the screen. There she sees a bubble with the words delivered on the bottom. The context of said message?

‘It’s your buff french girl model 😉.’

Before she can react, yell at manny, delete or unsend the message, literally do anything. The little words on the bottom changes to read.

Her. Heart. Sinks.

She turns to Manny and for the first time tonight he looks afraid for his safety. She charges at him and starts smacking him as hard and as fast as she can.

“Are you fucking kidding me!? *smack* french girl!? *smack* you *smack* fucking *smack* asshole!” *smack smack*

He is in a fetal position trying his best to block the blows but Abby does not relent. As Abby lifts her hand to hit him again her phone goes off. She looks over and starts towards where she had dropped it on the carpeted floor. But before she walks away she sharply turns and points her finger in manny’s face.

“Don’t Fucking Move.” She threatens and he lifts his hands in surrender while sinking back to the floor.

She gives him a glare as she picks up her phone. Once unlocked she glances down to the screen.

——————————

‘🤭 hahaha thats funny. Hello Abby.’

‘I will admit your presence in class today surprised me.’

“Are you sure double texting was the move?”

You ask as you continue to look at your phone while biting your nail. Dina smacks your hand away.

“Stop that! It’s going to be fine, I told you this will peak her interest.”

You nod nervously, subconsciously you acknowledge Jesse’s presence as he places the take out on the table. “So who is this girl?”

“Anderson, you know the women’s rugby captain.” Ellie tells him as she takes a small bite of the kimchi.

He chokes on air “ Anderson? As in THE Abby Anderson?”

Ellie nods as she starts towards where cough cuz of the spiciness of the food.

“Dude it’s not that hot.” He tells her.

“Shut up dude you know im white.” Says Ellie as she takes another bite in spite, her eyes watering.

*Ping*

The room goes silent.

You read the text but don’t say anything.

“Well? What did she say!?” Asks Dina using her foot to nudge you back to earth. You shake your head and read it out loud.

‘Sorry, that was my best friend Manny who sent that. But ummm, was it a good surprise at least?’

——————————-

Abby feels like she seconds away from a stroke. Her hands are shaking and clammy. She doesn’t want to fumble this opportunity. She looks up and Manny still in the same place gives her a thumbs up.

When it had come to her dating life. She didn’t have the best track record. There had been a few girls that had captured her attention through out the years. Unfortunately she had either crushed on them from afar, or had been so awkward with them that they had just left. Since then she had decided to not do emotions and just have fun.

However, the moment her eyes landed on you Abby felt something she had not felt in a good while. The want, no the need, to get to know you get close to you. She was so scared to push you away cuz of her awkwardness.

She was trying her hardest to be the cool buff rugby player she portrayed. Unfortunately for her being with you brought out the goober, as her dad would say, out of her.

She inhales the moment she sees the small dotted text bubble appear. You were typing, oh god, you were typing!

‘I was pleasantly surprised. ☺️’

Another dotted bubble appears. Then disappears, and appears, then disappear and appears again. She chuckles thinking about how you were trying to say something keep changing it. Finally.

‘Didn’t now you did figure modeling. But honestly I can see why, with your physique 😳’

————————

“Stop! She’s going to think im a perv!” You whine as you try to grab your phone back from Ellie. Dina laughs as she eats her food,Jesse on the floor next to her trying to get his son to move.

“Let me cook bro I got this! Plus you’re already a perv.”

Ellie continues to hold your phone high and away from your grasp. In times like these you really hated the height difference between you two. Your phone pings with a new message and Ellie reads it out loud.

“Can I be honest? What the fuck does that mean?” She says

Finally you take your phone back and start walking towards your room.

“Hey! Where are you going!? I wanna know what happens next.” Dina says after you, you shout back to her that you will tell her afterwards and close your door shut.

Finally in the privacy of your own room you focus on the task at hand.

‘Always’

Greek Goddess: ‘It was the first time I’ve ever done something like that. 🫣’

‘You’re joking 😮’

Greek Goddess: ‘I swear, very first time.’

‘Seriously? How did you even get in on doing so?’

Greek Goddess: ‘It was a misunderstanding 😓’

Greek Goddess: ‘if I could be honest again.… I did it because of you.’

You smile curiously to your phone as you read her message.

Abby on the other hand has her heart in her throat as she waits for a reply.

Her phone goes off as she closes her bedroom door.

Cute lil Artist: ‘really? Me? Or are you just flirting with me?’

‘Yes and yes.’

‘After you went inside the studio. I wanted to keep spending time with you. Then out of nowhere your teacher asks me if im the sub for the previous model and without thinking I said yes.’

Cute lil Artist: ‘So you are telling me. That you willingly volunteered to be a nude model just to spend time with me?’

Abby rubs at her neck and then types.

‘Tbh I didn’t know it was a nude figure class. I thought it was like my friend Leah’s fashion class where you stay with your clothes while they try to imagine it differently.’

She watches as you type,then stop. A minutes passes and still no answer. She panics ‘Did I say something wrong!? Was it too much? To soon? Ugh way to go Ab-’ her phone starts to ring.

Looking at it she sees that you’re calling her. Her mouth dries as she hits the answer button.

“He-" she clears her throat “Hello?”

She is met by your laughter

“Omg no way! That’s so funny! You ended up being completely naked infront of strangers!” You say between laughter. She laughs along those she can feel embarrassed.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry Abby that so funny. You are so damn cute.” At that you both freeze, theres a moment of complete silence on both ends.

“You.. you think I’m cute?” She whispers

You for your part breathe heavily as a blush hits you.

“Yeah” you whisper back “yeah I do”

“Not hot?” She cheekily asks a smile on her lips.

She hears you groan “Maybe, but I think I have inflated your ego enough for tonight.”

“Oh I think you could do better.” A hidden confidence appears in her voice.

A confidence that draws you even closer to one Abby Anderson.

[severicky]

♱ Friends? 「Caleb x MC」

╰┈➤ "How can we go, back to being friends? When we just shared a bed,"

🎶back to friends - sombr

a/n: no beta read, this is my first fic in like... 5+ years so I'm very open to any feedback ^^ ty

You and Caleb grew up together, when your parents tragically died when you were 7, Caleb and his grandmother took you in. Growing up, the two of you were inseparable, where you went, Caleb went and vice versa. It all changed in High-School when popularity got the better of you both.

Caleb was a nerd, he spent most his time in the library studying engineering and planes while you were the IT girl, everyone wanted you, and you were dating the hottest guy on campus, Sylus.

Both of you didn't know how it happened, but you grew distant, you were too indulged in your relationship and status with Sylus while Caleb was too focused on getting into flight school. You both started avoiding each other, even at home, especially after Caleb's grandma passed, you both acted like roommates instead of the inseparable duo you once were.

════════════════════════════════════════════

You didn't anticipate it, no one saw it coming, but you went to Sylus' house to surprise him for his birthday--that's when you caught him in bed with another girl. You dropped the cake in your hands, your best friend, Tara, who was recording stood in shock as she recorded the entire thing. Sylus got up, trying to explain to you that it wasn't what it looked like--but you didn't want to listen.

You ran home in tears, crying and sobbing the entire way home, your makeup was ruined, but you didn't care. Getting home, you noticed Caleb was home--you walked up to his room, knocking on his door for the first time in months.

