#it was just like one of the in-between assignments

[cheers-to-you-th]

Don't Play Games (my heart is too fragile)

Pairing: Streamer!Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut !MDNI!, s2f2l (kinda)

Tags: Fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, smut, Streamer!AU, former college classmate!Seungcheol, very short period of angst, slow burn

WC: 21k

Summary: Getting addicted to watching hot men play video games was definitely not on your year's bingo card. Getting addicted to watching Choi Seungcheol of all people? The idea would have been laughable.

Warnings: Smut, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (they’re dumb, you shouldn’t be: wrap it before you tap it), pet names (princess), bigdick!Seungcheol, praise, some angst, lmk if I missed anything

taglist: @christinewithluv @cherry-zip @orngejuic @duckieo

The first time you stumbled upon Seungcheol's stream, it was an accident, a shocking one at that. It was just another boring day at work, your normal podcasts weren't doing it for you- listening about murders while writing a report on "harassment" between two employees who were simply arguing gave you some ideas that would not be very HR Manager of you- so you instead decide to go on twitch, your coworker had once told you it was perfect background noise.

You clicked on the first stream in the gaming category: Val w/coups by 'everyone_woo'. The stream had opened and the face of your old college classmate filled your screen and you nearly got whiplash from the double take you did.

Apparently the aforementioned "Coups" was the former infamous president of Chi Beta Zeta, Choi Seungcheol. It makes sense, you suppose- that they'd be friends- having been in the same frat, but the idea of shy Wonwoo from Engineering and not-so-shy Seungcheol, your fellow Communications major, was a little off-putting. That is, until you remember the other thing they had in common along with the rest of CBZ: sex.

Rumors constantly circulated: who Seungcheol brought upstairs at the last party, what girl Wonwoo was seen dragging into the supply closet near the library; although you were never a part of the rumors they spread like wildfire.

You shoved those thoughts aside as you finished the report, and when the rest of the day went by quicker than normal, you reminded yourself to thank Jeonghan later.

(And you definitely maybe went home and looked up "S.coups" on your computer before deciding his gravelly voice would be your new favorite white noise machine.)

Soon enough listening to him had become a habit; you were working? He was raging over a new fps he was trying; you were cleaning the house? He and Wonwoo were trying a new game pre-release. 

—

On Wednesdays you, Minghao, and Jeonghan have a tradition: the three of you meet at a whole-in-the-wall cafe to gossip catch up with each other outside of work-talk.  It started back in college, an agreement to always meet in the middle of the week for a break from everything—stress, assignments, life. Even now, years later, with jobs and responsibilities pulling you in different directions, Wednesdays remained sacred.

Today the three of you find yourselves in the same dimly lit restaurant you’ve all sworn by for years. It’s not anything fancy, but its quiet, comfortable, and, most importantly, they have a bartender who never questions the amount of time you all spend loitering at a table long after the food is gone.

Minghao is already there when you arrive, scrolling through his phone with the slight air of disinterest he always carried. Jeonghan shows up moments later, his usual carefree smile in place as he slid into the seat across from you.

“You’re late,” you tease, setting down your bag.

Jeonghan waves a hand dismissively. “Traffic.”

Minghao snorts, locking his phone. “We chose this place because it’s closer to your office so you can walk here.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan says, grinning. “Too many people in my way.”

You roll your eyes but let it slide, already used to his antics. The three of you order your usuals, conversation flowing easily between catching up on work drama and not-work drama. It’s comfortable, familiar.

Then, as if on cue, Jeonghan’s eyes gleam with mischief, and you know what is coming before he even opens his mouth. “So,” he starts, resting his chin on his hand, “how’s our favorite Twitch streamer?”

You groan. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” Jeonghan counters. “Minghao, did you know our dear friend here has been religiously listening to Choi Seungcheol rage at video games?”

Minghao raises a brow, intrigued. “Seungcheol? That Seungcheol?”

You huff, sinking into your seat. “It’s just background noise. I put it on while I work.”

Jeonghan’s smirk widens at your dismissal. “Sure. Background noise. Because out of all the streams in the world, you just happened to choose your old college classmate’s?”

Minghao, ever observant, takes a sip of his drink before adding, “You know, he mentioned you a couple times.”

You blink. “What?”

Jeonghan nods enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. Back in CBZ, there was a few months where all he could talk about was you. He thought you were cute and would get really annoyed when you brushed him off. It was super funny seeing him finally get rejected, even if it was just because you were too oblivious to notice him flirting with you.”

“Dense,” Minghao supplies. “That was the word he used.”

You roll your eyes at them, “I wasn’t dense or oblivious, I don’t even remember talking to him for more than ten seconds. I was too focused on trying to graduate, plus he wasn’t my type.”

“Suuuuuure.” Jeonghan leers, “That’s why you listen to his voice on a daily basis now. Regret some things?”

You don’t roll your eyes at him, focusing intently on your drink as you swirl the liquid in your glass. “Whatever, I just thought it was more interesting to listen to someone I kind of knew instead of some random person.”

Jeonghan and Minghao exchange a look that makes it clear this conversation is far from over, but, mercifully, they let it go—for now.

—

A week later they grill you about Seungcheol one more time before finally deciding to let it go, thinking finally you can live in peace. 

That’s why you’re almost having a heart attack as you exit the elevator to see the very man of your dreams standing outside the apartment adjacent to yours, moving boxes in hand. Frozen, you stand there gawking looking at him. As if he can feel your gaze, Seungcheol looks over at you and raises an eyebrow in question, looking borderline nervous and irritated. It broke whatever trance you were in as you introduced yourself (trying your best not to stutter) as a former classmate. He visibly relaxed at that while his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Professor Han’s class, right? We had a study group together one time.” You nod, thinking back to how girls had glared at you during class for daring to be randomly grouped with Seungcheol. The session had gone by quickly, slipping your mind until now.

“Uh, yeah, for midterms practice I think. I’m surprised you remember.” Your response has a smile pulling at the corners of his (annoyingly perfect) lips.

“Hard to forget such a pretty face.”

His words cause your eyes to roll, some things never change you suppose. You hum in response, “Except when I first came up here and you looked like I had insulted your entire bloodline or something.” 

Seungcheol’s smile, you decide, is your favorite sight. His eyes crinkle at the sides, the cutest dimples form on his cheeks when his lips curl upwards, a chuckle escaping them. “Sorry, I just thought- it doesn’t matter. It was really good seeing you again though.” A matching smile on your face, you offer to help him with any boxes but he only shakes his head.

“I was taught to never let a lady carry her own things, carrying mine? Unheard of. Although if you want to cheer me on I wouldn’t mind seeing your face more.” He winks and you just shake your head, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks. You respond with something about outdated views before excusing yourself to the safety of your apartment, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

—

Over the next few weeks, the two bump into each other frequently; exiting your apartments, entering the complex; each time briefly chatting before going your separate ways. Some nights you would get a notification about a stream, only to hear him talking through your bedroom wall. Part of you felt bad watching him play, guilt gnawing away at your thoughts and distracting you. 

It’s fine you tell yourself as you write the marketing team’s monthly performance report.

It’s fine you delude yourself as you hand said report to your deskmate, Minghao, to review.

It’s fi-shit you finally are snapped out of your denial when Minghao hands your report back covered in red pen marks and shame. He says your name with concern lacing his voice, “Have you been doing okay? You seem kind of… off and I’ve never seen this kind of work from you before.” 

You shake your head, burying your face in your hands, “Sorry Hao, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

He just tilts his head and tells you that, if you ever need to talk, he’s here. That was the downside of working with your best friend– you could never hide anything from him. Normally you’d take him up on the offer- tell him your woes and such- if it wasn’t so goddamn embarrassing. You brush him off before taking a deep breath and steel yourself as you weigh your options. You could either tell Seungcheol that you watch his streams or stop watching them altogether, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be inflating his ego anymore (at least that’s the reason you tell yourself, it’s definitely not that you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable around you).

The rest of the day goes by at a torturing pace, no commentary in the background to make time fly quicker. By the time you get on the bus, you’re half-asleep, and then you’re full asleep, head lulled to the side, bouncing uncomfortably on the window, not that you notice. 

“..am? Ma’am this is the last stop. You need to get off now.” The driver of the bus stands in front of you while you rub the sleep out of your eyes and look around. Taking note of the darkness outside the window and unfamiliar street, you sigh and lean your head against the window again, flinching at your slightly bruised head. 

Could this day get any fucking better.

You apologize to the driver, who just looks at you with pity, and get off the bus, gauging your surroundings and sighing, breath fogging in front of you. Your bus stop is one of the last ones, meaning after a second you realize where you are and groan, pulling out your phone to call a car. Except of-fucking-course your phone is dead. It’s late, the watch on your wrist reading 11:56 (thank god at least something of yours is working) and look around one more time, hoping a taxi would drive by and save you from the cold night. Shoulders slumped in resignation, you start walking towards your apartment, it’s only a few blocks away, a maybe twenty minute walk, as long as your notoriously shitty sense of direction screws you over, which it does. By the time you reach your building you’re shivering, nose and fingers red as you reach into your bag for your keys. 

Keys.

Keys.

Keys that you remember setting on your desk at work but don’t remember picking up. You want to scream. And cry. Mostly cry, if you’re gonna be honest because now your shitty day turned into an even shittier night. Morning, you realize as your watch now reads 12:34. A shaky laugh escapes your lips as you slump down next to the apartment complex’s glass door that seems to taunt you, as if it's rubbing in your face how close relief is and how unreachable. 

You feel your throat start to tighten and tears begin to well in your eyes.

“Y/n?” 

You think you’re starting to go insane from the cold until a warm hand lands on your shoulder, a shadow crouching in front of you. Looking up hesitantly, you come face to face with your new neighbor, plastic bag in hand from what you assume to be a late-night snack run. The tears in your eyes start to fall as you begin to sob, if you were in your right mind this would be the most embarrassing moment of your life, but right now you’re cold and hungry and scared and this man appeared like an angel sent from heaven just to help you.

“Oh my god, you’re freezing. What are you even- nevermind that come on.” Seungcheol’s arms wrap around you as he helps you up, getting into the building with his keys and walking with you to the elevator. When it starts to ascend, Seungcheol sets his bag on the ground and takes his jacket off, wrapping it around you. You don’t even have the strength to argue with him, all of it spent on the tears that now slowed to a stop as you look down at your feet, shame starting to kick in. You don’t want to imagine the look on his face right now, knowing it’ll be the same pitying glances you’ve received all day. 

The elevator dings as it arrives on the correct floor. Your feet start moving, muscle memory kicking in until you’re at your door, realizing you still don’t have your keys. When an arm once again wraps around you, you don’t even protest, allowing Seungcheol to guide you into his apartment, where he sets blankets and pillows on his couch. When you move to lay on it, he stops you.

“What are you doing? I’m sleeping on the couch, you can take my bed.” The words seemingly bring you out of the numb trance-like state you’d been in ever since you stopped crying. 

“I- what?! No, oh my god Seungcheol no, I couldn’t- I mean you’re already doing so much for me and-” A warm hand cups touches your forehead, promptly cutting off your rambling as your frantic eyes meet Seungcheol’s warm gaze. Fuck he shouldn’t look at you like that. 

“No offense Y/n but you look like you’re on the verge of hypothermia, you need the bed more than I do.” His hand moves from your cheek to pat the top of your head as you huff, letting Seungcheol guide you to his room where. You can’t help but feel guilty as you watch him rummage through his closet before emerging with a victorious smile and a large T-shirt. 

“Wear this- before you argue,” He cuts off your protests before they can even start, “think of it as me not wanting dirty clothes on my bed and, as much as I would love to see it, you are way too cold to be sleeping in panties tonight.” 

Your face flushes as you grab the shirt he holds out to you, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you Seungcheol. Really. I’m sorry that you have to do this, but I really do appreciate it.” Glancing up at him, you watch as his teasing smirk melts into something different, softer.

“Don’t apologize. I’ll always be here if you need help with something, what are neighbors for?” walking towards the door, Seungcheol looks back at you one more time, “I normally wouldn’t let you sleep without at least having a warm bath to stop a cold, but I think you’d pass out in the shower if I tried. Get a good night’s rest, yeah? I’ll see you in the morning.” And even after he leaves the room, his warmth stays, the soft gaze he’d given you burned into your eyelids as you drift to sleep.

—

The scent of coffee and bacon wakes you from deep sleep. For a second, you're disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings causing a brief panic before switching to embarrassment as memories of last night flood back. You're in Seungcheol's bed, wrapped in his sheets that smell faintly of pinewood and something uniquely him.

Sunlight streams through gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across the room. You stretch away the ache in your muscles from the cold and stress of yesterday, tugging the oversized shirt Seungcheol lent you down as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Your bare feet hit cool hardwood, as you shuffle towards the bedroom door, following the enticing smell of breakfast. In the kitchen, Seungcheol stands at the stove, his broad back to you.

As you approach, Seungcheol turns, spatula in hand, and flashes you a heart-stopping smile. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

You run a hand through your sleep-mussed hair, suddenly self-conscious. "Better, thanks to you. I can't believe that happened."

"Hey, don’t worry about it," he chuckles. "I figured you could use the rest. Coffee?"

You nod gratefully while he pours you a steaming mug. Seungcheol plates up eggs, bacon, and toast. The domesticity of the scene isn't lost to you - here you are, in his clothes, sharing breakfast in his kitchen. It feels dangerously intimate.

"Thanks," you murmur, accepting the plate he hands you. "You really didn't have to do all this."

Seungcheol waves off your gratitude as he settles across from you at the small kitchen table. "It's no trouble. Besides, I couldn't let you face the day on an empty stomach after last night."