"Gege?" you called for the first time in months, you could hear Caleb inside--but he didn't answer the door. You sighed before calling out for him again "Gege I know we haven't... spoken but I really... I need someone to talk to right now," you said, sniffing your nose as you tried not to cry. You heard the doorknob turning and saw Caleb opening it "Why don't you talk to your boy...friend,"

His face was cold, it was full of frustration, but seeing you crying, it brought back a sense of protectiveness all those years ago. He remembered how he always protected you from bullies growing up, he hated you, he hated how you turned into the thing you swore to destroy. But seeing you venerable like this, he felt a pang in his heart, he couldn't be angry with you.

He (reluctantly) brought you into his room, closing the door as you went to sit on his bed, he stood Infront of you, hand on his hip, another on his head as he sighed "So what happened?"

════════════════════════════════════════════

You told Caleb everything, how you heard rumors of Sylus' affair for weeks but brushed it off as someone trying to push you guys apart, you told him how you noticed Sylus was being distant but he just said it was exam stress, that's when you told Caleb that you caught Sylus red handed in bed earlier, causing you to get home earlier than usual with your makeup streaming down your face.

Caleb tried his best to comfort you, he really did, but he knew he had to pick his words carefully, he knew how sensitive you were at times, he knew he should scold you, tell you how Sylus was a known playboy, but he saved that lecture for a different day.

For now, he was contempt on comforting you, he sat down next to you and gently caressed your back, as he thought about what to say. He couldn't get a word out before you suddenly pulled him for a hug, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder "Caleb I'm sorry," you sobbed, the guilt of ignoring him these past months was starting to eat you alive, you sobbed, pleading Caleb to not leave you like how Sylus did, Caleb was your only family left.

════════════════════════════════════════════

Last night felt like a blur, you got some drinks to get your mind off Sylus, one drink turned into a bit too many and you found yourself drunk on Caleb's cock, whimpering his name like a mantra as he guided your hips on him.

Next thing you knew, you woke up to him spooning you as the sunlight peeking into his room through the blind, both of your clothes were discarded in the room as you laid in his arms, your naked bodies pressing against each other. You laid there in silence, continuing to embrace Caleb, checking the clock in his room, it was time for school soon.

You got up, grabbing your clothes and heading to your room, you took a shower, changed into something comfortable as you looked through your phone, people had gotten wind of Sylus' affair through Tara, Sylus was pleading you for forgiveness. You left to school like usual, without Caleb, reaching school, your friends, Tara and Jenna immediately ran to comfort you.

While talking, you felt a hand touch your shoulder, you turned around, expecting Sylus but was taken aback by Caleb standing, a tupperwear box in his hand "y/n umm.. you forgot breakfast," he said, giving you the box "y/n you know him?" Tara asked. You took the box and turned your back to him again, addressing Tara and Jenna "He's just a friend..."

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 4 :)

[sysig]

Last man standing (Patreon)

[ihamtmus]

oof i've just finished my first drawing in a YEAR that's crazy idk how i managed to last so long without drawing BUT it turned out really well and i'm proud!! i have to draw the second piece to go with it before i post it though but man was it good to draw again

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[arminsumi]

Betting your girl's mouth on a basketball game was crazy — and Suguru was all for it.

After taking a loss that may or may not have been deliberate, jock!Suguru wears a dirty grin on his face while watching you suck his best friends virgin cock like a good girl, loving the nasty wet noises you make while slurping up and down nerd!Satoru's pulsing shaft, slowly stroking himself to the sight of you on your knees, making cock disappear in your mouth like magic.

And Satoru — the poor boy — is losing his mind because he's never felt a woman's lips around his dummy big cock before. He used to tell you that sex is beneath him — now he's throwing his head back, gritting his pearly whites, curling his toes and biting his bottom lip 'till it's all red, totally surrendering to your little mouth — it's just so funny to you, 'cause he's been the know-it-all bastard telling you "... you're just Suguru's slut. If you paid as much attention in class as you did to my best friend's dick, maybe you'd amount to something. Do you even remember what we learned yesterday? Exactly. But I do — that's why I'm the top student and you're just — "

Bla bla bla... Satoru's now showing you how much precum his dummy big cock leaks — it's a sticky mess oozing out of his tip all over your quivering tongue. You looked up at him and winked, and he seethed inside because god he's hated you for so long but now your lips are wrapped around his cock and your mouth is taking him to heaven.

He's whining, biting into his fist, knees all wobbly. the texture of your tongue drives him nuts — then it clicks. oh, this is why my best friend is obsessed with his girlfriend. This is why he can't shut up and stop oversharing his sex life with me.

'Cause heaven really does exist on her tongue.

"fuck, slow down..." Satoru tries to ease his cock out your mouth, feeling his orgasm threatening to erupt at any moment.

But Suguru pushes you back down on his cock, filling your cheeks again, "nah, keep going baby, he's gonna cum — aren't you Satoru? You're gonna cum in my girl's mouth, huh? Come on, big boy, I know how long you've wanted this. Fill this little slut's mouth with your cum."

Those taunting words push him over the edge. His heavy balls tighten up as he feels you suckling his swollen head, and then white ropes come bursting out.

"Ahh—gh! Fuck... nn!"

Satoru's legs give out and he moans like you've never heard a man moan before, releasing all the cum he's worked up for you like he's been waiting years to do this. Actually, he has been waiting years — waiting patiently to find an opportunity to make your jaw ache and eyes well up with tears.

"Baby, you gonna swallow my best friend's cum f'me?" Suguru encourages, stroking his cock lazily against your cheek now.

He watches you compliantly swallow Satoru's seed, and Satoru twitches at the sight.

Huffing, Satoru comes down from his high and brushes his white wispy bangs out of his eyes. He's glaring down at your mouth.

"... still fucking hate you... " Satoru mutters to you in a voice still shaky with the after-effects of his orgasm.

"I still hate you, too." you smile back at him.

His heart flutters and bottom lip twitches. He can't stop staring at your lips, your eyes, your hips, your thighs.

"Ah, Satoru, quit your act — you're the one who proposed this idea in the first place."

You went red in the face. It was Satoru's idea? The mister goody-two-shoes, know-it-all, all A+++ report cards, 'sex is beneath me' Satoru?

"Huh? I thought this was your idea..." but before you can express your surprise you're already feeling Suguru nudge his cockhead against your lips.

"Sh sh, now it's my turn, baby. Open wide."

[celiababy]

Ain't Right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, cum eating, name calling, kinda mean Joel, alcohol, vomiting, an extremely brief mention of suicide

Disclaimer: I lowkey don't know the logistics of the show so if some things are wrong please look over it I'm just trying to write smut about Joel Miller godbless.

Ain't Right part 2

Ever since that tortured old man showed up in Jackson, your life hasn't been the same.

Tommy's older brother, and your absolute undoing.

When Joel Miller rode into town, it was like everything suddenly made sense. The skies got clearer, the air smelled better, and the birds even chirped their love songs louder.

Everything about him drew you in; his cold demeanor, stoic face, tired eyes—but gentle around those he cared about, which was only a few select people.

And you certainly were not one of those select people.

Joel didn't know what to think about you.

To him, you were odd. Yes, you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in Jackson, but he felt distance between the two of you was essential.

He felt this way because he knew.

Joel wasn't oblivious to your stares; he might've been an old man, but he remembered the laws of attraction fairly well.

He didn't like the thought of you liking him.

You were young, attractive, and had plenty of age-appropriate prospects just begging for your attention. Every boy in Jackson wanted a piece of you—but you only had eyes for Joel.

He was getting old and tired, ain't no reason why you should be so fond over him.

He also didn't like that you made your attraction so obvious. It made people whisper, and Joel about had enough teasing from Tommy.

"You gonna let that young thing jump your bones or what, Joel?" Is an example of the few things his brother would chirp at him whenever you were around and had eyes on him like he was a target.

So, all things considered, it's no surprise when Joel is reluctant to make a supply run with you.

You had begged Tommy to let you go out and finally start pulling your weight, carefully adding that Joel would be a great teacher for a first timer like yourself.

You stand near the truck, squeezing the straps of your backpack while watching Joel and Tommy whisper to themselves a couple feet away.

"You can't find anyone else?" Joel growls lowly, narrowing his eyes at his insufferable brother who he’d really like to strangle right now.

"Are you seriously scared of a twenty year old girl, Joel?" Tommy asked exasperatedly, throwing his arm out in disbelief. "It'll take two hours tops, what the hell are you so scared of?" Joel is exhaling through his nose, dragging a hand down his jaw in complete disgruntlement.

"You know what the hell I'm scared of Tommy—goddammit," He gets in his brother’s face before realizing you’re still watching them.

He takes a moment to back up and calm down, breathing out through his nose.

"I do not need this town thinkin' I am encouraging this girls...feelin's." He murmurs lowly.

Tommy rolls his eyes before shoving Joel's backpack into his chest.

"Just don't fuck her, Joel. How hard could it be?"

Joel watches as Tommy turns his back and walks away, leaving just you and him.

Joel had spent a lot of time making sure he was never in a situation alone with you—now he was about to be your unsupervised mentor.

He feels a groan try and crawl its way out his throat, but he pushes it down.

He starts walking to the truck, not even looking at you as he passes and yanks the driver side door open with more force than necessary.

"Let's make this quick." He grunts out, climbing inside.

You do the same, only with a little bit more enthusiasm. ***

The trip is a complete bust.

Joel barely paid you any attention, no matter how many flirty gestures you made at him.

You'd say something remotely suggestive and he'd either glare at you, or just flat out ignore you.

But you were relentless. Giving up on him wasn't in the cards for you, no matter how many judgmental looks he casted your way.

You guys had been driving back to town for around five minutes; Joel has kept his eyes firmly on the road in fear of you sparking a conversation with him.

But you do anyways.

You turn your body to face him in the bench seat, your eyes cascading down his breath-taking side profile.

You zoned in on the gray patches of his beard, and how his face had the remnants of a long, unforgiving life weaved into his wrinkles and scars.

You're momentarily rendered speechless by his looks before he side-eyes you.

"What?" He huffs out, not being able to handle your intense stare any longer.

"Why not?"

A beat.

"What?" He asks again, his brows furrowing together, an annoyed and confused expression painting his features.

"Why won't you fuck me?"

Joel physically winces at your language, scoffing in what looks to be disgust as he starts shaking his head.

"We're not starting this." He snaps firmly, a tone in his voice that you haven't heard before.

Completely disregarding his words, you start.

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough?" Joel groans out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Is it because there's someone else?" He's close to snapping. "Is it because you can't get it up? I heard thats a problem with guys your age-"

Joel slams on the brakes, sending you lurching forward. He shoves the truck into park before turning to face you, a scary look on his face.

"I am not going to fuck you--Christ almighty," Joel raises his voice at you.

You're staring at him, wide eyes and lips parted in surprise. You weren't really expecting this.

"you're bustin' my fuckin' balls, Look kid," He starts up again, this time with a softer tone. "M'about 40 years too old for you-"

You cut him off with a murmur. "36, I did the math."

"Same damn thing," he snaps, shaking his head. "Point is—you don't needa be wastin' your time with me; there are plenty boys your age that will satisfy your...you."

You scoff in his face but try to disguise it by clearing your throat.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Joel," You start, a sad smile spreading across your lips. "S'just sex." You say with a shrug, blush coating your cheeks because now your mind is imagining sex with him.

He stays silent and looks away from you, closing his eyes like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

That urges you to say more.

"I won't tell anyone," You're practically whispering, looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap. "I'd let you do anything you wanted to me."

Joel's heart cinches in his chest at your words, mostly because he can tell you're being so genuine.

Why the hell did you like him so much? He just couldn’t understand it.

But he can't entertain this any longer because he knows if he did, he'd give into you.

"I don't wanna hear another goddamn word outta your mouth." Joel says in a strikingly even and calm tone, putting the truck into drive and continuing back.

He's eerily silent, and so is the rest of the trip because you're too dejected to speak.

Eventually, you both arrive home and you're fast to get out of the truck.

You slam the door and keep your head down as you walk away, snow crunching beneath your boots.

Joel takes his time, watching you storm off with tired eyes.

He feels bad for being so rough on you, but he figured it was the only way to get you to stop liking him.

Tommy walks up, a concerned look on his face as he looks back between you and Joel.

"Guessin' you didn't fuck her."

***

Nobody had seen you in days.

The pain of rejection had you in a mental place that you had never experienced before.

No one has ever denied you—ever.

The situation was 100x worse considering you actually liked Joel, and he wasn't just another toy to play with.

Joel figured his life would get easier with you not around, and it kinda did in some aspects.

But he couldn't stop the gnawing feeling of guilt slowly eating at him like a parasite.

He'd been cruel to you in the way he went about things, and he felt bad.

Had he really broken your heart? He didn't know you liked him that much.

He sits in his living room, contemplating how to go about this entirely fucked up situation.

He debates making amends with you, apologizing and rejecting you again but in a gentler way.

He deliberates on his plan of action while nursing a glass of whiskey before he's interrupted by three bangs on his front door, followed by a screeching: "JOEL"

He mutters a 'what the fuck' under his breath, walking to the door and picking his 9mil up on the way.

His eyes widen when he sees you-standing there in all your glory.

It's the middle of winter and snowing like hell, yet you're wearing shorts and a tank top with a beer bottle in your hand.

"Jesus, kid-what the fuck," Joel ushers you inside quickly, taking his big jacket off the coatrack and draping it over you.

He also tosses his gun to the side, obviously you were no threat.

"You tryin' to get frostbit? Christ," he's swearing and muttering profanities as he guides you over to the couch, now basically swaddling you in blankets.

You've never been inside his house before, only ever walked passed it a few times. It smells like him.

You, however, smell like alcohol and bad decisions.

Joel picked up on how drunk you were the minute you stumbled through the door. He takes the bottle from your hand and sets it aside somewhere, glaring at you like how a mad parent would.

"The hell are you doin' out in the snow like that? Fuckin' death wish or somethin'?"

His words are kinda fuzzy in your ears, you're so drunk that you barely even register them.

An unprompted giggle spills from your lips as you shake your head at him.

"It's not snowing silly," You chide, making him out to be an idiot when, in actuality, it's a damn blizzard outside.

He knows from that statement alone that you are way off your rocker tonight.

"How much have ya had to drink, kid?" Joel asks, raking a hand through his graying hair.

"Don't call me kid," You snap, a quick flash of anger in your expression. "M'not a kid."

Joel rolls his eyes so hard that he probably caused a tsunami on the other side of the world.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. What are you doin’ here?” He asks exasperatedly, dragging a hand down his jaw while looking at your trembling figure.

There’s a long pause before you answer. You just got distracted by his big brown eyes.

“Jus’ wanted to say hi.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from his face.

“Say hi?” He reiterates, looking at you like you’ve actually lost your mind.

You probably have.

After a moment, Joel can’t help but chuckle in disbelief, letting his body lean back against the couch.

The absurdity of it all turned humorous to him.

Here you are, sitting in his living room, practically nude with only his coat and blankets protecting your modesty, having just trekked through the snow all for what? To say hey?

You’re still sitting there, motionless and trying to remember how to breathe because his laughing face has your heart lighting off fireworks.