You take a bite of the perfectly crispy bacon, trying not to moan at how good it tastes. As you eat in companionable silence, you can't help but sneak glances at Seungcheol. His hair is slightly mussed from sleep, a slight sleepy haze in his eyes. He looks softer like this, less like the polished streamer and more like the boy you’d seen in college.

"So," he says after a while, setting down his mug. "Want to tell me what happened last night?"

You hesitate, your fork hovering over your plate. What were you supposed to say? That you had been thinking of him non-stop for the last 24 hours? That you were a mess whose sense of direction was almost as bad as your work-life balance? That you'd been caught in what was arguably one of your worst moments, by none other than the main cause of your original turmoil?

He seems to sense your internal conflict because he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His tone softens, playful but not prying. "You don’t have to, y'know. I just figured you might want to talk about it. Seems like you had a long day, I won’t judge."

You sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion creep back in. "It’s not even that interesting," you start, avoiding his eyes. " It was just... one thing after another. Fell asleep on the bus, could’t call a taxi caus’ my phone died, forgot my keys at work; Honestly, the world was conspiring against me the whole day, I swear."

Seungcheol hums thoughtfully, swirling the last of his coffee in his mug. "Sounds rough. No one likes walking around in the freezing cold with no way to get inside. It was a good thing I went out when I did, maybe it’s a sign I should take more midnight snack runs."

You laugh softly and promptly ignore the stuttering of your heart, "Hopefully it won’t happen again," you admit. "And… either way it’s not exactly something I want to bother you with."

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "You weren’t a bother at all. Besides, I think helping you out is the bare minimum of what neighbors should do, don’t you?"

Neighbor. The word feels heavier than it should, he’s right; all you are to him is a neighbor, nothing more nothing less. You try to play off the feeling of your heart dropping into your shoes, shaking your head with a small laugh. "I have to admit, I’d never have guessed you were the knight-in-shining-armour type. At-night-in-UnderArmour maybe, but this is unexpected"

Seungcheol grins, his dimples flashing. "Hey now, don’t let the frat guy rep fool you. I’ve always been nice."

You laugh at that, the tension in your chest loosening. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

As he rinses the dishes, you take a moment to look around his apartment. It’s cozy, a mix of modern furniture and personal touches—a stack of books on the coffee table, a framed photo of what looks like his old frat brothers on a shelf, and a ridiculous number of gaming peripherals on his desk. It suits him, you think, the same way his easy smile and annoyingly perfect hair suit him.

"So," Seungcheol says, drying his hands before turning to face you. "Any plans today? Or are you planning to crash and catch up on sleep?"

"Work," you groan, already dreading the thought of going back to the office. "I have to deal with a report I butchered yesterday."

"Rough," he says, leaning against the counter. "Tell you what—after work, if you’re up for it, I’ll make dinner. Consider it part two of my neighborly duties."

The offer catches you off guard, but you manage to nod despite the sudden flutter in your stomach. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

Seungcheol just shrugs, a teasing glint in his eye. "I know. But I want to. Plus, you owe me. You cried on my shirt last night, remember?"

Your jaw drops, heat rushing to your face as you groan. "I did not—!"

"You totally did," he interrupts with a laugh, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. "It’s okay, though. It’s a good story."

"You’d better not go spreading this around mister." you say, pointing a warning finger at him. But the smile tugging at your lips betrays you, and Seungcheol just grins wider.

"Hmm I make no promises madam."

As you gather your things and prepare to face the day, Seungcheol’s warm gaze and easy laughter lingers in your mind, making you feel giddy and guilty at the same time. And as you step out of his apartment, you realize you’re already looking forward to the evening.

—

The day drags on slower than you’d like, each hour feeling like an eternity between the mountain of emails, the endless meetings, and the painstakingly slow process of fixing your stupid report.

By the time you get back to your apartment (with your keys this time, thank god), exhaustion is settled deep in your bones. You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes, barely making it to the couch before collapsing in a heap. The thought of getting up, even to change out of your work clothes, feels like an impossible task.

A soft knock at your door jolts you out of your half-asleep state. For a split second, you consider ignoring it, but then you remember Seungcheol’s offer(demand?) from this morning. With a groan, you drag yourself up and shuffle to the door, opening it to find him standing there, a grin on his face and a grocery bag in hand.

"Thought you might be too tired to make it over," he says, holding up the bag. "So, I figured I’d bring the dinner to you."

You blink at him, caught off guard. "You… didn’t have to do that," you mumble, though the smell wafting from the bag has your stomach growling in protest.

He laughs, brushing past you into the apartment. "I know. But you seemed like you had a long day, and I wasn’t about to let you skip a proper meal. Plus, I’m not sure I trust you to make anything edible in your state."

"Hey!" you protest, following him into the kitchen. "I’m perfectly capable of cooking, thank you very much."

He raises an eyebrow, eyes scanning your kitchen clearly unconvinced. "Sure you are. When was the last time you had something that wasn’t instant ramen or takeout?"

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue because… well, the empty takeout boxes in your kitchen speak enough. Instead, you cross your arms and huff. "Fine. You win. But only because I’m too tired to argue."

"Glad we’re on the same page," he says, already unpacking the bag and setting up in your kitchen like he owns the place. You watch as he moves with practiced ease, pulling out ingredients and utensils like he’s done this a million times before.

It’s oddly comforting, watching him work. The kitchen feels warmer, cozier, with him in it. You find yourself leaning against the counter, a small smile tugging at your lips as he chats about his day—about how his coworker accidentally sent an email to the entire company, or how he nearly slipped on ice outside his building.

Before you know it, the smell of something delicious fills the air, and your stomach growls loudly, earning a laugh from Seungcheol.

"I guess you’re hungry," he teases, sliding a plate in front of you. 

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin as you pick up your fork. "If this is bad, I’m never letting you live it down."

He smirks, leaning against the counter as he watches you take your first bite. The flavors hit your tongue, and you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you.

"Okay, fine," you admit, reluctantly. "This is… not bad."

"Sure, not bad. Dare you say good?" he says, his grin widening. "You’re welcome, by the way."

The two of you eat together, the conversation flowing easily. It’s light and playful, with just the right amount of teasing to keep you on your toes. By the time the plates are empty, you realize you’re smiling more than you have in days.

As he helps you clean up, you find yourself glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he laughs, that makes your chest feel a little too tight and your thoughts a little too scattered.

"Thanks for this," you say softly as he dries the last plate. "I really needed it."

He looks at you, his expression softening. "Anytime," he says simply. "That’s what neighbors are for, right?"

Neighbor. There it is again, that word. But this time, it doesn’t feel as heavy. Because maybe, just maybe, it’s not about what you are to each other now, but about what you could be.

—

A few days pass in a blurry haze. Seungcheol’s number was now saved in your phone, his occasional texts making you more giddy than you’d like to admit. The two of you occasionally see each other in the hallway, tonight he knocks on your door with food in hand, claiming he made too much and offering you some. You invite him in to share the meal (you’re just being a good neighbor), laughing and joking around as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly, it kind of was. 

Seungcheol insists on brewing you a cup of tea before he leaves, claiming it’s the perfect way to wind down after a long day. You let him, mostly because you’re too tired to argue but also because, well… It's nice having him here.

He chats while the kettle heats up, leaning casually against the counter like he belongs in your kitchen. The way he speaks, the rhythm of his voice, fills the quiet space in a way that feels natural—like he’s not just filling silence but adding something to it.

When he hands you the steaming mug, his fingers brush yours briefly, and you try not to overthink the spark of warmth that lingers long after he pulls away.

"So, any big plans tomorrow?" he asks, settling into a chair at your kitchen table. It feels oddly domestic, like this is something the two of you do all the time. You shake your head, cradling the mug in your hands. "Just work. Again. Though I’m praying for fewer disasters this time."

He chuckles, resting his chin in his hand as he looks at you. "Sounds like you could use a break. Maybe take the weekend off, do something fun."

You snort softly. “Like what, go clubbing or something? Not really my vibe."

"Doesn’t have to be that extreme," he says, grinning. "It could be something simple. A walk in the park, binge-watching a terrible reality show, or trying out that café down the street you keep mentioning but never go to."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting I take myself on a date?"

"Hey, self-care is important," he says with a shrug, though the teasing glint in his eye suggests he’s enjoying himself. "But if you need a plus-one, I might be available."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you’re not entirely sure how to respond. Is he joking? Probably. But there’s a softness in his expression that makes you wonder if there’s more to it than that.

"I’ll think about it," you say finally, trying to sound casual. "But don’t get your hopes up, Cheol. I’m not easy to impress."

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. "So it’s Cheol now, huh? Don’t apologize- I like it." he once again practically reads your thoughts, “And here, once you’re done thinking, let me know, yeah? Or in case you get locked out again.” Seungcheol slides over his phone with a new contact open as you roll your eyes, typing your number in anyways.

It’s late by the time he finally leaves, the mug you used now washed and drying on the counter. As you close the door behind him, your apartment feels quieter than it did before. Not in a bad way— the kind of quiet that lets you think. You find yourself replaying the evening in your head: his laugh, the way he somehow managed to turn your chaotic kitchen into a space that felt warm and inviting, the way his gaze didn’t leave you once when the two of you talked.

Shaking your head, you force yourself to focus on getting ready for bed. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. He’s probably just trying to make some new friends in the neighborhood.

But as you crawl under the covers, your mind drifts back to his earlier word, "If you need a plus-one, I might be available." The thought lingers, a soft thread of warmth that wraps around your chest as you grab your phone, typing a message before you can change your mind. Your fingers hover over the screen for a moment before you close your eyes and press send.

You: So how about that date?

The text felt heavier as the three little dots that blink back at you in reply. You hold your breath, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

When his text pops up on your phone, a shy smile automatically spreads across your face as you read it.

Seungcheol: How about Saturday?

Seungcheol: I’ll plan it—just be ready by 10.

The squeal you let out could rival one of a teenage girl on her first date as you kick your feet giddily in bed. Fuck, you were already down so bad. When you hear a chuckle through the wall your phone drops to the floor with a thud as it buzzes again..

Seungcheol: Careful, I might start to hope you’re looking forward to seeing me

This arrogant correct motherfucker. Your fingers type a quick response, trying to save whatever dignity you have left.

You: Saw a spider

You: Anyways where should I meet you?

His response makes your eyes roll with endearment annoyance.

Seungcheol: I think your memories are getting mixed up, spider was what everyone called Hoshi, not me. And no spoilers, just dress comfortably.

—

Two days later, Saturday morning rolls around, and you’re standing in front of your mirror, staring at your outfit for the third time. He said casual, so why are you frantically searching for the perfect attire? 

It’s fine, you think, not over the top. He doesn’t know what your closet looks like anyways, for all he knows you always wear this kind of clothes.

Your cozy beige sweater is paired with jeans and ankle boots, casual but still nice. Your makeup is light, natural. 

A knock on your door makes your heart jolt. Grabbing your bag, you take a steadying breath before opening it.

Seungcheol stands there, hands casually tucked in his jacket pocket, a grin already spreading across his face. His eyes flick up and down your body once, twice, hitching in some areas before finally settling on your eyes.

“You-” He clears his throat, “You look really good.” His eyes flick away from yours briefly, you swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of too good but it must be your imagination, flustered by how the man in front of you seems almost shy.

“Thanks,” you reply, giving him a similar once over to the one he’d subjected you to earlier. 

Black cargo pants with a dark denim jacket (that somehow looks warm) over a white graphic T. The outfit might look sloppy on someone else, but Seungcheol makes it look like he should be on a runway, the clothes draping over him perfectly as though everything was custom-made for him. 

“You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“You really are hard to impress huh?” he teases. “Lucky for you I’m always happy to deliver. Ready to go?”

The two of you walk to the parking outside as you chat, getting into his annoyingly nice car. You can’t help but wonder where he’s taking you as the roads out the window blur. No matter how hard you try to pry the information out of him, he doesn’t budge. A lesson in patience, he tells you. When the car finally stops, you look around, surprised– an amusement park.

“Seriously?” you ask, poorly trying to hide your smile as you stare at him.

“What? Too childish for you princess?” he says with a sly grin. You just hum in faux indignation, giving up on any attempt at hiding your smile.

The park is alive with bright lights, lively music; the smell of popcorn and funnel cakes wafting through the chilly air. You wander through the attractions, playing a few games and riding the tamer rides to start. At one of the stands, Seungcheol picks up two pairs of animal ears, holding them where you can’t see. 

“Pick a side.” he states with a sparkle in his eyes, hands behind his back.

You roll your eyes at his antics and do as he asks.

“Good choice,” he said, handing you a pair of floppy bunny ears, putting the other set- wolf ears- on his own head. “How do I look?”

You snort. “Ridiculous.”

“Come on princess, I think yours suit you perfectly,” he teased, tugging gently on one of the ears now perched on your head. He drags you over to one of the photo-booths scattered around the park and pulls you inside as you laugh.

His arm is wrapped around you, who instinctively leans into his shoulder as the screen counts down. After some more silly shots, the last timer runs on the screen. The two of you are posing when you impulsively turn your head and press a kiss to his cheek as the flash goes off. Before you can try and see Seungcheols expression you quickly get out of the booth, crouching down to wait for the photos to print. A shadow surrounds you but you ignore it, grabbing the two photo stips and standing up, actively avoiding looking at the man behind you until you feel strong arms circle around your waist.

“Don’t get shy on me now, princess.” Seungcheol’s voice is low and quiet, his breath tickling you neck. He gently turns you around in his arms, forcing you to face him. When you do, you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.

His eyebrows raise, expression soft and questioning as you raise your hand to his cheek. “You’ve uh.. Got a little something on here.” Before you can wipe off the lipstick mark a hand grabbing your wrist stops you. Seungcheol just hums, the smile on his face growing as he responds. “Leave it there, I like it.”

You look away, flustered, “It might stain.”