“Fuckin’ hell—hi.” Is all he says, turning his head to the side to look at you as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You smile like a dope at him, so extremely happy to be there in his company.

But the alcohol in your system is fighting you, and you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

“S’it cool if I say the nigh?” You slur, falling vertically on the couch, your head crashing onto Joel’s thigh.

You nuzzle your cheek against the fabric of his jeans and Joel is just about to gently push you off, but he stops himself.

You look so comfortable and so at peace that Joel can’t do anything except stare at you.

Your cheek is slightly smushed, your lips are parted, your eyes are shut and don’t plan on opening—it’s insane to him how at home you looked.

Like you belonged here, head rested on his lap.

Fuck.

He was fucked this time.

He doesn’t move you. Instead, he fixes the blankets on top of you so you’re fully covered, and sits there with you the entire night.

He’s really gone soft.

***

When morning comes, you’re first to wake up, accompanied by a splitting headache.

You don’t even notice how Joel’s hand had fallen onto your waist some time during the night because you’re too busy making a b-line for the bathroom.

You chuck your guts up into the toliet, clutching the porcelain and groaning out in pain.

Joel wakes up to the sound of your hurling, momentarily disoriented before he remembers last nights events.

He’s quick to come to your aid in the bathroom, wasting no time gathering your hair in his fist to get it out of your face.

"S'right, get it all out," He murmurs out encouragingly, seemingly unfazed by the disheveled sight of you.

You’re too sick to be embarrassed, that’ll come later surely.

He sits on the wall of the tub as he continues holding your hair back, yawning every now and then like this was just a regular Tuesday morning.

Eventually, by the mercy of God, you get it all out of your system and slump up against the wall.

“M’sorry,” You immediately apologize, figuring that is the only right move in this situation.

“Don’t be. Been through plenty'a that in my day.”

His words are uncharacteristically reassuring and you find yourself taken back by them.

You soon realize this is probably just the hazy morning Joel, the Joel where he isn't worried about anything except coffee and breakfast—like everything wrong in his life is put on the back burner for this short minute in time.

“I’ll get you some water and Advil, sit tight.” He grunts before standing up on his feet, knees popping as he walks out.

You watch as he leaves, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Aside from the vomit part, you could get used to this.

You've never seen him so...domestic. His hair was all messy, his voice was raspy, he had that morning haze over his features that you felt so honored to witness.

You suddenly felt compelled to look at your own appearance, hopping to your feet and looking in the dirty mirror.

You resist the urge to audibly gasp at your reflection, opting for a disgusted look instead.

Your hair is a rats nest, your clothes are a mess, and your mascara has rubbed off in black smudge all over the skin around your eyes.

In a desperate attempt to look at least semi-presentable, you wash your face with water and comb through your hair with your fingers.

The idea that Joel had seen you looking like that was making your stomach churn again.

Before you can grovel about it any longer, he rounds the corner with a glass of water and little brown pills in his hand.

“Here,” He says softly, handing you the water and tilting the pills into your open palm. “Take these ‘n drink all that water and ya should get to feelin’ better.”

You do as he says, swallowing the Advil in one go before taking a big sip to wash it down.

His eyes drift down to your shoulder, where your tank top strap has fallen. No doubt from all that vigorous throwing up you were doing moments ago.

Without thinking, his fingers graze your forearm before bringing the strap back up to its correct position, clearing his throat in the process.

A beat of silence falls over the both of you.

You’re gobsmacked by the complete nonchalance of his touch, staring at him with your mouth slightly open in shock.

“What?” He asks defensively, his tone pointed.

You look between him and your shoulder strap, then slowly move to set your water down.

“Are you sure we can’t fuck?”

“Goddammit—” Joels cursing before you can even finish saying the last word in your sentence.

He turns away from you, probably the fastest you’ve seen anyone turn in their life, and walks towards his room with an accelerating pace.

He shakes his head in disbelief all the way down the hall, pivoting on his heel to duck into his bedroom.

You follow him, not really fazed by how he completely refused to answer your question, though you didn’t think he would anyway.

Before you can step foot into the threshold of his room, Joel walks out, causing you to back up.

He shoves a stack of clothes in your direction, looking down at you with a frustrated face. “Put these clothes on and go home.”

You look down, realizing he was letting you borrow a sweater and jeans of his so you didn’t die walking back to your house from the cold.

Your heart warms at this thoughtfulness.

Without wasting any time, you take the clothes from his hands, smiling happily. “Can I keep them?”

“Why the hell would you wanna keep my clothes?” He’s got that confused/angry look on his face as he asks, and you have to suppress a giggle at the sight of it.

You bring the pieces of fabric up to your nose and inhale, humming as you breathe out again. “They smell like you.”

“Christ,” Joel beings his hands up to rub at his eyes. “Fine, do whatever. Just hurry up and change, jesus,"

Ever the tease, you set down his clothes and begin to lift your tank top like you planned to change right in front of him.

Joel's hands shoot out to stop you, a 'don't try me,' look on his face.

"Put them on over your clothes," Joel says sternly, watching the way you sigh because you weren't fast enough in lifting your tank top off.

However, you sieze the opportunity in front of you.

Joel's hands are holding yours down, so you work to intertwine your fingers, invading his space by stepping forward.

"Or, you could take my clothes off," You purr, your chest now flush with his torso.

Joel exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching as he tried deciding how he was going to get out of this situation.

But then he paused.

Looking down at you now, so eager and wide eyed, made him wonder.

If he fucked you, and made you realize it wasn't what you were probably imagining in your head, maybe then you'd finally leave him alone.

He would just...pretend to be awful at sex.

(Even though it had been so long and he wasn't sure if he'd actually need to 'pretend' anymore.)

There's a long silence that drags out between the both of you.

Your stomach is doing flips because it's looking like he's finally going to agree.

His resolve cracks and Joel can't do anything but sigh in defeat.

Slowly, Joel pulls you back into his room, closing the door behind you both.

Time is moving in slow motion.

You can't believe it's finally happening.

He guides you back until the back of your knees hit his bed, prompting you to sit down on it.

"I'm only going to do this once," Joel's voice is uncharacteristically low and calm, and it has your core tightening.

You nod in acknowledgement, waiting to see what he's going to do next.

With care, he pushes your shoulder down so you're laying on your back. "Are you sure you want this?" He asks, brown eyes searching yours.

"Have I not made it obvious?" You quip, a giggle following shortly after.

Joel only shakes his head before his fingers latch around the fabric of your shorts, pulling them down and off your legs.

"S'pose you have." He murmurs, scratching the back of his neck.

You're vibrating with excitement and you repeat what you tried earlier, only this time succeeding with taking your top off.

Of course, you're not wearing a bra.

Joel realizes in that moment that he bit off way more than he could chew.

He hasn't seen breast that weren't on a soggy piece of paper in at least a few years, and yours--well, his cock stood no chance.

You hear him swallow, watching as he can't seem to stop staring at your chest.

Realizing that he might need a little encouragement to start speeding things along, you smile up at him and whisper, "touch me Joel".

Yeah, screw this. His plan of pretending to be bad was now entirely forgotten—he was going to do what he wanted, so help him god.

He huffs out a curse before sliding a hand up your torso, stopping once he's fully cupped one of your breasts in one hand. He kneads it like dough while using his other hand to disappear under your panties.

A choked moan erupts from your lips once you feel his fingers brush along your clit, rubbing around and spreading your slick around all too slowly.

"haven't even done anythin' yet and you're already fuckin' soaked..." He murmurs really to just himself, his eyes casting down to watch as he rips your underwear off impatiently.

"M'always like this whenever you're around," you mewl to spur him on, spreading your legs wider.