His smile only grows further as his hands squeeze your waist reassuringly, “Even better.”

A few more hours fly by in a blur of laughter, shared glances, and the occasional screaming as you ride a roller coaster. As the day winds down, Seungcheol leads you toward the Ferris wheel.

“Ending with a Ferris wheel ride at sunset huh?” you tease with a smirk. “Classic.”

He chuckles. “You’re smiling, so I think it’s worth being cheesy.”

Your face flushes as you step into the car with him, the soft glow of the park lights casting everything in a dreamy haze. As the wheel lifts you higher, you take in the moment—simple, sweet, and perfect.

The car sways gently as it begins to ascend, the world growing smaller beneath your feet. Seungcheol leans back in the seat across from you, his arm casually draped across the edge, as though the intimacy of the situation didn’t seem to bother him at all. Meanwhile, your heart is racing, the memories of the day making it difficult to keep your composure as you keep your eyes trained on the park as it gets smaller and smaller.

“Nice view,” the man across from you murmurs. When you sneak a glance at him, his eyes aren’t on the horizon—they’re focused on you, his soft expression making your breath hitch.

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning to face the window again. “Yeah, it’s beautiful,” you agree, your voice coming out shakier than intended. The warmth of the sunset casts a golden glow across the park below, lights beginning to twinkle as the day faded.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungcheol shift slightly closer. “You’ve been smiling all day,” he comments. “Do I get some credit for that, or was it just the funnel cakes?”

You laugh, turning back to meet his gaze. “Oh definitely the funnel cake, But you’re decent company too, I guess.”

He grins, leaning forward just slightly. “Decent? Come on, you can do better than that.”

You raise a brow, trying to hold your ground despite how his closeness makes you feel like melting into the seat. “Don’t push your luck.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the distant hum of the park and the creak of the Ferris wheel as it carries you higher. His expression softens, and he tilts his head slightly, as though weighing his next words carefully. “You know,” he starts, his voice low, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I hoped you were looking forward to seeing me.”

Your breath catches, and you search his face for any trace of teasing, but his expression is nothing but sincerity with a tinge of nervousness. “Maybe I was,” you admit quietly.

His smile widens, dimples returning with full force as the confidence that had momentarily wavered in his eyes returns. “I’m glad. Maybe I was hoping to see you too.”

The car comes to a stop at the top of the wheel, leaving the two of you suspended in the sky. The view is breathtaking, but all you can focus on is the way Seungcheol’s eyes shine, on the curve of his nose, where your lips are stamped on his cheek, how soft and welcoming his own lips look. His fingers brush your own and your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice smooth and steady, as if sensing your hesitation.

You nod, your gaze flicking between his eyes and the hand now gently covering yours. “Yeah. Just… you make me nervous.” As soon as the words leave your mouth you want to jump out of the ferris wheel.

He chuckles softly, the sound halting your thoughts. “Ditto.” he remarks and you swear your heart stops as he leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. His face is inches from yours, the space between you charged with tension. You could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with your own, the weight of his presence grounding you and making your head spin all at once.

And then, as though the universe decided it hated you, the car jolts slightly, the Ferris wheel beginning its descent. The tension clears, and you both laugh as it dissolves into something softer and more familiar. When you both reach the ground, Seungcheol offers you a hand as you step out of the gondola, not letting go until the two of you reach his car. 

Seungcheol opens the passenger door for you, his hand lingering on the frame as you step in. He waits until you’re settled, closing the door with a gentle thud before walking around to the driver’s side. As he slides into the seat, the soft click of the doors locking echoes in the quiet night.

The drive home is comfortable, the radio humming a mellow tune as the city lights streak past the windows. Neither of you speak much, but for once you don’t mind the silence, it’s comfortable, as if the events of the day are still settling in your minds. 

When the two of you finally arrive at your adjacent apartments, he turns to look at you.

“So,” he begins, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “did I live up to your standards of being ‘decent company’?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “I guess you weren’t terrible,” you reply, feigning nonchalance.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he leans against the wall. “I’ll take it. Progress is progress.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward—it’s heavy with the weight of the day, the laughter, the quiet moments, and the words that neither of you seems quite ready to say.

“Well,” you finally say, your hand moving to the door handle, “thanks for today. I really needed it.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the photo strip from earlier at the amusement park. He holds it out to you, his fingers brushing yours when you take it.

You glance down at the photos—the silly poses, the bunny ears, the surprised look on his face as you kissed his cheek—and your chest tightens in the best way possible. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the stillness.

When you look back up, he’s watching you, his expression unreadable. He shifts, fingers lightly grazing yours.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his voice steadier than you feel. “If you’re up for it… we should do this again sometime.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, all you can do is nod. “Yeah,” you manage, your voice soft. “I’d like that too.”

His smile grows, and for a split second, you think he might lean in, but instead, he squeezes your hand gently before pulling back. “Get some rest.” he says, his tone light but his eyes lingering on yours.

As you open your door, the apartment inside feels emptier than normal. You pause, glancing back at Seungcheol.

“Text me when you’re free,” he says, his grin now fully teasing. “Or, you know, just knock on the wall or something.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you softly close the door. Your heart races as you lean against it, the photo strip still clutched in your hand. You glance down at the images, your smile widening as you run your thumb over the glossy surface.

You were screwed—completely and utterly fucked—but for the first time in a long while, you didn’t mind one bit.

—

Jeonghan is late again, you’d think he’d learn to use his time better on Wednesdays but some things never change, you suppose. You sit across from Hao, sipping on your coffee as he eyes you suspiciously.

“So,” he begins, placing his tea on the table, his voice carrying that signature teasing lilt. “You went on a date.”

You nearly choke, coughing into your hand as you set your drink down. “Excuse me? How do you know that?”

He just smirks, leaning back in his chair with an air of triumph. “I was just guessing but you just confirmed it.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity. “That’s not fair—you tricked me!”

“Hardly,” he replies, stirring his tea with mock innocence. “You’re just too easy to read. So was it good?”

Before you can fire back, a familiar voice cuts in, smooth and teasing. “What’s this about a date?”

You turn to see Jeonghan strolling toward your table, his blazer slung over one shoulder and his hair annoyingly perfect, as if he’d stepped out of a magazine, not his office. He grins as he pulls out a chair to join you.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, sinking into your seat. “Now it’s both of you.”

Jeonghan raises a brow, clearly delighted. “Both of us? This sounds like a story. Go on, I’m listening.”

Minghao smirks, pointing at you with his spoon. “She went on a date.”

“Stop saying it like that,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jeonghan’s eyes light up as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Ooh, let me guess, the new neighbor you told us about?”

You sigh, knowing you’re outnumbered. “Okay, okay fine. Yes, with the neighbor, and it was nice. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Nice?” Jeonghan repeats, feigning disappointment. “That’s all? Come on, you can do better than that. You haven’t been on a date in god-knows how long and all you can say is ‘nice’?”

“Why are you even here?” you snap, though you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped through.

Minghao tilts his head thoughtfully. “Was it ‘okay’ good or ‘planning another date’ good?”

“I’m betting it’s the second one.” Jeonghan said, his voice lilting. 

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “Why do I tell either of you anything?”

Jeonghan flashes his signature cheshire smile, nudging your arm. “Because we’re your favorite. Now, come on. Was there a spark? A magical moment? Did you trip over something and land in his arms? Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Nothing like that, you dork.” you respond, trying to hide your smile but failing miserably. “It was just... fun. Exciting. Better than I thought it would be.” Jeonghan and Minghao exchange a look, one of those silent, unspoken conversations that only the three of you could understand.

“Definitely planning date two,” Minghao says, deadpan.

You groan again, but the warmth of their teasing—playful and supportive—makes it impossible to be annoyed. “I hate you guys,” you mumble, though your laugh gives you away.

“And yet,” Jeonghan teases, raising an imaginary glass, “you keep us around. To your nice, hot neighbor for finally getting you out of your apartment!”

Minghao raises his tea to join in. “Cheers to that.”

Rolling your eyes, you clink your mug against theirs. “You’re both insufferable.”

“For sure,” Minghao says with a smile, “that’s why you love us.”

—

Weeks pass in a blur of updating your nosy friends and texting Seungcheol, soon enough you find yourself looking forward to his messages, giddy feelings replaced with warmth and comfort. The banter is light but always at the edge of something more lingering between every word.

Cheol: So u finally going to admit that you miss me?You: I don’t wanna lie to you Cheol.Cheol: You say that now, but wait until this weekend. You’ll be begging for more.You: Oh? What if I have plans this weekend? You know, being busy and all that.Cheol: Then I guess I’ll have to cancel my dinner reservations :(You: We can't have that can we?

The next message is an address and the words: 7pm

Saturday evening comes faster than you expected, and when you glance at the clock, the realization hits that you’re running behind. You rush to get ready, a mix of excitement and nerves churning in your stomach as you pick out an outfit matching the nice restaurant Seungcheol had sent you. You want to show him a side of yourself that’s more than you coming home or leaving for work.

You choose a dark red dress that hugs your curves in all the right places. The neckline dips just low enough, an elegant slit running up the side. Paired with black heels and a sleek necklace dangling almost dangerously low, it feels just right. You spend a little extra time on makeup, defining each feature and topping it off with a red lip that matches your dress. By the time you’re finished, you feel more confident than you have in a while.

A knock at your door sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins.You check the mirror one last time before stepping toward the door, trying to keep your composure.

When the door opens Seungcheol just stands there for a second, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. The intensity of the gaze almost has you feeling self-conscious, until you see the way his eyes take on a slightly glazed quality instead of the usual teasing glint.

“Damn,” he finally breathes out, his voice low and shaky. “You look… wow.”

You bite back your smile, feeling your cheeks heat up at his gaze. “Thanks,” you say, trying to act nonchalant, but failing miserably.

He steps closer, his gaze still lingering on you, and you can almost feel magnetic pull in the space between you. “I… ” His eyes flick down to your heels and then back up to your face, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I might need to take a second to adjust.”

You chuckle, feeling the warmth of his hands burning your hips through the fabric of your dress, “Well, would you look at that? Choi Seungcheol is actually tongue-tied.”

Seungcheol’s grin widens, “How could I not be speechless when you look like that?”, he asks before taking your hand and leading you to his car. The ride is short, but this time, it feels different. The air between you is thick with anticipation, neither of you speaking much—words feel unnecessary when the moment speaks for itself.

When you arrive at the restaurant, the valet greets Seungcheol like an old friend, and you can’t help but notice the way he carries himself—confident, composed, like he belongs in this world. He guides you through the entrance, a small smile on his face as gently takes your hand.

The restaurant has an air of quiet elegance, the kind that feels effortlessly luxurious. The lighting is soft, casting a golden glow on the crisp white table-cloths, the flickering candlelight adding a comforting warmth. The faint murmur of conversation fills the background, but you feel as if the two of you are in your own little world.

Seungcheol pulls your chair out for you as you sit, and you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by how natural he makes everything feel, despite the grandeur of the setting. You settle into your seat, your hand instinctively resting on the edge of the table, your fingers brushing the silverware as you glance around. The atmosphere is luxurious, yes, but there’s something reassuring about the way Seungcheol carries himself, like he’s right at home here.

Once the menus are set in front of you, Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. He scans the offerings with a casual air but glances over at you as you study the menu in your hands. "Don't let the fancy setting fool you. The food here is surprisingly good. I’ve been here more than once.” he says, his voice smooth and low, the confidence he carries in all things evident in the casual mention.

You chuckle, glancing up at him. “Take a lot of your dates here, do you?”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Only one.” 

You can’t help the shy smile that spreads across your face, “Who would have known you’re secretly a softy.”

He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. “I’ve got layers, princess. Lots of layers.”

The way he says it, so effortlessly confident, causes your stomach to flutter a lot little. You take a sip of your water, trying not to let him see how much he’s affecting you. “I’m sure. I bet you’re the life of the party at places like this.”

Seungcheol smirks and leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I can be. But I also know when to appreciate the quiet nights. Sometimes it’s better to enjoy the little things.” His gaze shifts to meet yours then, a quiet intensity in his eyes. It’s a subtle change, but one that makes your heart race.

You swallow, suddenly acutely aware of his gaze. You glance at the menu again, though you haven’t truly registered anything on it. “I’ll take your word for it,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady.

When the waiter returns to take your order, Seungcheol speaks for both of you, his choices seemingly effortless. You take the time to fully appreciate the man in front of you; the way his red tie is the same hue as your dress, how his white button up stretches across his chest giving an outline of a fit physique further supported in the way his sleeves strain against his arms. 

Seungcheol clears his throat, and you realize you’ve been caught red-handed, so you decide to just shrug because yeah, he’s hot. There’s something more serious about the way Seungcheol watches you now, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck, the way the candlelight plays in your hair. It’s as if the energy in the room has shifted, becoming a little more personal.

“I have to admit,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer than before, “I’m having a really good time.”

You laugh, but it’s not from nervousness. It’s a genuine sound. “You’ve been teasing me nonstop for days. I’d hope you at least had a good time after all that hard work.”

His lips curve into that familiar teasing smile. “I’ve been doing more than teasing. You just don’t realize it yet.” He tilts his head slightly. “I’m glad you came, though. Really.”

The words, simple as they are, catch you off guard. It’s one thing for him to be flirty, but for him to show this side of him, this quiet sincerity... you weren’t prepared for it.

Before you can respond, the drinks arrive—a crisp white wine for you, a rich red for him. The clink of glass as it’s set on the table draws you back into the moment. Seungcheol raises his glass, his eyes locked on yours. "To good company," he says, his tone earnest but playful.

You smile and clink your glass against his, the material cool against your fingers. “To good company,” you repeat, your voice just as soft.

The conversation flows easy after that, not forced, but natural. He talks about his favorite restaurants, his travels, and how he’s surprisingly fond of quiet nights. You find yourself opening up more than you intended, sharing stories about your childhood, what drives you, what you love most about your work. He listens intently, his gaze never wavering, his attention fully on you. As if every word matters to him, every sentence is important.

It’s hard not to notice how his gaze shifts from playful to something more thoughtful as you speak, his eyes locking on yours with an unreadable emotion that makes your breath catch every time. You don’t want to admit it, but his attention feels like a constant pull on your thoughts, something that you can’t seem to escape.

When your meal arrives, the soft clink of silverware against the fine china is the only sound for a moment. You both pause, then Seungcheol leans back slightly, eyeing your plate with a mischievous grin. “You’re not going to finish that, are you?” he teases. “I’ll be happy to help.”

You raise an eyebrow, shooting him a playful glance. “I think I’ll manage just fine.”

The two of you laugh easily over the shared dish, the comfortable intimacy of it all settling around you like a familiar blanket. It’s rare to feel so at ease with someone in this kind of setting, but with Seungcheol, it’s effortless.

At some point during dessert, Seungcheol reaches across the table and gently runs his thumb along your hand. The motion is slow, deliberate, and for the first time, he’s not teasing. His touch is softer, and his eyes—god those eyes—hold a sincerity that has you feeling like you’re the only person in the room–in the whole world even.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight.”

You hum, feeling a flutter deep in your chest. “So you’ve mentioned.” 

After a moment you respond again, “I am too.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, the tension between you now wrapping around your mind and dulling the outside world. The soft clink of glasses, the quiet hum of the restaurant, the distant murmur of conversations... it all fades into the background.

Finally, after a long moment of simply looking at each other, Seungcheol stands and walks around to your side of the table, offering his hand. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low but steady.

By the time you’re at the door to your apartment, the tension between the two of you is almost suffocating. You invite him inside, and Seungcheol takes a deep breath, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back.”

And when you lean close to his ear and tell him then don’t, it’s like floodgates open. Seungcheol shuts the door behind him, crowding you against it as he leans close to you, hands finding your hips and breath warm against your ear. “Do you even know what you’ve been doing to me all night?” he asks, voice so low it's almost a growl.

You smile, hands trailing up his torso to wrap around his neck, “I guess I clean up well.”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly, experimentally squeezing your hips,  “Too bad I’m gonna get you all dirty again.”

When he tilts your chin up to meet his lips, you expect the kiss to be hungry, as desperate as he has you feeling, instead Seungcheol kisses you slowly, tenderly with a sweetness rivaling ambrosia. Your arms wind themselves around his neck, pressing yourself harder against him as if even a second apart would be painful because, quite frankly, that’s how kissing him felt. He takes his time to savor each brush of your lips on his, each sigh that you breathe into his mouth.

Seungcheol looks absolutely ruined. His pupils are blown out, hair messy with your hands in it and red lipstick smeared on his swollen lips. You’re sure you don’t look much different, as the two of you crash back together at the same time. This kiss is how you expected the first to be, hungry, desperate, and hard.

Even when your lungs burn for air your lips chase after him when he separates from you, pupils blown out, hair messy, your lipstick smeared across his mouth, Seungcheol looks absolutely ruined. 

The only thing you can hear is breathlessness before you’re tangling your fingers into his hair to crash your lips together again. Seungcheol presses into even more, hands pushing against your door as he intoxicates you once more. The kiss isn’t soft this time, lust taking over and pulling the two of you into each other. His hand moves to your jaw, switching the angle and taking away any last bit of brain function you have because even when kissing you with such passion Seungcheol still isn’t rough with you. He kisses you with a confidence and control that has you whimpering into his lips.

The sound clearly affects him, his tongue prodding at your lips and a small breath leaving him when you open your mouth further. He starts exploring your mouth as his hands move to explore your body, sliding up and down your waist to your thighs, where he squeezes before lifting you up seemingly effortlessly. 

“Your room?” Seungcheol murmurs into your mouth. You break apart from him once again, hands on either side of his face, forehead resting against his. “Same layout as your apartment.” You recall, resuming the kiss once more as he carries you over to your bed, gently setting you down on the edge.

He drinks the breathy sound that leaves your mouth when his fingers find the zipper on your back, slowly drawing it down and caressing each new plane of skin revealed to him. You lift your hips, helping him get the dress fully off your body and thrown somewhere on the floor. You try to pull him in closer to you but Seungcheol is frozen. You wiggle impatiently and he just shakes his head at you, a breathy laugh leaving his kiss swollen lips.

“Be patient baby, let me appreciate you, fuck.” The last word comes from a deep place in his chest, an almost guttural sound as his hands gently trace up your legs, hips, waist, settling just below your dark red lace bra that matches your now discarded dress. He looks at you with an awe equal to that of meeting a deity, as if he’d never seen anything more captivating and never will in this lifetime. His gaze makes you flush because you’re just you, sure you put on a pretty matching set but even then you didn’t think he’d be this into it. You apparently verbalize your thoughts unintentionally because Seungcheol looks up at you once more, this time gaze filled with disbelief.

“Just you? Just you? God, you really don’t know how beautiful you are, do you, princess?” The nickname causes a shiver to go down your spine, his hands gently as they move behind you, unclipping your bra. “So perfect, so pretty for me.” His words are accompanied by his hands slowly massaging your now bare chest before he dives into you, mouth ravishing every inch on your skin as he pulls sounds from you. Your fingers find their way to his hair, tugging when he nips at your skin. After thoroughly stealing your breath his lips start making their way down to where you need him most. His nose presses against your core causing an embarrassingly depraved whimper to leave you.

“Fuck princess, you’re so ready for me,” he says as he pulls your panties away from your body, holding them up for you to see the ruined fabric. You don’t have time to think about them as he starts to leave hot open mouthed kisses on your inner thigh before dipping his tongue ever so slightly into your weeping hole. Your hands tug slightly on his hair and seemingly break whatever resolve he has as he starts to devour you. He knows exactly when to slow down, licking your cunt up and sucking in ways that have your head spinning. Your insides clench around nothing, leaking arousal as his lips wrap around your clit. He drinks all of your juices, his tongue collecting your wetness like water. 

When he focuses his tongue on your hole, prodding timidly inside you as your walls beg to be stretched, your hands tug harshly at his hair, making him moan right into your cunt, as if he’s enjoying the pull of his hair as you use him for your pleasure. Your orgasm approaches at the speed of light, quicker than you’d ever thought a man could pull from you.

You spasm with each swipe of his tongue that gets faster as he notices how close you are. When he decides to focus on teasing your clit, something snaps in you and you come undone on his tongue. 

He practically makes out with your cunt, stretching out your orgasm and making your legs tremble at his sides. You can feel the big smirk across his lips through your pleasure-induced haze. He doesn’t move away even when you start to feel over stimulated, you tug on his hair.

“You can give me one more, right princess?” He looks like something straight out of a porno, mouth covered in you, hair messy between your fingers, how could you possibly resist such a sight, especially when his finger runs up and down your entrance teasingly.

“Please” is all you have to say before he disappears once more between your legs. His fingers start to stretch out your walls, tongue lapping up any juices that escape. The pounding of his fingers inside you drag you close to the edge faster than before, and when his fingers graze one spot you’re seeing stars.

“There, right there fuck Cheol please–” your words get cut off by a breathy moan as he sucks on your clit, vision going blurry as you come on his fingers. When you’re coming down from the high, you watch as he takes said fingers and licks them clean with a groan, “You might just be my new favorite meal, princess.”

Your eyes roll at the comments as you shakily climb to your knees, earning a raised eyebrow from Cheol as you grab his shirt to pull him towards you, “You’re looking way too clothed to be saying that right now.” You mutter, making quick work of his buttons. His laugh turns into a groan when you press a kiss to his neck, sliding his shirt off of him and running your hands across the expanse of his torso. His muscles are firm and defined, and you don’t resist the urge to bend over and softly bite his chest, reveling in the choked sound he makes. His hands grab your head, pulling you into a wet kiss as you pull at his pants and boxers, sliding them down his legs to free his hard cock. As you look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, long, thick, deliciously curved, this man will be the end of you. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips. A whimper escapes you, and Seungcheol hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, princess. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he thrusts his hips up, causing your movements to stutter as you gag. “You can take a bit more, yeah?” his question ends with a groan, his fingers tightening on your hair. 

You lower your head further in response, taking in another more of him. His hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair.

“Fuck, just like that baby, want you to choke on it,” his voice is gravely and low, the sound going straight to your core. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and your eyes start to water. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure.

“Fuck my throat,” you beg ask, “Please”

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips as he guides himself into your mouth, smirking at how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Well since you asked so nicely.”

You whimper around him, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. Suddenly he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with a sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. He crashes his lips to yours in response before pulling away suddenly.

His eyes widen as he looks around, suddenly looking frantic, “Shit, condoms. Stay here, I’ll quickly get dressed and run to my–”

“Are you clean?”

Seungcheol’s eyes go wide at your suggestion before slowly nodding, “I got tested last month, you’re not suggesting…” His voice trails off.

Have you ever let anyone hit it raw? Absolutely not. Did you have the patience for him to go to his apartment and grab condoms? Also absolutely not.

“I’m on birth control, clean, and way too fucking horny for you to be anywhere except inside me.” You state blankly. He shakes his head in astonishment before climbing on top of you, kissing you once more. 

“God, you’re perfect.” he sighs, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks at you one more time for approval. “Ready?”

“Please— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head slides inside you, eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. He barely pulls out before fucking into you with a little more force.  “Shit, you’re so tight, fuck.”

“Cheol please,” you gasp, not quite sure what you're asking for when you latch onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. You’ve never felt this full in your life as Seungcheol waits for you to adjust, pussy spasming around him in ways that make his eyes roll back. When you give him the okay he pulls out slowly, so you can feel every vein as it drags on your walls before he fucks back into you.

His pace starts to get faster and the sounds from both of you sound straight from a porno, but you don’t care because all you can think about is how good his dick feels inside you, how full you feel. From this position, you can see the way his face contorts in pleasure, brows furrowed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips and sucks hard. “Fuck princess, you’re so perfect shit– pretty pussy made for me, huh?”

“For you,” you pant, thoughts reduced to just the feeling of him inside you. “All for you Cheol.”

His mouth curves into a soft smile as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Seugcheol’s hand slides down to grasp your hip, squeezing the soft skin and pulling you harder against him, impossibly closer. 

“You’re perfect princess, my perfect pretty baby,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he repeats, more to himself than to you, voice strained as he tries to hold himself back, chasing your release before his own.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening, and you’re sure you look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, but the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Cheol, I’m—” 

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you baby, let go for me. I’ll take care of you,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall (thank god his room is the only one next to yours). Your body obeys him, a gast tearing through you as you moan Seungcheols name like a prayer. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, his expression as wrecked as you feel. “Tell me where—.”

“Inside.”

“Shit, are you sure?”

“Fill me up Cheol, please. Want it so bad.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. He buries himself inside you, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls. He ruts against you, his body trembling against yours before he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you gently. You almost cry when he slips out of you, hating the feeling of being empty as he finds your bathroom and returns with a towel to clean you up, eventually lulling you to sleep.

—

The first thing you register when you wake up is warmth— you soft sheets tangled around your limbs, the lingering scent of cologne woven into the fabric. The second thing is weight, the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, an arm draped around your waist, fingers splayed possessively over your hip.

Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you’re disoriented. The golden morning light filters through the curtains, casting lazy patterns across the room, but it takes another second for reality to catch up.

Seungcheol.

His presence is unmistakable, the solid warmth of him anchoring you even before you tilt your head up to look at him. His face is relaxed in sleep, soft in a way you don’t think you’ve seen before. His lashes rest against his cheeks, lips slightly parted, one hand still gripping your waist as if unconsciously keeping you close .

You take a slow breath, careful not to wake him just yet, allowing yourself the luxury of watching him like this. The confidence he always carries, the sharp smirks and teasing remarks—none of it is present in this moment. Right now, he’s just Seungcheol.

Your fingers move instinctively, tracing the curve of his nose, the contour of his lips. His grip on your waist tightens slightly in response, and you hear the low, raspy sound of his voice.

“Mmm.” A deep inhale, then a groggy mumble. “It’s too early.”

You laugh softly, then for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the quiet of the morning stretching between you. His fingers skim along your spine absentmindedly, tracing patterns into your skin. It’s dangerously intimate, this kind of quiet closeness, and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to say something.

When he finally does, his voice is softer than before. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. You?”

His thumb brushes over your hip, slow and deliberate. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, something that lingers between the two of you, but neither of you address it. Not yet. Instead, you stay like this for a while longer, wrapped in each other. Eventually, though, reality has to creep back in. You sigh, shifting slightly. “We should probably get up.”

Seungcheol groans dramatically, pulling you tighter against him. “Or we could just stay like this.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest again, this time with more force. “You have things to do, and I—”

“—have to stay here and cuddle me,” he finishes smoothly, peeking one eye open again and giving you a peck on the lips. “Sounds like the perfect plan, right?”

You roll your eyes but don’t immediately pull away, allowing yourself one more stolen moment of peace before finally sitting up. Seungcheol watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded, filled with something you can’t quite name. Then, just as you’re about to move off the bed, his hand catches your wrist, stopping you.

You glance back at him, and his expression is unreadable for a beat before he smirks, tugging you down just enough to brush his lips against yours.

“Morning,” he murmurs, and it feels dangerously close to something more.

You swallow, the weight of the moment settling over you, but instead of overthinking it, you smile. “Morning.”

—

A week later you find yourself lying in the same bed, missing the man who had laid with you. The two of you haven’t seen each other since—your schedules never quite aligning—but the texts haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve only gotten more frequent and flirtatious.