"Oh you are, huh?" Joel repeats back, the tiniest bit of cruelty in his tone that makes you shiver.

You nod, bucking your hips into his hand desperately.

"don't get why you like an old man like me, s'gross." His tone is flat but it's clear he's teasing by the way he curls his fingers inside of you. He's not really expecting a response, but you feel compelled.

You lurch forward, gasping at the feeling. "I really like you," You rush out breathlessly. "I'd do anything you wanted me to." You say earnestly as you stare into his eyes, loving what you're seeing.

Joel remembers when you told him that the first time, his heart cinching the same way it did then.

Joel is at war with himself. One side of him is screaming that this whole situation is fucked up and he is better off without you.

Another part of him thinks that this is the most he’s ever felt in a long time. And he doesn't want to lose it.

You can see the gears turning in his head. His fingers have slipped from you and you wince at the loss.

Slowly, you sit up. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your nipples pressing into his shirt.

He's confused and momentarily panicked when your faces get so close together, his hands seeking purchase on your hips.

In an unexpected move, you rake your hands through the side of his hair, looking lovingly at his face.

"I just wanna be someone for you," You murmur, your face breaking a little as Joel's resolve also cracks. "Doesn't matter what. I'm very versatile." You mumble the last part to try and lighten the mood.

Joel just stares at you—something swimming behind his eyes that you can't quite place.

Eventually, he crashes his forehead against yours, sighing out.

"You're makin' this fuckin' impossible." He rasps before kissing you with a passion you've never felt before.

You feel victorious.

He's finally given in to you.

Eagerly, you kiss back, wrapping your legs around his torso and grinding your bare cunt against the bulge in his jeans.

"Then stop trying so hard to get rid of me," You sigh out, chasing his lips even as you're trying to speak.

He groans and you catch it in your mouth, the pressure on his clothed cock making him dizzy.

“Fuck,” He’s quick to unbuckle his belt, sliding it out of the loops and tossing it somewhere on the floor. “Lay back.” He demands and you immediately follow suit.

He's never been that...assertive with you before. It makes you tingle all over.

He looks starved as he peers down at you, specifically your cunt.

He literally can’t tear his eyes off your sex—he only looks up to your gaze when you let out an impatient whine.

He rips down his pants, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

Now you can’t tear your eyes away from his sex.

You’ve only dreamt it so many times, but now that it’s finally in front of you—it all just feels surreal.

It’s better than you imagined, perfect.

“I don’t have a—”

You know what he’s about to say so you cut him off immediately. “S’okay, like it raw. Closer to you that way.” You murmur.

Joel looks physically pained that he’s not inside you right now. For some reason, you just know all the right things to say.

“Closer to me?” He huffs out, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to the edge of the bed where he stood.

Now your cunt is flush with the base of his member and the sensation drives you both insane. “You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Joel rasps, but the way he says it reveals just how far he’s fallen. He knows you’re crazy, and yet here he is, balancing you out.

He glides his member back and forth against your folds, gathering up your wetness with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows.

He looks so concentrated—meanwhile you’re writhing with pleasure and impatience. Your cunt is clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs to himself, eyes tracing all over you.

You freeze.

Joel had complimented you for the first time, and it was genuine.

He notices you stiffen and takes a moment to pause.

Your entire body erupts with goosebumps, your heart beating at exceptionally fast speeds.

He's worried for a second that something is horribly wrong.

“What?” He asks, confused at what’s got you so wound up.

Your face is flushed red as you bashfully giggle. “You called me pretty.”

Ah fuck.

Joel finds you so charming it hurts.

After he remembers how to breathe again, he rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

“I have my cock to your cunt, of course I find you pretty.”

You smile and shrug. “Still. Nice to hear.” You’re all smiles until his tip prods at your entrance, causing a gasp to leave your throat.

He continues to apply pressure with his tip and it’s driving you crazy.

“Fuck Joel—are you trying to kill me?” You whine, hips wiggling to get him in.

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Relax, m’almost there.”

Slowly, he begins pushing his way inside. His mushroom head breaches you entirely and it feels like you can hear the angels singing.

He continues forward, the stretch being mainly around the middle of his thick cock.

But you’re taking it like a champ.

Joel braces himself with hands on both sides of your torso as he bottoms out, a groan crawling its way out of his throat.

The sensation is absolutely delicious.

A little bit of pain from the stretch, but so much pleasure from the fullness.

“Joel, ohmygod you feel so good inside me.” You moan, throwing your head back.

Your hips start moving on their own, but he immediately stops you with two large hands.

“D-Don’t move—fuck.” Joel grumbles out, his face pinched together in what looked like pain.

You’re confused for a moment, thinking maybe that he might just be really into cockwarming.

But then it hits you.

“Were you gonna come?” The tone in your voice makes it seem like you’d be elated if that was the case—like the most flattering thing in the world.

Joel looks pissed that you caught on so quick.

In truth, the moment he put his tip in, he was holding back his orgasm.

Can you blame him? He’s only fucked his hand for the last couple years.

“S’been a while.” Is all he can say, his chest heaving up and down in concentration. You know he’s embarrassed, but you can’t help but smile like a dope at him.

“If you come, please do it inside, please,” you beg, reaching out for his arms that caged you in.

Joel's rational mind feels like it just touched down in looney town after hearing your begging.

He feels crazy because he liked the thought of the idea you proposed. You even see him hesitate. But then he scoffs and shakes his head.

Joel drops down closer to your face, slowly starting to rock his hips into you. "Tryin' to baby trap me, girl?" He grunts in your ear, making you moan out.

Your walls are clenching down on him, and it’s making it that much harder to hold back. “No-no, promise, just wanna be full of you." You manage to blubber out...unconvincingly.

You probably didn't really want a baby with Joel, but your lust-driven brain was working on fumes and you just wanted to do what felt good.

Joel's grunting in your ear was not helping things. His fingers were gripping your hip so hard, you figured it would probably bruise tomorrow.

Good. You wanted whatever he would give you.

"Christ--m'not gonna last much longer," Joel groans, picking his head up a little to meet your gaze. He wanted to kick himself for not being able to last, but when he saw your face, all those feelings disappeared.

You looked so--perfect. Soaking up the moment in case it was the last, god you hoped it wasn't the last time. Now that you've finally had a tase of him, you weren't sure you could live without it.

Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him firmly in your cunt. Joel notices this and also your pleading eyes, a growl leaving his throat.

"Please, please, please, please," you beg, never breaking eye contact with him as his thrusts pick up speed.

He ruins your long string with pleas with a needy kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat like a starving man.

You accept it happily, moaning out into the kiss while Joel manhandles your hips to take his cock.

The feeling is damn near euphoric for both you and him. It gets even better when Joel's hand comes down to rub at your clit again.

Your back arches off the bed as you gasp and moan out, wrapping your arms back around his shoulders. "F-Fuck!" You moan into his ear, probably drooling on his shoulder in the process. "thankyouthankyouthankyou-" you sputter out in choked sobs. He was really good at working on your clit, you couldn't do anything else but thank him for it.

Joel feels a surge of something when he hears you. He's never had a woman thank him in bed before.

It's enough to push him over the edge. And apparently you too.

"I'm gonna come Joel, please don't stop," There are pools of tears in your eyes that Joel is just now noticing. He's about to reply to you, but he finds himself speechless when he feels your cunt start constricting and fluttering around him like a vice.

"Fuck!" He groans out loudly, his hips starting to falter in their rhythm. But then he picks up speed again, and in no time he's like a madman jackhammering into you.

You're a mess of screams and cries and moans underneath him, happily taking everything he was giving you.

When Joel feels himself about to come, he notices how your legs are still tightly wrapped around him, keeping him inside, and he manages to scoff out.

"Gotta let me go baby," You've never heard that pet name from him before, and it makes you crumble. His hands move to grab at your thighs, kneading the flesh there.

You whine out but reluctantly release the grip your legs had on him. Joel doesn't waste time before hugging both your legs on his chest, keeping them firmly placed while your feet squirmed by his ear.

"Atta girl," he murmurs before picking up speed again, his cock head pressing into your cervix.

It's all too much for you. Joel looks so amazing pounding into you from above, his concentrated face, his sweat, the way his salt and pepper hair is all disheveled, you're losing your mind.

Your core is on fire and you can't stop yourself.

In a staggering turn of events, you come first.

Your walls come down like bricks on his dick, you cry out, throwing your head back in complete bliss and ecstasy.

Seeing and feeling this, Joel is quick to follow in your steps. He rips himself from that warm hole of yours and pumps himself dry onto your stomach.

You watch it all with wide eyes, you wouldn't have missed Joel's orgasm face for the world!

Of course, his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth was open as he was breathing heavily, and his eyebrows turned down like he was mad.

God he was so beautiful.

His thick ropes of cum shoot all over your stomach and even your breasts as he jerks himself off to completion.

When he finishes, he takes a moment to catch his breath, finally opening his eyes to see you scoop up his cum from your breast with your finger and shove it in your mouth.

Your tongue swirls around his seed and you swallow eagerly, humming out in satisfaction at the taste of him.

Joel's watching in complete fascination, though his expression looks a little angry. When does it not?

"taste so good," you mumble with your finger still in your mouth, looking up at him with your big eyes.

He moves before he can think about it--ripping your hand away from your lips and caging you in a slow but deep kiss.

He soon falls down beside you and soon rolls over onto his back, his chest rising and falling from the excursion.

You curl into his side, watching his side profile so intently. You had just fucked Joel Miller.

And it was everything you had dreamed of. Extreme happiness doesn't even begin to describe your feelings right now.

There's a long stretch of silence that drapes over the both of you. Eventually, Joel breaks it with something extremely off topic.

"Last night...you didn't just come here to say 'hi', did you?"

You're momentarily speechless, not expecting that question from him at all. But you can't stop a giggle from coming through your lips.

"Actually, I came to confront you." Your voice is soft as you begin speaking, thinking back to last night's ordeal.

Joel doesn't expect this answer, his head turns to look at you while you speak. His arm comes down to drape over your shoulder.

"I was really upset cus you rejected me n'all. I just couldn't accept the whole, 'age gap' excuse. I wanted to know if you just really didn't like me or not." You're murmuring, drawing soft lines with your finger on the skin of Joel's chest.

He huffs out a breath at the explanation, shaking his head. "Guess you got your answer, huh." He grumbles out, somewhat ashamed of himself that he couldn't hold back.

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek. "I did," you chirp happily, admiring his face again. "You know you're gonna have to fuck me, like, everyday now, right?"

You're kidding. But you're also not at all.

Joel scoffs and sits up, moving to pick up both his and your shirts. "Fat chance. Barely had enough stamina for one round." He grunts out, finding the neck hole in your tank top and putting it over your head for you.

You don't bother to pull it down over your breasts so Joel does it for you.

"It's okay, we can build up your tolerance over time." You quip with a teasing smile, loving the way Joel turned to glare at you.

He couldn't believe the youth these days.

[100vern]

ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

[tra1nchi]

I need more of dom!top!superhero reader with pathetic adorable sub!bottom!villain:((( just imagining sub!villain cvmming so quickly when reader gets rough with him ... after all, sub!villain is just a pathetic little loser. getting dumber and dumber with each time you pound into him, and his tears just won't stop! d'aww, he'd be frantically trying to wipe those tears away as your bigger body pounds him so hard poor baby's head hits the headboard with every thrust. reader knows he shouldn't do this— but despite that, the reader puts his hand behind's villains head so it doesn't hit the wall. and that action sends villain spiraling, orgasming past overstimulation again.. what's that? oh.. his cum is all watery :(

MINORS DNI!! top male reader,, Overstim,, pathetic subvillain,, bigger reader,,

"Please-! Mh! I'm sorry!" HIs begs were pitiful, sad really. His body arched so perfectly into yours like a needy slut, you didn't even have to thrust into him at this point. His hips eagerly moving back and forth on your dick, his hole practically swallowing your cock up like it was a lifeline.

He's sobbing by now, his body completely engulfed by your stronger, larger one. Why does he even try at this point? He should know deep down by the end of the day he'll be fucked into your bed like a cheap whore. His hands clenched tightly into the bedsheets which were basically ripped off from the edges from the undeniable power of your thrusts. Your balls slapping against his raw ass.

He was frantic as he tried to whipe the tears from his face, he was meant to be the big bad villian of the city!! But he was getting so purely dominated by cock.

"Fuck! Feels too..good! I can't think!" His whines echo through the room, He swears he could feel his intelligence dimming as he cums for the..5th..6th time? By now he's too dumb to remember all he knows is pleasure and cock, maybe he's addicted to it? Each hit to his prostate is adrenaline inducing, Each tear that leaves his eyes somehow turns him on even more.

The sex is wild, the bed creaking in what he could assume was close to breaking, His head hitting the bedframe by how much his body was being jolted but what surprised him was the feeling of your hands digging into his head, pulling his body down and away from the wood, your arms caging him in.

And fuck, if that didn't make him lose it, you were the hero. Someone who was meant to induce harm and subdue him but here you were protecting his stupid head during sex? He couldn't speak, couldn't even think as he cuts again just from the thought. His raw cock splurting out cum that wasn't even cum at this point. His cheeks flushed and his tongue lolled eagerly out of his mouth.

Even as he came you kept going, he felt so fucking full just from your cum. His body warm from being caged fully under your bodyweight and he couldn't deny how much he fucking loved it. He was right where he belonged, not as a super villian but as your dumb, crying toy.

[inseobts]

1st Anniversary

what would they do for your first anniversary together?

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, law, ace

words count: around 0.5k - 0.7k each

masterlist || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The sun rises over the Thousand Sunny, casting golden light across the deck. You stretch and yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes when a sudden weight crashes into you.

"Y/N!" Luffy yells, tackling you with his usual enthusiasm.

You groan but laugh as he wraps his arms around you "Luffy, it's too early for this—"

"IT'S OUR ANNIVERSARY!" he shouts, grinning ear to ear.

You blink. Oh. Right. Your first anniversary together.

Luffy’s never been the best at remembering dates, so you didn’t expect him to bring it up at all. But here he is, vibrating with excitement like a kid who just found a pile of meat.

"You remembered?" you ask, surprised.

Luffy nods eagerly "Of course! I mean… Sanji wrote it down for me… and Nami yelled at me to not forget… and Robin told me what an anniversary even is—but still!"

You chuckle, shaking your head "So, do you have something planned?"

Luffy puffs out his chest proudly "Yup! Captain’s orders: today is Luffy and y/n Day! No crewmates allowed!"

From across the deck, you hear Usopp yell "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!"

Luffy ignores him.

"But," he continues, "I, uh, don’t actually know what people do on anniversaries, so I just made some rules!"

Your curiosity piques "Rules?"

Luffy grins, grabbing a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it dramatically "Yup! First rule: We gotta eat as much meat as possible!"

You snort "Of course."

"Second rule: No pirate stuff today. Just fun stuff!"

"That’s… actually kind of sweet" you admit.