Cheol: You avoiding me or just giving me time to miss you? You: Are those the only options? Cheol: Unless you’d rather admit you can’t stop thinking about me. You: You’re so full of yourself. Cheol: And you love it.

You hate how much you do love it.

You turn and nearly walk into two people standing in the hallway.

“Whoa—careful,” a deep voice says as a steady hand catches your elbow.

It’s Seungcheol. Of course, it’s Seungcheol. He’s standing in front of you, that familiar grin spreading across his face. Standing next to him is a man you instantly recognize—Wonwoo. His calm, sharp features are exactly as you remember, though he seems a little more refined since college. You school your expression, feigning polite curiosity.

“Hey,” you manage, adjusting your grip on the bag.

“Hey yourself,” Seungcheol says, his grin widening. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Uh, I live here,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the sudden thumping in your chest.

Wonwoo clears his throat, glancing between the two of you. “Cheol, are you going to introduce me, or should I do it myself?”

“Right.” Seungcheol gestures toward him. “This is Wonwoo—friend, buddy, compadre, if you will, and frequent pain in my ass. Wonwoo, this is…” He pauses, “Her.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow but extends a hand to you. “Nice to meet you, ‘Her.’ Or, nice to see you again, I guess.”

You laugh, shaking his hand. “Nice to see you too. I’d remind you of my real name, but apparently Seungcheol forgot it.”

“Hardly, you’re the only thing he’s been talking about recently. You were friends with Kwan’, right? I think I crashed your study sessions a few times.”

The mention of Seungkwan brings a smile to your face, he’s now roommates with Jeonghan, even though he’s grown so much since you first met him the younger boy will always have a special place in your heart, “Yeah probably, he always had someone tagging along with him. That kid was a real social butterfly.” Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond but Seungcheol cuts him off.

“Yeah, great, glad you guys are close.” Seungcheol crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he studies you. ”Small world and such.”

Your stomach twists slightly, but you keep your expression neutral. “Yeah, crazy coincidence. It’s almost like we went to the same school.” you say sarcastically, “So, what games will you be playing today?” 

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at you, “Who said anything about playing games?”

You swear your heart stops at that moment.

“Oh-uh,” Think, think, think, “Well the walls don’t do a very good job at masking your swearing at night, just assumed that’s what was going on.” 

Wonwoo, ever the observant one, stays quiet, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—like he’s connecting dots that you’d rather he didn’t.

“Sure,” Seungcheol responds, still watching you closely. “Anyways, we should get going.”

You nod, stepping back toward your door. “Yeah, it was nice seeing you both. I should put these away before they melt.”

“Uh huh,” Seungcheol mutters, stepping aside. Wonwoo simply nods politely, his expression calm but unreadable.

Once inside your apartment, you set the groceries down with a sigh, your mind racing. You didn’t slip up that bad, right? At least you had covered your mistake pretty well? Still, there was something about the way Seungcheol looked at you– like he was trying to piece together a puzzle– that left a sinking feeling in your stomach.

—

Another few days pass before you hear from Seungcheol outside of the usual teasing texts. You’re curled up on your couch when your phone buzzes.

Cheol: So, are you going to keep eavesdropping through the walls, or are you finally going to come over and play?

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

You: Who says I want to play?

Cheol: You wound me. But fine, if you’re too scared to lose, I understand.

You: Oh, please. Like you could actually beat me at anything.

Cheol: Prove it. Tonight. My place.

You hesitate for a moment. It’s one thing to comment on him playing games, but actually playing with him? You can’t be sure you won’t slip up again. But then again, you can’t let him think you’re scared.

You: Fine. What time?

Cheol: 8. Wonwoo will be there. And a few others. Don’t be late.

You stare at your screen for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no way this is a good idea, but you’re already getting up to change.

—

At 8:03, you knock on Seungcheol’s door. He opens it almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for you.

“You’re late,” he says, pouting slightly.

“It’s literally been three minutes, you big baby.”

“Three minutes too long.” He steps aside, letting you in. “Come on, the others are already here.”

His apartment is warm and filled with an easy kind of chaos. Wonwoo is lounging on the couch, a controller in hand, looking perfectly unbothered as he glances up at you. “She showed.”

“She did,” Seungcheol confirms, closing the door behind you.

At the other end of the room, four other guys are gathered, already deep into conversation. Seungcheol gestures toward them. “These are the guys. That’s Jihoon—" he points to the one sitting cross-legged on the floor, focused on a laptop. Jihoon barely glances up, offering only a short nod. “Vernon—” the boy next to Jihoon gives a small wave, expression relaxed. “Mingyu—” the tall one grins and throws an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulder. “And Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung—who you recognize from random campus events back in college—immediately brightens. “Wait, I know you! You were friends with Seungkwan, right?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Small world, huh?”

Seungcheol claps his hands together. “Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get down to business.”

“Games,” Mingyu supplies helpfully.

“Winning,” Seungcheol corrects, looking directly at you.

You raise an eyebrow. “You wish.”

He grins. “We’ll see.”

—

The first game is an intense round of Mario Kart, and to no one’s surprise, Wonwoo dominates. “You guys suck,” he mutters as he crosses the finish line first yet again (as if you and Seungcheol weren’t on his tail the whole time).

“Okay, okay,” Seungcheol says, waving a hand. “Let’s switch it up. How about teams?”

You find yourself paired with Jihoon, who simply shrugs. “You ready?”

You smirk. “Let’s kick some ass.”

“Hell yeah.”

The match starts, and it’s immediately clear that Seungcheol is more competitive than he let on. The room is filled with laughter, shouts of victory, and groans of defeat. Soonyoung nearly falls off the couch at one point, yelling dramatically when your car pulls ahead of him.

Through it all, you feel yourself relaxing, the nervous energy from earlier fading away. When you glance at Seungcheol, he’s already watching you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he grins again.

—

As the night stretches on, the games gradually give way to easy conversation and laughter, drinks appearing in everyone's hands. Mingyu pours shots for everyone, insisting on a toast to new friends, while Soonyoung—already a little tipsy—challenges Jihoon to a battle of wits (which mostly consists of Jihoon sighing heavily while Soonyoung rambles on).

You find yourself nestled into the couch, comfortably warm from the drinks, the buzz of conversation wrapping around you. Seungcheol drops down next to you, draping an arm along the back of the couch. “Having fun?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You let out a quiet laugh. “Guess you’re not as unbearable as I thought.”

“High praise.” He grins, taking a sip from his glass.

Eventually, the night winds down, one by one, the others heading out or claiming their spots to crash for the night. You stretch, standing up to grab your things. Seungcheol watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. “Need someone to walk you home?”

You raise an eyebrow, a huffed laugh leaving you. “What, for the whole two feet I need to walk?”

“Exactly,” he says, standing up and smirking. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you in the five steps it takes to get there.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips as he walks you to your door anyways. As you turn the key to your apartment, you look back at him, maybe it’s the alcohol in your system, or maybe it’s the confidence from meeting his friends that has you leaning up to place a soft kiss on his lips, “Goodnight, gamer boy.”

You realize your mistake the next morning, hoping he didn’t.

—

Still, life goes on, months pass by with you and Seungcheol seeing each other but never giving what you have a label. Your affection for the man starts to pile more by the day along with your guilt, feeling as if you’re betraying him with every brush of your skin on his. Tonight you’re curled up comfortably by his side, his TV playing some rom-com in the background as the two of you feast on fried chicken and soju, a perfect evening. You don’t know when your conversation became talking about your childhood, but you don’t care as Seungcheol tells you a story of the messes he got into with his older brother.

“You’ve always been a trouble-maker haven’t you?” you exclaim, kissing the tip of his nose. He giggles, humming in response and you admire the way it makes his face light up, warming your heart. Everything is so perfect, the way his arms wrap around you, the way the alcohol makes your brain slightly fuzzy. How he presses kisses all over your face as you laugh, finally getting a real kiss pressed to your lips as he lays you down on his couch. Sweet, gentle, and full of an emotion you don’t want to name. When he pulls back the same emotion fills his eyes.

“I really like you, you know?” he says shyly. You nod in response, smiling up at him. “We should make things official then, yeah?” You’re about to nod when the guilt you’ve been suppressing comes back stronger than ever, “I- I’m sorry.” You tell him. Before he can question you further, you stand up, rathering your stuff, “I’m really sorry Cheol.” You say once again before leaving his apartment, too drunk and too scared to face him.

The next day, as much as you try to avoid him, you run into Seungcheol in the hallway and he stops you. His teeth worry at his bottom lip, brow furrowed, “We need to talk about last night. Did I do something? I thought we– I thought things were going well but– just.. Tell me what I can do. Please?”

His words shatter any resolve you had to keep things from him.

“I know you stream.” the words fall from your mouth and make the man in front of you go ridged, “I mean, I’ve watched you a few times– more than a few– I found you a few months before you moved in and didn’t really know what to do.” You wring your hands together, too nervous to look him in the eye.

A few moments pass before he replies, “So what, you just planned on never telling me? Even after we started hanging out? After we… after everything?” His voice sounds defeated, broken. You shake your head but no sound comes out of your mouth. What could you say? Had you ever planned on telling him? You never knew things would get this far, if you did would you have told him sooner. You can feel Seungcheols heavy gaze on you, prompting you to speak, “I— I don’t know Cheol. I’m really sorry I just- I don’t know.”

He nods in response, and you can practically feel your heart drop, “Give me some time.” Is all he says before walking away, leaving you feeling empty.

Another week passes without a word from Seungcheol. Then another. Guilt is eating you from the inside, you don’t know what Seungcheol is thinking, if he’ll ever talk to you again. You can’t say you’d blame him if he didn’t. Once again at work you start slipping up, eventually Minghao decides that enough is enough. 

“Spill, now.” He says when you take your usual seat across from him. You try to convince him to wait until Jeonghan arrives but he’s firm in his insistence.

“Tell me what's going on, from the beginning. No lies, no excuses, no ‘I’ll figure it out on my own’ bullshit.” And so you do. You start from the beginning, Jeonghan's recommendation, the comfort it had brought you until your new neighbor appeared, the dates, the late-nights, the avoidance. You spill your guts out and Minghao listens. When you finish your tangent he just shakes his head.

“I know I’m an idiot Hao, but what was I supposed to do?” You defend yourself, from what exactly, you aren’t sure. Your throat starts to tighten and Minghao places his hand atop yours on the table, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You’re overthinking it.” He talks the panic out of you like he has so many times before, guides your breathing and soothes your nerves.

“Just because you’re an idiot doesn’t mean you can’t fix things.” His statement makes you laugh, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly. “Trust me, I’m sure you and your little gamer boy can work things out. Just tell him the truth, the same way you just told it to me.” You nod in response. The rest of the break the two of you talk like you always do, laughing and jabbing your coworkers as Minghao just rolls his eyes at you. 

“Y/n?”

Your name from across the room breaks the comfortable bubble you’d been in with your friend. Seungcheol stands a few feet away from your table, betrayal evident in his eyes. You stand up to go towards him, but his scoff makes you stop in your tracks. He turns on his heel and walks out.

“What are you doing? Go after him, dumbass.” Broken out of your trance you hurry out the door, ignoring how the cold wind bites at your skin, your jacket left behind you. Seungcheol’s back is towards you as you chase after him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face you.

“Wait a second, I-” 

You’re cut off when he yanks his arm from your grip. Your chest aches when you see the look in his eyes. It’s unfamiliar, the face of the man you once found comfort in contorted into something else, something that scared you.

“Don’t start with me Y/n,” his tone is harsh, cutting through the cold air straight into your chest, “I trusted you, you know that? I really trusted you, I thought- it doesn’t even matter because you turned out to be the same as everyone else. This is all, what, some sort of twisted game? You wanted to get into my life and have a piece of me like every other crazy bitch that watches me, right? Well congradu-fucking-lations, you win. Your sick game is over now.” His eyes looked at you, filled with anger, betrayal, hatred, “And to think, after I started to believe that maybe, just maybe you had a reason to lie to me, that you actually cared about me, I see you with another guy. You can’t even go one week without finding a new boy-toy to play with, can you? You’re just another attention-seeking whore.” 

His words hit you like a slap in the face. Here you are, freezing your ass off to try and explain yourself all for what? Finally all the emotions that have been boiling under the surface start to bubble over, “Excuse me?” Your voice comes out dangerously calm, seemingly stopping Seungcheol’s next sentence. 

“First of all,” you clarify, “you’re the one who moved in next to me, let's not get things twisted. And yeah, I didn’t tell you I knew who you were, you wanna know why? Because the first time I saw you it looked like you were about to have a nervous breakdown because I recognized you. Of fucking course I said I knew you from college, I wasn’t about to make you more uncomfortable than you already were! I haven’t watched a single video since that day out of respect for you and your privacy. You are the one who kept talking to me, you are the one who asked me out, you are the one who kept doing things that would make it impossible for me to not start falling for you. A whore? I’ve been so worried about you that I make stupid mistakes in the simplest fucking tasks at work and my coworkers started to get worried, my friends started to get worried. So I finally tell them what's going on and when they convince me to come clean and explain everything to you, you decide to jump to conclusions. You can say whatever you want, Choi Seungcheol, but don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t care about you.” Hot tears stream down your face, but you don’t care, the words come pouring out from you, and you watch as Seungcheols expression morphs from anger, looking away before you can see what it turns into. His hand reaches out for yours but you pull away, not looking at him because you know if you do it’ll change your mind. “I hope you can find an attention-seeking whore to play with Seungcheol because I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

When you return to the cafe, Minghao doesn’t scold you for letting your emotions control you, offering instead to cover for you so you could go home but you refuse. Because what is home, you think, without Seungcheol. 