"And the last rule…" He suddenly scratches his head, cheeks turning a little pink "Well… um…"

You tilt your head "What is it?"

Luffy huffs, clearly frustrated "It's a secret rule! I’ll tell you later!"

You laugh but decide not to push it "Alright, Captain. What’s first on the itinerary?"

It starts with a massive breakfast, courtesy of Sanji (who glares at Luffy the whole time for stealing food off your plate). After stuffing yourselves, Luffy drags you across the Sunny for various "Luffy-approved" activities.

First, there’s an intense game of tag—where Luffy cheats by using his rubber powers. Then, he insists on fishing, though he gets distracted halfway through and jumps in after the fish himself. After drying off (and avoiding Nami’s wrath for getting seawater everywhere), he decides you both need a nap—because "eating and playing is tiring!"

You wake up with Luffy curled around you like a koala, snoring into your hair.

"You really are like a cat" you mumble, gently brushing his bangs aside.

Luffy stirs, blinking up at you sleepily "Hmmm?"

"Nothing" you whisper, smiling.

As the sun starts setting, you and Luffy sit on the deck, watching the waves. The usual chaos of the crew is still happening in the background, but for once, it’s peaceful.

Luffy suddenly perks up "Oh! The secret rule!"

You sit up straighter "Finally. What is it?"

He fidgets, uncharacteristically nervous "Well… I heard anniversaries are for saying important stuff, right?"

You nod "I guess, yeah."

Luffy rubs the back of his neck, looking out at the sea "So… my last rule is… that I gotta tell you something important today. Something really important."

Your heart skips a beat. Luffy isn't usually serious—when he is, it means something big "Okay," you say softly "I'm listening."

He takes a deep breath, then grins, his usual carefree self again "I love you!"

You freeze.

He’s said he likes you before, in his own way—"You're my favorite!" or "I like having you around!"—but he’s never actually said that.

He tilts his head "Was that good? I was practicing in my head all day."

Your eyes soften "You practiced?"

"Yeah!" He laughs "I mean, I already knew I love you, but I wanted to say it today ‘cause, y’know, it’s our thing. Our anniversary thing!"

You shake your head fondly, grabbing his hat and plopping it onto your own head "You’re such an idiot."

Luffy pouts "Hey—"

Before he can complain, you cup his face and kiss him. He makes a surprised noise but quickly melts into it, smiling against your lips.

"Best anniversary ever" he mumbles.

You laugh "You say that now, but wait ‘til next year. You’ll have to top it."

Luffy grins "Easy! Next year, I’ll make a million rules!"

You sigh, shaking your head "What have I gotten myself into?"

Luffy just laughs, pulling you closer as the sun dips below the horizon. The crew groans in the background, but you don’t care. Because as chaotic and ridiculous as he is, Luffy’s way of loving you is perfect.

And that’s all you could ever ask for.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The sun hangs low over the Thousand Sunny, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink. The crew is scattered across the deck, each lost in their own evening routine, but your attention is on one person alone—Zoro.

The swordsman leans against the railing, arms crossed, eyes closed. To anyone else, it looks like he’s resting, but you know better. He’s thinking.

You step closer, hands behind your back “Oi, Zoro.”

His eye cracks open slightly before he turns his head toward you “Hm?”

You smile, rocking on your heels “Happy anniversary.”

For a second, he looks at you blankly, and your heart sinks a little. Did he forget?

Then, with a small smirk, he straightens up “Tch. You really think I’d forget?”

You cross your arms “Honestly? Yes.”

He scoffs “Give me some credit.”

Your curiosity piques “So… you actually planned something?”

Zoro rolls his shoulders, looking away for a brief moment before nodding “Something like that.”

You raise an eyebrow “Wait. Seriously?”

Before you can press further, he jerks his head toward the deck “C’mon.”

He leads you to a quieter part of the ship, where the sounds of the crew fade into the background. A small blanket is laid out on the deck, two cups and a bottle of sake sitting neatly in the center. The sea stretches endlessly before you, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and adventure.

You blink in surprise “Did… you do this?”

Zoro sits down, grabbing the bottle “Sanji might’ve helped. But don’t tell him I said that.”

You chuckle, sitting beside him “Didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“I’m not.” He pours a bit of sake into your cup, then his own “But I figured… a year with you is worth drinking to.”

Your chest warms at his words. Zoro isn’t one for big, flashy gestures—but when he cares, he shows it in ways that truly matter.

You clink your cup against his “I’ll drink to that.”

As the two of you sip in comfortable silence, you glance at him “So, what was the first thing you thought when we got together?”

Zoro exhales, setting his cup down “That you’re stubborn.”

You laugh “Me?”

“Yeah.” He leans back on his elbows, looking at you “You wouldn’t back down, even when I tried pushing you away.”

You tilt your head “Did you want to push me away?”

Zoro’s gaze softens “…I didn’t want you to be a distraction, you know”

You stare at him, heart squeezing “And now?”

He lets out a slow breath “Now, I know you’re not.”

You smile “Good answer.”

After a few more drinks, the night fully settles in and Zoro turns to you, expression unreadable.

“…I have something for you.”

Your eyes widen, surprised “You got me a gift?”

He reaches into his haramaki and pulls out a small object. He places it in your hand—it’s a charm. It's like a small version of his earrings turned into a pendant and attached to a thin string.

Your breath catches “Zoro…?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking away “It’s stupid, but… I had it made a while ago. For you.”

You run your fingers over the smooth surface, heart pounding sooooo hard “It’s not stupid. It’s perfect.”

Zoro smirks “You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on the pendant and leaving a kiss on his cheek.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The kitchen of the Thousand Sunny is filled with the warm, mouthwatering aroma of freshly cooked food. The scent of caramelized spices and grilled seafood lingers in the air, a sure sign that Sanji is in his element.

You lean against the doorway, watching him work his magic. He moves with effortless grace, flipping a pan, the flames from the stove reflecting in his blue eyes. He hums softly to himself, a tune you recognize as the one he whistles when he’s happy.

You smirk “Cooking me a feast, Chef?”

Sanji turns at the sound of your voice, and immediately, his expression melts “Ah, ma chérie, you’re early.”

You cross your arms, pouting “So I’m not supposed to be here?”

Sanji chuckles, wiping his hands on a towel before stepping closer “I wanted to surprise you...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear “But I suppose I don’t mind if you ruin the surprise—after all, you’re the guest of honor!”

Your heart flutters at his words. Sanji has always been charming, but there’s something different about the way he speaks to you, softer, more genuine, as if you’re the only person in the world.

You glance past him at the beautifully arranged table, complete with candles, fine plates, and a bouquet of flowers “You really went all out, huh?”

He grins, taking your hand and spinning you playfully “Only the best for my love.”

Sanji pulls out a chair for you, as the great gentleman he is “Sit and relax. Let me take care of everything.”

You obey, watching as he presents dish after dish, each one plated to perfection “Alright, Chef, walk me through the menu.”

Sanji gestures dramatically “For the appetizer, we have a delicate seafood bisque, infused with saffron and a touch of white wine. For the main course..." He lifts a silver lid, revealing your favorite dish "...a meal crafted specifically for my one and only.”

You gasp, touched “You remembered my favorite?”

Sanji scoffs as if offended “Do you take me for an amateur? Of course I remember.”

You laugh and take a bite, instantly melting at the burst of flavors “Oh my god. I think I just fell in love all over again.”

Sanji chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he watches you “Then I must be doing it right.”

After finishing the meal and complimenting him so much that he nearly combusts with joy, Sanji disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he’s holding a small plate with a single dessert on it, a beautifully crafted heart-shaped pastry.