You stay at Jeonghans for the next few days, calling out sick from work to instead watch dramas with Seungkwan. He doesn’t question your sudden appearance, nor the tears that fall whenever the drama leads would interact, which you’re thankful for. He gives you a steady shoulder to cry on and a reliable source of laughter to cheer you up. The two of you are currently huddled under a blanket, watching as Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams run towards each other in the rain. Your hands are holding his tightly under the blanket as you both squeal when they kiss. When the movie ends tears stream down both of your faces and Seungkwan bumps your shoulder lightly, “Whatever you’re going through must be serious, you never cry during The Notebook.” 

You roll your eyes at his statement, laughing along with him as you turn the T.V. off. He turns to face you, suddenly serious and you know what's coming.

“You’re not kicking me out, are you?” The smile accompanying your joke doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and Seungkwan notices with a sigh.

“You know I would never, but you also know you can’t avoid going back forever. Eventually you’ll need to go back to your apartment.” He gives a pointed look at your too-big hoodie and sweats courtesy of Jeonghan. “Listen Y/n, you know I love you but–”

“I know Kwan’, I know. I’m just scared. Even if I know you’re right. I don’t think I’m ready to face him yet.” You cut him off, tears welling in your eyes once more. Seungkwan clasps your hands in his.

“Remember my senior year when I had a mental breakdown and called you at ass-O’-clock in the morning?” You nod, the memory vague but there. He continues, “I went over to your house and told you I was scared, that suddenly everything felt so real with job applications, interviews, and graduation getting closer. I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t ready to be an adult yet and suddenly life was being shoved in my face and I didn’t know how to cope. Do you remember what you said to me?” A small smile forms on your face among the tears, Seungkwan giving you a reassuring one in response.

 “There are some things you’ll never be ready for, but the clock still ticks and the Earth still spins, no matter how terrified you are. You just have to do it scared.” 

You recite the words with him, words your parents had told you when you were eighteen and unprepared for college life, words you lived by since then, that had gotten you through your darkest times and happiest moments. Words that you had somehow lost in the chaos of adulting. 

You wipe your face on your sleeve, small laughs replacing your sobs as you look at your lap, “Thanks Kwan.” 

You don’t need to say anything else, he knows, like he always does. Like all of your friends always do because at the end of the day no matter how tough things get you will always have an amazing support system full of amazing friends. No man could change that, no amount of distance could break the bond your little entourage have. Because they, you realize, are home.

Seungkwan wraps you in a warm embrace as you tear up some more, not sad this time. The two of you rock back and forth for a while before pulling away and making eye contact. 

“Tomorrow?”

“Can’t we wait until the weekend?”

“Fine, you stubborn pain in the ass. Saturday. Morning.”

You groan in response but don’t bother to hide the smile on your lips.

—

Saturday morning comes faster than you’d like. The moment your eyes flutter open, reality crashes into you like a wave, heavy and unrelenting. For a fleeting moment, you consider burying yourself deeper into the blankets, pretending that you could stay in Jeonghan’s guest room forever. But Seungkwan’s words from the night before echo in your mind. You just have to do it scared.

With a deep breath, you push yourself out of bed. Jeonghan is already in the kitchen, sipping his coffee with an all-knowing smirk when you walk in. "So, today’s the big day, huh?"

You roll your eyes, reaching for the mug he’s already set out for you. “You act like I’m about to get married.”

“Considering the dramatics, it might as well be.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. “Can you not?”

Jeonghan chuckles, patting the top of your head before walking away. “Just rip the bandaid off, Y/n. You’ll feel better once you do.”

You’re not sure about that, but you know he’s right.

By the time you reach your apartment complex, your heart is pounding so loudly that you can hear it in your ears. The familiar hallway feels foreign, your feet carrying you toward your door on autopilot. You turn the key in your apartment door, the familiar creak of the hinges sounding louder than usual in the quiet hallway. The space is just as you left it—dim, still, and eerily empty. It feels foreign, like you don’t quite belong here anymore. Maybe because, for the past few days, you didn’t. With a heavy sigh, you drop your bag by the door and toe off your shoes, making your way to the couch. The exhaustion from carrying the weight of everything settles into your bones. You lean back, eyes fluttering shut, trying to steady your breathing.

It takes a few days for you to settle back into your apartment. At first, everything feels too quiet. You find yourself reaching for your phone to text Seungcheol before remembering the way things ended. You distract yourself with work, with cleaning, with anything to keep your mind from wandering to the ache in your chest. But no matter how much you try to push it down, it lingers.

—

You haven’t seen him since that night. You don’t expect to. Instead you go back to how things had been before he moved in, ignoring the ache in your chest whenever you hear him through your thin apartment walls. 

Some nights, you lie awake, staring at the photo you had taken with him on your first date, wishing to go back in time. You listen to the faint sounds of his life bleeding through the walls, wondering if he does the same, or if he threw the picture away all together. The murmur of his voice on the phone, the clink of dishes in the sink, the low hum of his TV. It’s almost cruel how easily he seems to slip back into routine while you feel like you’re unraveling. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you’ll get used to it. But the silence in your own apartment is deafening, and the space he left behind feels colder than it should.

You start wearing headphones more often. It helps, a little. Drowns out the ghost of his presence. Keeps you from wondering if he ever pauses, mid-conversation, mid-laugh, mid-breath, thinking about you. You don’t let yourself hope.

But late one night, when you’re standing at your sink rinsing out a mug, you hear it—your name. Soft, hesitant. Muffled by the wall but unmistakable. Your breath catches, fingers tightening around the ceramic. You wait, straining to hear more. A part of you wants to move closer, to press your ear against the wall, to pretend that he’s just on the other side, that nothing has changed. But then you hear footsteps, the creak of his door opening.

And then nothing.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You tell yourself it was nothing.

But you don’t wear your headphones that night.

—

The next morning, you wake up with the imprint of your phone against your cheek, the playlist you put on last night long finished. Your first thought is that you dreamed it—his voice, his hesitation. That your mind is just playing tricks on you because it wants so badly to believe he still thinks about you.

But then, as you move through your morning routine, you catch yourself hesitating near the front door. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the weight in your chest, the feeling of stepping into the world once again without him waiting to greet you. You push the feelings aside.

When you finally open the door, you nearly step on something– small and familiar, sitting right in the center of your doorstep.

Your scarf.

You freeze. Your fingers twitch at your sides.

The scarf you’d left at his place weeks ago, back when you still had a place there too. It’s neatly folded, like he took care with it, but there’s no note, no explanation. Just the scarf. You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the fabric as you pick it up. It still smells like his apartment, like the faint trace of his cologne, like something that used to feel like home.

You stand there too long, cold air slipping into your apartment through the open door, numbing your fingers, your face. Your mind races with all the possibilities—did he find it by accident? Did he mean to leave it for you himself? Did he hesitate, just like you are now?

You don’t know what to do with it.

So you do what you always do—you tuck it away, shove it into the depths of your closet like you can bury the feelings that come with it.

But that night, when you curl into bed, your hand drifts toward the closet door. Before you can stop yourself, you pull the scarf back out. Hold it in your lap. Press it between your fingers. Like maybe, if you close your eyes, you can pretend—for just a little while—that you never had lied to him in the first place.

—

The scarf stays on your nightstand after that. You don’t wear it. You don’t even move it. But you don’t put it back in the closet, either.

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. It’s just fabric. Just something that happened to be left behind. He probably didn’t think twice about it. He was just returning something that wasn’t his, nothing more.

You keep going to work, settling disputes with coworkers who seem to have nothing better to do than fight (you ignore the way you almost reach for your phone to listen to Seungcheols voice as you work).

You keep meeting Jeonghan and Minghao on Wednesdays, occasionally Seungkwan joins the three of you (you ignore the way they glance at you with pity).

Everything is where it’s supposed to be (you ignore how everything you do feels like it’s missing something).

It’s late, and you’re lying in bed, not really asleep, not really awake. The walls between your apartments have always been thin—thin enough that sometimes you can catch pieces of his voice, low and tired, when he’s on the phone late at night.

But this time, there’s no conversation. Just footsteps. The sound of a drawer opening, then closing. A pause. And then, so quiet you almost miss it—your name.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself it was just in your imagination, don’t let yourself dwell on why he might have said that because he didn’t (you ignore how you know that’s a lie).

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you never really slept at all. Your body is heavy, your mind clouded with something you don’t want to name. You go about your day like normal—like nothing happened. Like you didn’t hear him say your name. Like it didn’t send a crack through the carefully constructed distance you’ve been trying to build.

But it lingers.

You don’t mean to, but you start listening to him more. Not on purpose—at least, that’s what you tell yourself—but your ears tune in anyway. You notice the little things: the way he moves around his apartment, the late nights he stays up, the mornings he leaves just a little later than he used to.

And then one evening, when you step out of your apartment to grab something from the corner store, you nearly run into him.

You freeze.

So does he.

For a moment, neither of you speak. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t been sleeping well either. Like maybe he’s been feeling the same weight pressing down on him. Your throat is tight. You should say something. You should walk away.

But then his gaze flickers, just briefly, to your door. To you.

When he starts to turn around Seungkwan’s reminder rings in your head.

Do it scared. 

And before you can stop yourself, before you can think better of it, his name slips past your lips, “Seungcheol.”

His breath catches.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, “We should talk.”

Seungcheol freezes, hand hovering above his door knob for a second before dropping to his side. When he looks up at you his eyes are full of so many emotions it makes your heart ache; shame, regret, hurt, hesitation. It almost makes you change your mind, but then you see it, the tiniest sliver of hope behind his gaze, that helps you keep going, inviting him into your apartment. He hesitates before entering, you walk in after him, closing the door.

Seungcheol doesn’t sit, so you don’t either. Instead, you stand near the couch, gripping your hands together to keep them from shaking. It’s silent for a moment, you aren’t used to his presence anymore.

“I meant what I said before,” you begin hesitantly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

His gaze flickers with something unreadable. He responds softly, voice sounding almost broken, “Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

You exhale, the numbed frustration and regret rising again in your chest. “At first I thought it wasn’t important, you were just my neighbor, and you looked nervous when we first met so I figured you’d rather stay anonymous. But then we started to get to know each other and suddenly I was keeping a huge secret and I didn’t know what to do. I-,” You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and stop your rambling, “I was scared. I didn’t want to ruin whatever this was—whatever we were. I thought if I told you the truth, you’d push me away.” You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Looks like I managed to do that anyway.”

Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “You should’ve given me the chance to decide how I felt about it instead of lying to me.”

You nod slowly, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “I know,” you whisper. “I should’ve told you the truth. I should have done so many things differently, but I didn’t, and I hurt you.” You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though it makes your stomach twist. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Seungcheol looks at you, nodding, “Me too. For what I said.”

“Don’t worry, I get it, you had every right to be mad.” You protest. 

He flinches, shaking his head. “Not like that.” His hands ball into fists at his sides before he sighs, running one through his hair. “Yeah, you should have told me. And yeah, it hurt. But what I said to you?” His jaw clenches. “That wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that.” His voice is thick with guilt, his brows furrowed in frustration—at himself, not at you as he looks away. “Did you- when we would be together who were you thinking of?”

You tilt your head in confusion, so he elaborates, “I guess what I’m asking is if you just thought of me as S.coups, if you thought it was just another game.” When he meets your gaze once more it’s as if all the confidence was drained from him, he looked unsure, raw vulnerability in the way he bites his lip and wrings his hands together. 

“It was never a game, not for me at least. To me you’ve always been Seungcheol, even when you first moved in, I didn’t really think about your job other than being worried that I would make you uncomfortable by knowing. Even when I’d watch you play, when you were having fun you were Seungcheol playing games like you used to during class. On days you didn’t seem as into it you were Seungcheol doing your job.”

You hear Seungcheol inhale sharply as you continue, “Back then and now you mean so much to me, I never meant to hurt you, but I did. And I don’t expect you to forgive me just because I apologized. If you still hate me that fi–”

You’re cut off by lips on yours, gentle and nervous until you kiss back. After so long it feels like the world finally clicks into place, a hand sliding into yours gently as your tears mix with his.

When you separate Seungcheol’s hand grips yours tightly, eyes still closed as if he’s scared you’ll be gone when he opens them. “I don’t hate you, Y/n.” His voice is softer now, barely a whisper. “I never did.” This time you lean into him, pressing your lips together once more. His free hand moves to cradle your face, yours lightly gripping the front of his shirt. Muttered ‘I missed you’s are scattered between kisses as you make your way to the couch, placing yourself on Seungcheol’s lap when he sits. Neither of you can help the tears on your faces. 

After who-knows-how-long you’re still in Seungcheol’s embrace, his strong arms wrapped around you, drawing slow patterns on your back as the two of you sway back and forth gently. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a quiet rhythm that makes you feel like you can finally breathe easy. You don’t know how long you sit there, tangled together on your couch, his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. Maybe he is. Maybe you are too.

“Thank you. For coming back.” Seungcheol murmurs into your hair. His voice is soft, careful, like he’s afraid of saying too much, of pushing too hard.

You shift slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are still damp, lashes clumped together, and the sight of it twists something in your chest. “Always,” you whisper. “I’ll be here as long as you still want me.”

His breath shudders as he exhales. “I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, voice thick with emotion. “Always did, always will.”

You close your eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the weight of his hands resting at your waist, grounding you. “No more hiding. No more running.” you say softly.

Seungcheol nods, his grip tightening like he’s holding onto something fragile. “No more running,” he agrees. For a while, neither of you speak. You just exist in the quiet, in the warmth of each other, letting the weight of everything settle. Eventually, Seungcheol chuckles, breath fanning against your cheek. “I don’t want to move,” he admits.

You smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Then don’t.”

His lips twitch into a grin. “You’ll let me stay?”

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head. “Depends. Are you planning on stealing all the blankets again?”

Seungcheol laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin. “No promises.”

You sigh dramatically. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can let go just yet.”