“Happy anniversary, my love” he murmurs, setting it in front of you.

Your eyes soften “You made this just for me?”

Sanji kneels beside you, taking your hand in his “Everything I make is for you, mon amour. But this… this one is special.”

You pick up the dessert, admiring the delicate details. As you take a bite, your taste buds explode with sweetness and spice, just like him.

“It’s perfect” you whisper.

Sanji smiles, but there’s something more in his expression tonight—something deeper “I’m glad,” he murmurs “Because you are, too.”

Your breath catches as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Sanji…”

He exhales, resting his forehead against yours “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done”

Your heart swells, and for once, he’s the one left breathless when you lean in and kiss him.

The chef who’s always served everyone finally gets a taste of something just for himself... a love that’s his to keep.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The Moby Dick is quiet tonight, the usual noise replaced by something softer (Ace had made sure of it).

You step onto the deck, your brows furrowing as you notice the absence of drunken laughter and boisterous yelling. Instead, a familiar warmth spreads through the air, not just from the ship’s lanterns, but from the flickering flames dancing lazily around a certain freckled man's fingertips.

He’s waiting for you.

“Hey, you’re finally here” Ace calls, grinning as he waves you over “Took you long enough.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms “You were the one who told me to wait in my room. What exactly are you up to?”

Ace scratches the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips “Well… it’s our anniversary, right? So I wanted to do something special.”

Your heart skips a beat. He remembered.

You step closer, noticing that he’s set up a "date night" on the deck. There’s a blanket spread out beneath the stars, a small box of food beside it (probably stolen from the kitchen), and a few lanterns hanging. But the real highlight is Ace himself, his flames glow softly around him, casting warm hues against his skin.

“Ace…” You blink, touched “Did you do all this?”

He grins, patting the spot next to him “Well, I had some help from Thatch—mostly because I kept burning the food.”

You laugh as you sit beside him “That sounds about right”

Ace chuckles, handing you a small bowl of your favorite food “I figured I should at least try to do this properly.”

You take a bite, humming in approval “It’s actually pretty good.”

“Damn right it is! I didn’t burn this”

You shake your head, smiling “You’re impossible.”

Ace leans back on his hands, watching you with a lazy grin “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

Your cheeks warm. He’s not wrong.

After finishing your meal, the two of you lay side by side on the blanket, staring up at the endless sky. The sea is calm, the ship gently rocking beneath you, and Ace's warmth seeps into your skin where his arm brushes yours.

He turns his head, watching you “Y’know… I never really thought I’d make it this far.”

You glance at him “What do you mean?”

Ace hesitates, then exhales “I used to think I wasn’t meant to have stuff like this. Someone who sticks around, someone who actually...” He pauses, then looks at you with a rare softness “...someone who loves me just for being me.”

Your heart aches at his words. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his “You deserve this, Ace. You deserve love, and happiness, and everything good in the world.”

Ace stares at you for a moment as he swallows hard.

Then, without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. His body is warmer than usual but you don’t mind. You hold him just as tightly.

“…Thanks,” he mumbles “for staying.”

You pull back slightly, cupping his face “I’ll always stay.”

Ace lets out a shaky breath, then suddenly grins “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on letting you go either.”

Before you can respond, he kisses you, slow and deep.

As he stops you narrow your eyes at him “Alright, spill it. How did you get everyone to be this quiet?”

Ace blinks, then smirks “What, you think I can’t get them to behave when I want to?”

You cross your arms “No, I know you can’t.”

Ace laughs, rubbing his nose “Fine, fine. I might’ve… bribed them.”

You raise an eyebrow “With what?”

He looks away, mumbling under his breath.

“What was that?” You lean in.

“…I promised to do chore duty for a whole week.”

You gasp, eyes wide “You WHAT?”

Ace groans, throwing his head back “I know! But it was the only way! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get this crew to shut up for more than five minutes?”

You burst into laughter, clutching your sides “Oh, this is priceless. You, of all people, voluntarily doing chores?”

Ace grumbles “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I hope you appreciate the sacrifice I made for this romantic evening.”

You wipe a tear from your eye, still giggling “Oh, I definitely do. I'll make it worth for you, don't worry” you wink at him.

Ace huffs but smiles, pulling you back into his arms “It's already worth it”

You hum, resting your head against his chest.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The Polar Tang hums quietly beneath your feet as you make your way toward Law’s quarters, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. Today marks your first anniversary with him, and while you know Law isn’t the type for grand, sweeping gestures, a small part of you wonders if he even remembers.

You wouldn’t be upset if he forgot, he’s busy, after all. But still… a year together means something.

You take a deep breath and knock.

“Come in.”

Pushing open the door, you step inside and immediately stop in your tracks.

The usually cluttered room is different. His desk is cleared, save for a single candle flickering softly beside a small plate of food, your favorite. A delicate piece of folded paper rests next to it, and on the bed, a neatly wrapped package.

Law stands nearby, arms crossed, watching your reaction with an unreadable expression “Took you long enough” he mutters.

You blink at him, then at the setup “You… did this?”

“Tch. Who else?” He glances away, scratching the back of his neck “It’s not a big deal.”

Your heart swells at the effort. It is a big deal, because Law doesn’t do things like this unless they truly matter to him.

Smiling, you walk over to the table and pick up the folded paper “What’s this?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches as you carefully unfold it.

Your breath catches the moment you realize what it is.

It’s a hand-drawn sketch. Of you.

Your fingers tremble as you take in the intricate details, the way your hair falls around your face, the softness in your eyes, the careful shading that brings it to life. He’s captured you perfectly, every detail very precise. But what gets you the most is the expression he’s given you, serene, happy, loved.

“Law…” Your voice is barely above a whisper “You drew this?”

He shifts uncomfortably “Yeah.” His gaze flickers to the side “I… started it a while ago. Just never had a reason to finish it until now.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you clutch the drawing to your chest, overwhelmed. You knew Law was skilled in many things, but this? This is beyond anything you could have expected.

He clears his throat “There’s more.”

You glance toward the package on the bed, wiping your eyes before carefully unwrapping it. Inside is a book... an old, well-kept copy of one you once mentioned loving but never found again.

You stare at it, stunned “How did you—?”

“You talk in your sleep sometimes.” He smirks, finally meeting your eyes “You kept mumbling about it a few months ago, so I figured I’d find it.”

You let out a small, watery laugh “You found this for me?”

Law shrugs, but there’s a flicker of pride in his expression “It’s not a big deal.”

You set the book and drawing aside before closing the distance between you, your hands resting on his chest “It is a big deal,” you murmur, looking up at him “Thank you, Law. Really.”

He exhales softly, his fingers ghosting over your waist before settling there, pulling you a little closer “Didn’t want you thinking I forgot” he mutters.

You smile, reaching up to cup his face “I wouldn’t have minded, you know. Just being with you is enough.”

His golden eyes search yours, something unspoken passing between you before he finally gives in. His lips find yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, one that speaks of everything he doesn’t say out loud.

He tastes like mint and tea, his hands firm yet gentle as they slide up your back, pressing you against him. The kiss deepens, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilts your head to deepen the connection. Your breath hitches when he nips at your bottom lip before soothing it with another lingering kiss.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, both of you breathing a little heavier.

“Happy anniversary” you whisper.

His smirk returns, softer this time “Yeah. Happy anniversary.”

You grin “Think we’ll make it another year?”

Law scoffs, tilting your chin up so he can steal another kiss “I know we will.”

And in that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his lips lingering on yours, you have no doubt he’s right.