Neither do you.

—

“You ready to lose again?” Seungcheol asks, raising an eyebrow, the usual playful confidence in his voice.

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “In your dreams, Cheol.”

It’s silly, how normal it is, how easy it was to slip into the rhythm of this again. Your friends around you in his apartment, all laughing and having fun.

"Hoshi, I’m going to kick your ass!" Seungkwan yells from across the room, his voice high-pitched with mock frustration.

"You've got a lot of nerve talking, considering you're in last place," Soonyoung teases back, his grin wide and infectious.

"I can’t believe we’re playing this game again," Mingyu groans dramatically, even though he’s clearly enjoying himself despite the complaints.

"You’re just mad because I hit you with a shell. Like this," Jihoon shoots another shell at Mingyu’s cart, the corner of his lips curving upward as he hears Mingyu’s swears.

Seungcheol laughs, his usual confidence shining through as he skillfully handles his character. Every now and then, his hand would brush yours, and in those moments, it felt like time had slowed just enough for you to savor the simple joy of being surrounded by friends—by family.

"You’re about to lose!" Jeonghan said, voice full of amusement as he leaned over to look at the screen.

Seungcheol shot him a mock glare. "You’re not even playing."

But despite the teasing, the tension was long gone. No more waiting for the right moment to speak, no more hiding. It isn’t perfect—nothing ever is—but it's real. And that's enough.

You lean back against the couch, your head resting against Seungcheol’s shoulder as you pull into fourth place with a groan.

Seungcheol leans in, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. “So, when do you plan on winning?” he teases, his grin wider than before.

You glare at him, but the corners of your mouth betray you, lifting into a smile you can’t fight. “I’ll win when I’m good and ready, it’s not my fault my boyfriend is a professional.” you reply, your voice playful as you pout at the man in front of you. He laughs and presses a kiss to your lips, “Boyfriend, huh? You’re trying to use my weaknesses against me aren’t you?” You look up at him with the best innocent face you can manage, “That depends, my dear, is it working?”

“Maybe.”

“Ugh, get a room, you two.” Seungkwan’s complaints cause a wave of laughter as Seungcheol just pulls you closer into his side, sticking his tongue out at the younger boy. The teasing continues for a while longer, but you can feel how the warmth in the room isn’t just coming from the shared space or the game. It’s the laughter, the familiarity, and that makes a smile spread onto your lips. No distance, no walls. Just warmth, joy, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared. People who you knew would be by your side through thick and thin because the clocks still tick and the Earth still spins, time moves forward with them by your side to move with it.

A/N: Wooo she’s finally done!! Thx @orngejuic for being my beta reader ilysm.

[names-of-courage-inspo-n-refs]

[Text below taken from previous post^^^ for ease of searching]

4 year-olds

Have trouble with close visual activities like reading and writing

Fine motor skills are not well developed

Often very clumsy

Energetic and active

Friendly and talkative

Need adult help finding words to express their needs

Easily redirected from unwanted behavior

Imaginative

Experiment with language (including swears they hear adults use)

Short attention spans

Can learn responsibilities like room cleaning but need guidance and models

Typically can't read but they do understand stories and often display complex thinking

Thinking is almost exclusively concrete (what they can see and feel

5 year-olds

Typically go through a growth spurt

May write letters and numbers backwards

Better control of lange muscles but still frequently fall out of chairs

Still struggle somewhat with fine motor skills

Want adult approval

Classes in Kindergarten are usually 15 to 20 minutes

Interpret words literally

Older fives like to explain things that have been explained to them

Poor sense of time (they have no idea how long 5 minutes is)

Ranely see things from another person's view

Abstract concepts like "fairness" are confusing

Vivid imagination and limited life experience lead to leaps in logic (my toys are alive / the trees move when its windy so the tress make wind

6 year-olds

More developed fine motor skills

School work is often rushed because they care more about the product than the process

Highly competitive and sensitive to criticism

Typically begin forming closer friendships (first best friend)

Love jokes and guessing games

Very curious and ask a lot of questions

Better understanding of time (can understand historical events relative to present-day)

Usually can read simple books independently but they frequentty misspell words (city becomes sity)

*These younger years have a lot of development so there is a huge difference between a kid that just turned five and a kid that's five and a half.

7 year-olds

Improved gross and fine motor skills

Often begin preferring video games to outdoor games

Empathetic and sensitive to others feelings

Prefer working alone or with one friend

May worry that nobody likes them (increasing awareness of others thoughts)

Strong sense of right and wrong

Bothered by mistakes and try to perfect their work

Still en joy being read to even though they can read independently

Rapidly increasing vocabulary

Some may still read out loud but most kids can read silently now

8 year-olds

Play hard and tire quickly

Growth spurts can cause them to be clumsy

Ad just well to change and bounce back quickty from disappointments

Want peer and adult approval

Form larger friend groups than 7 year-olds

Tend to exaggerate

Enjoy responsibility but may not complete assigned tasks successfully

Like adding things to school assignments but not revising previous work

Can maintain attention for long periods of time but may forget instructions

9 year-olds

Start of puberty (typically closer to 10 but can happen)

May twist hair or bite nails to relieve tension

More individualistic and beginning to experiment with different personalities and styles

Often worried or anxious

Very critical of themselves and others (including adults)

Like to negotiate and make deals (this is the age I accidentally made my own pyriamid scheme)

Curious but less imaginative (ike to know the how and why)

Rather than learning to read, school focuses on reading to learn (textbooks)

10 year-olds

Lower body muscles are developed but typically not upper body

Frequent rest periods and snacks benefit their quickly growing bodies

Generally happy and friendly

Quick to anger and to forgive

Appreciate being noticed and rewarded for their efforts

Typically have sloppier writing than 9 year-olds because they are in a hurry

Listen well and can appreciate other peoples perspectives

READ A LOT

Increasing ability to think abstractly

11 year-olds

Middle school and team sports usually begin around this time

Need lots of food and physical activity (also usually don't get enough sleep)

Impulsive and often talk before thinking

Use social media a lot

Concerned with thier inclussion or exclusion from social groups

Become more skilled at abstract thinking and deductive reasoning

Like to challenge rules and test limits as they move towards independence

Imitate adult language

Can be sensitive and self-absorbed at times

12 year-olds

Adult personality begins to emerge, but they may still try out others

More reasonable than ll year-olds

Capable of self-awarness and empathy

Care more about peers opinions than adults

More able to think abstractly about complex moral issues

May begin to excel at a subject or skill

Want to make money from jobs at home or in their neighborhoods

13 year-olds

Puberty is in full swing and hygiene becomes a big concern (acne and body odor)

Males typically e jaculate for the first time before or during this time

Have a Sex Ed class in school which is embarassing for them and may lead to silly or rude behavior

Moody and sensitive

Tend to travel is small packs and become very concerned with popularity

Increasing levels of sarcasm in humor

Likes and dislikes become more pronounced

Like to challenge authority

Struggle to put their ideas into practice (they are concerned about social justice but also are mean to each other)

14 year-olds

Females are typically fully developed physically

May become sexually active

Loud and rambuntious

Dislike adult lectures and feel they know what will be said after the first few words

Better at figuring out cause and effect

More willing to admit error and try things a second or third time

Adult personality continues to develop

I am so sick of fic writers making 10-year-olds talk like babies.

I work with children and have taken numerous classes on adolescent development. Here's some of what I learned because I might actually kill someone if I read another fic where an older child is essentially a four-year-old. (No hate to anyone in particular. Children are confusing.)

(Slight trigger warning for 13 & 14 year-olds. Puberty/sex mentioned)

(Most info is from Chip Wood's Yardsticks: Child and Adolescent Development Ages 4-14)

[i-dared-myself]

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off. 

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair. 

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes? 

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps. 

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man. 

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes. 

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing. 

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

finite eternity

Professor Reed Richards x f!reader | wc: 1 k | ao3 | mdni, fluff

summary: after getting your phd you return to your former professor to thank him. he says some nice things and you get a "you're coming" guarantee. coming to dinner that is.

warnings: legal age gap (reader's mid/end 20, Reed is however deliciously middle aged), a little angsty, a few possible double entendres (or maybe not? you get to decide), a little pining, finger under the chin (twice), the poor attempt of science metaphors, and if you like: there's definitely some threesome things happening AFTER this fic

a/n: I need Reed Richards. and a smart man with grey hair at a blackboard? hell yeah. telling me he's proud of me? hell yeah. inviting me home to have dinner with him and his perfect wife? HELL YEAH. thanks to my perfect wife @guiltyasdave for the quick beta and the squealing<3

The big doors open silently and you slip into the lecture hall. The one you've spent so many hours in, learning, despairing, making friends. Falling in love even. You haven't been here for two years and everything has changed and everything is somehow still the same.

Quietly you take the steps down, careful to not startle Professor Richards who is writing on the blackboard. The quiet, smooth rasp of the chalk against the dark surface sounds so familiar that it gives you butterflies. Or maybe it’s him, still him.

A smile crosses your face when you read the formulas on the board, you know them well, you wrote your thesis about them. When you reach the first row and you pull down one of the seats a loud creak disturbs the peaceful and dignified aura of wisdom and science. Reed turns around, already a charming smile on his lips to shoo some eager students back out of the room.

“Sorry, lecture doesn’t start until…-” And his smile turns genuine, his eyes crinkle and his head tilts down so he can give you that one look from under his lashes. “You? What, did you forget to start your assignment on time again?”

Your own smile grows and the butterflies are still in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was Reed all along. The old banter, it flares up so easily between the two of you like there hasn't been a two year break.

Your elbows propped up on the table in front of you, your chin resting on your folded hands, just like you spent half of the lectures in this hall. Nothing has changed.

“I can assure you, there are no due assignments anymore, Professor-”

“Reed, please,” he interrupts you and puts the chalk away. “You’re one of us now, please call me Reed.”

He wipes his fingers clean before walking over to you and sitting down on the fixed table next to you.

“You've heard about it?” You feel so proud in this moment, being one of them, one of the smart scientists, and it feels like you've worked your ass off just for this: the doctor title and the privilege to call your first mentor Reed.

“Of course I have. I’ve watched you. Your successes. Congratulations!” He holds out his hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and giving you free sight to his forearms. He is still so incredibly toned. You take his hand and when his warm palm swallows yours in a firm shake your breath hitches just the slightest bit. Nothing has changed.

“Thank you. For everything, Reed. Without your support I wouldn't have been able to-”

He shakes his head, interrupting you again. You're not even mad. “None of that. You did it all yourself, all the hard work. All the hours you stayed awake at night, working through papers… All I did was giving you a little nudge every now and then.”

You remember the little nudges. The encouraging notes you sometimes found. Or when he squeezed your arm, his thumb rubbing over your shirt. Your eyes flick from his smile to his eyes and then you take in his whole face. There's more grey in his hair now. A few more wrinkles. But the soft waves in his hair are still there. He still holds your hand, even has placed his other one on top.

You look at each other for a moment and the moment stretches into a small eternity that just belongs to you and him. He probably knows a formula to describe this phenomenon.

“I'm proud of you,” he says quietly and heat crawls up your neck when he squeezes your hand, his thumb caressing the skin over your knuckles.

“Thank you, Reed,” you whisper and feel shy all of a sudden.

Just as shy as that one evening, when he helped you with something, you can't even remember what it was. But you sat in his office, slumped over your notes, frustration gnawing at you like you gnawed at the end of your pencil. Until he was next to you and nudged your chin up to make you look at him.

He didn’t say anything at that moment, there was just silence and his finger under your chin and the scent of books and tea and his aftershave and his tongue running along his lips. Another of those finite eternities. “You’ll be doing great,” he said and made time start running again. Slowly running, like his thumb along your bottom lip. For just the fraction of a second. As if it had never happened…

“You look all grown up. Like the woman I always knew you were.” He squeezes your hand again and you blink. You are back again, in the lecture hall in which Professor Richards made you fall in love with science. Back in the front row, with Reed saying things you'll stash away for later.

“Come over for dinner. Sue loves getting to know my science spawns.” He leans closer, his smile morphing into a mischievous smirk. “Especially the pretty ones. Pretty smart ones.”

You hesitate, at loss for words with Reed being so close that his gravitational pull draws you closer. Your mouth opens and closes again when he tugs on your hands, making your orbit a little smaller.

“Just say yes. It will be grand. Now, that we're all adults. All grown up,” he whispers and his voice, sweet and rich, says so much more than the words mean. “I know you want to, I know that face…”

He tips your chin up with the simple touch of his finger and you can't hide your excitement anymore. You roll your eyes and scoff out a little chuckle.

“Fine. I’m coming.”

“Oh, I know you will!” He gets up again, the pad of his finger still under your chin. “Sue and I will make sure of it.”

Maybe some things have changed.

whoopsie, no smut in this. i still hope you like it, let me know <3

find my general masterlist here

divider: @/saradika-graphics

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Tunnel Vision - Minho

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: bad boy! Minho x student! reader

summary: You can't stand the boy that sits behind you in class. He's rude, arrogant and a huge Playboy. and now you're paired with him for your newest poetry assignment.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, Playboy Minho, heavy kissing, groping.

It's not that you hated your new poetry course. Just one specific person in your new poetry class. Minho would show up late or sometimes not at all. And when he did bother to show up, he would sit at the desk behind yours. He would lean into your ear and ask you what he missed.

His breath would be warm against your neck and the first time he whispered, you actually felt butterflies. You were nice and smiled. You would turn your head and tell him in hushed tones what he had missed. He'd notice the slight flush in your cheeks and it would make him smirk because he knew. He knew that your head was pounding because of him.

But then one day after the class had ended a girl had pushed her way through a crowd of students to get to him. She yelled and cried because he never called her again. She told him he was an asshole and his response was “what's your name again?”

So now when Minho strolls into class late and takes his seat behind you, you keep your head forward. You suffocate the butterflies in your stomach and square your shoulders. You refuse to be another notch on that man's belt. You refuse to let him make you feel so warm and wet and so-

“I think I'll partner you with Minho this week.”

Your eyes flash to the front of the class where the teacher is looking directly at you. “No, no I can't. I…” you plead but the teacher just shakes his head and hands you the newest template for the poetry course this week.

Minho's dorm room was exactly as you expected. Messy, unkempt, a real boy's place. As the two of you stepped inside he off the cuff mentioned he had a roommate but the two of you should be undisturbed for the night.

“Who's your roommate?” You ask as you pull a few textbooks out of your bag. Your voice was flat and ultimately uninterested but you needed to make some kind of small talk to cut through this tension of being in Minho's living room. Minho rummaged through his fridge and pulled out a few beers before making his way back to you on the couch. “You don't know him.” He said quickly. He slid the second beer across his coffee table to you. You rolled your eyes and pushed it to the edge of the table and pulled out the template from class. “Let's get started, okay? The sooner we get this going, the sooner we can be done and never speak to each other again.”

Minho smirked, his slender fingers tapping against the neck of his beer bottle. “Aw, what's the matter? You don't like me?” He leaned in closer. “Nope.” You snapped back. This response made Minho laugh. A loud, full laugh that promised that he didn't believe you. He was cocky and he was sure that every girl wanted him. His eyes lingered on you as you continued to read over the template. “So, what bullshit do we have to write about now?” Minho asked while taking another swig of his beer. You sighed heavily in response. “Love. The subject is just love. It says to write about any kind of love, however it speaks to you.”

Minho let out a huff. “Between a beautiful woman's legs, that's the only love I need.” He remarks. “You're disgusting.” You retort. You slide a template over to where he sits, “just write something, pervert.” Minho's face scrunches up for a moment, “aren't we supposed to be working on this together, partner?”

“You're a big boy, you can handle it.” You scold, your hand gripping tightly to your pencil. “Just write.” Minho sighs loudly as his body slumps deeper into the couch. An hour goes by without either of you saying a word to one another. Just the sounds of pencils scraping and pages turning fills the air around you. “This is stupid.” Minho complains, finally breaking the silence. The sound of a pencil hitting the coffee table breaks you out of your writing trance and you shoot a glaring look at him. “If you hate this so much, why did you sign up for this class?” You quip back.

Minho's eyes flash an intensity that matches yours. An angry, exacerbated look that contracts with his normal cool and calm demeanor. Has he never had someone challenge him before? Has he never had a girl stand up to him instead of immediately falling to her knees? You hold your stance and the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Then Minho grabs your half-written poem in an instant before you can even process what he is doing. He stands up from the couch and holds it ceremoniously. “Let's see what Miss Goody-Goody wrote about love, eh?” You fumble up from the couch and take a confident dive at Minho to try to get the paper back but miss as he pulls the paper away at the last minute. “Give that back!” You demand. But Minho holds the paper just out of reach, laughing proudly as he does. You look back at the coffee table to find his paper sitting there unprotected and take your chance, snatching it quickly into your hands. Minho's eyes widen as he realizes where this little chess game has led the two of you and his cheeks begin to burn a bright, hot red. His voice drops to a low, intimidating octane, “give it here. I'm serious.” His hand splayed out in front of you.

You let out a triumphant laugh and stick up your nose at him. “No way!” Minho smirk turns to a serious expression and he takes a few steps towards you, causing you to take a few steps back. Soon you are frantically trying to figure out your next move. You quickly fake left before turning to the right and easing your way around Minho and down the hall to an open door welcoming you inside. You hastily run into the room and shut the door behind you, hearing the pounding sound of Minho's palms flat against the other side of the door. “This isn't funny anymore! Come out of there!” He shouts from the hallway.

You clear your throat ready to read the poem out loud. Minho groans loudly before giving the door one last defeated thud. Your eyes scan the page and you find yourself frozen by something you did not expect.

A carnation bright

Unfold for me

This is everything and nothing

I put a ribbon and signed the envelope

Postage stamp

In the garden you wait

Surrounded by a soil that drains

Who waters you?

Where is the watering can that fills your petals, sweet Carnation?

I pluck you so carefully

Lie you down on the softest pillow

You've ever felt

You clutch the page in your hands, a slight tremble causing the paper to crinkle under your fingertips. Your eyes pour over every line again and again. The words are erased and written again, scribbled over and corrected. But the words he chose, the words he decided were the right ones to express himself, they stayed etched in pencil led with a secretive beauty. You slowly make your way to the bedroom door and turn the door knob. You find Minho sitting in the hallway across from the door. He glares up at you, his face painted red in embarrassment. “Don't say anything. I know it's bad.” He whispers, his voice shaking slightly.

You step out into the hallway and kneel in front of where Minho sits. “It's not bad, Minho. It's actually…good.” You confess. You watch Minho's head lift up as he searches your face for any hint of a lie. Then he lifts up your paper, “you didn't write anything.” He smirks.

Then it was your face that burned red. You had written a few pathetic lines of poetry before erasing everything in frustration. “I hate what I wrote. I hate everything I write.” you murmur. This causes Minho's smile to grow and spread across his face. But this smile was different, not a mocking, cocky smile but a smile that seemed to understand exactly what you meant. “That just means you're good at what you do. Come here, I'll show you.” He said and then stood up taking your hand in his and pulling you back into the bedroom. The bedroom that was, in fact, his bedroom. In the far corner of the room stood a tall, broad bookshelf so full that it almost looked like it would bend and break if just one more book was added. Minho searched the shelf for just a moment before pulling out three books. He then turned on his heels to face you. “These authors didn't even get published until their late 40s. Can you believe that? Now everyone reads them!” His eyes lit up with the kind of fascination designated for a child on Christmas morning. He placed the books in your hands and begged you to read them. You looked down at the books in your hands and furrowed your brow. This was not the boy you were expecting. Why did he have to act like such an asshole all the time? Why did he have to act so uninterested and bored all of the time?

You look up from the books and stare at Minho for a moment. “Why are you so afraid of people seeing this side of you?”

Minho jolts from your blunt question. His eyes lock with yours and for a moment his mouth hangs open in silence. Then he steps closer to you. “Because this side is too real, too raw. If they are the real me then they can hurt the real me. And I can't risk that.”

Something snaps in you at his response. You didn't know if it was his honesty or the fact that you had been feeling the exact same way but something outside of yourself brought your lips to his. His lips were surprisingly tender. His hands made their way up to your jawline and nestled there as the two of you worked in tandem. Your nose brushed against one another as his mouth opened in invitation. Your tongue scraped softly against his teeth, giving way to his teeth biting and holding onto your bottom lip. A soft and vulnerable noise escaped you at that moment. And a flash of all the women who have ever been in this room entered your mind, causing you to break the kiss. You stumble back and press your hand over your mouth. “I can't. I'm sorry.” You turn towards the bedroom door and make your way down the hallway to leave. You frantically and admittedly quite clumsily grab your book bag and jacket before making a b-line to the front door.

Minho never tried to stop you, never called your name out and begged you to stay. You walked back to your dorm room and threw yourself onto the bed. You bury your face in your pillow until all light leaves and only darkness remains. He wasn't just a fuckboy, player, or asshole. He was actually someone who you could fall in love with. And that thought was scarier than anything else.

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[drownedthemall]

sweetness of her laughter

part 3 - lavender

caracalla x noble!reader x geta

a/n - i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

i'm open to writing some oneshots, so if you have any ideas, feel free to suggest them! i have like zero boundaries, so go wild lmao

3.5k words

summary - caracalla has taken an obvious liking to you, but how does geta feel about you?

they've also invited you to join them in the entertainment hall but how will they react when you try to leave?

The Emperors have just dismissed you and the General. Geta and Caracalla are left lounging in the entertainment hall. The younger brother calls for the cupbearer to refill his goblet. Caracalla breaks the boredom-filled silence with a question. "So, what do you think of her?", he peers forward, trying to gauge his brother's reaction. "Do you like her?" he continues.

Geta, without facing him, responds, "I don't know what it is you see in her, brother." This causes Caracalla to groan, frustrated by his brother’s answer. He leans back in his cushioned seat, pouting, arms crossed.

---

You're awoken by a couple of maids surrounding your bed. This startles you. You sit up. The smooth, silky covers that you had slept in slide off your shoulders and drape around your waist. You catch your breath as you realise where you are and the predicament you're in. They comfort you in a panic, buzzing around like flies, "We're so sorry, Princess, we didn't mean to startle you!"

You raise one of your hands, rubbing your eyes with your palm, "It's fine," you manage to mumble in your sleep-stricken phase.

This calms them. "I've prepared your clothing," one of them explains softly. "Which Emperor Geta picked out," she then adds. This piques your interest momentarily.

The other chimes in, "They await you in the gardens," she mentions with importance in her voice.

All of this information barely registers as you try to desperately get rid of the drowsiness. You acknowledge their chattering with a hum, hoping it will suffice. Thankfully, they catch on, and you hear their footsteps grow quieter as they leave your safe haven.

You sigh as you move from under the covers. Sliding off the bed and placing your bare feet onto the cool flooring. You cringe at the change in temperature. You raise your head to see a subtle blue stola, folded on a chair. Only noticing the colour when your eyes settle on it. You wonder if that's Geta’s favoured colour.

As you dress, you're reminded of your encounter with Caracalla last night. The thought makes you fumble with the material in your hands. You huff, trying to shoo away the memory. Annoyed at yourself for feeling so flustered. They're bloodthirsty, horrible, incompetent Emperors, you jest. You need to stop yourself from feeling this way about them.

---

You leave your chambers, all freshened up and ready for the day. You adorned yourself with your own jewellery, which didn't really fit with the Roman fashion trends. Which wasn't bad; it just made you stand out. If anything, it represents where you're from and reminds you of home. This bestows you with a little bit of comfort as you wander these foreign lands.

The two praetorians lead you to the gardens; one walks behind you, while the other is in front leading the way. They don't muster up any small talk, only fulfilling their assigned roles. This undoubtedly bores you.

The moment you're outside, you can see the sun peak past the columns, feeling the contrast between the stars' warmth and the cool morning breeze. As you enter the gardens, you can hear the fruit tree leaves rustling, noticing the colourful fruit pop out against the green.

As you wander deeper, the praetorians leave you. Amidst the blooming flowers, a table is set up. You see the two Emperors already sitting. They were sat on the same side. You can also hear some bickering between the two, but you can't make out what they're saying. The noises of a squealing monkey don't help with your attempt at eavesdropping. As you get closer, Geta moves his attention to you. Caracalla is visibly annoyed at his brother for ignoring him, but he still turns his head to see who has grabbed his brother’s focus. His annoyance instantly dissipates, eyes softening at the sight of you.

He seems mesmerised by the way the sun enlightens you. How it casts a glow over your hair and jewellery. You stand before them. "Morning, Emperors," you greet them both.

"Please sit." Geta instructs as he motions for the chair opposite them. You do as told.

The table was carved from limestone; it had been plated with a variety of food. From savouries such as cheese, eggs, and bread. To sweet, such as fresh and dried fruit like dates, apricots, and figs. There were cups placed for each of you, with a cupbearer standing away from earshot. None of the Emperors has yet filled their plates; either they had just arrived or they were waiting for you to join. There's a resounding silence between the three of you, with both of them unapologetically staring at you. You think they'd be aware of some social etiquette. You try to avoid their eyes by focusing on the monkey Caracalla is accompanied by. It sits atop his head; you hate to admit how cute the sight is.

"Do you want to hold him?" says the brother in gold. His raspy voice alluded to the fact he awoke not long ago. Before you can respond, "Here," he softly manoeuvres the monkey into your grasp.

You rush to hold out your hands. The cutely dressed primate is perched in your arms. You smile at the way he leans into your touch. You can't help but giggle at the chirping noises it creates. "What's his name?" you ask, glancing upwards at the Emperors. Geta is drinking his wine, while the other is providing you his full attention.

"Dondas," Caracalla answers solemnly. Geta then intervenes, "Have you ever seen one before?" motioning with his cup to the monkey.

You move your gaze to the younger one. "Seen what? ... A monkey?" you redundantly ask, "No, I have not," you answer, letting the monkey return to his owner. “Where I’m from, they wouldn’t last long, so I’ve only heard stories,” you explain.

Geta hums, acknowledging your answer.

"Wine?" Caracalla asks as Dondas perches up on his shoulder.

"Uhm, yes, that would be very ki-"

"Cupbearer!' he shouts, snapping his fingers for more emphasis.

Your cup is filled to the brim with wine. The brothers then soon after start adding food to their plates, and you follow suit.

All that can be heard is the sound of you three eating. Followed by the sounds of the birds residing in the gardens. The eldest brother can be seen sharing pieces of fruit with Dondas. This leaves you smiling at such a sweet gesture. You think this goes unnoticed, but you feel a pair of eyes burning into your skull. These two have such a staring problem, Gods.

"We'd like you to join us in the entertainment hall this afternoon," the one in cool tones states. Making your smile falter slightly. "Of course, I'd be honoured," you politely nod.

He turns his attention to the one in red; his demeanour seems to have become softer. His shoulders slump, letting his guard down. He begins, "Macrinus keeps boasting about his new gladiator." He sips on some wine. “ Have you heard, brother?”, he finishes.

"Yeah! He'll be bringing him today, right?" Caracalla giggles at the thought of what's to come.

---

Surprisingly, the Emperors were the first to leave the table as they had duties to attend to. Whatever they were... You didn't care to pry.

This left you with a couple of hours to spare before your presence was required in the entertainment hall. They emphasised that you were to do whatever you pleased, as long as it was within the palace grounds. This was annoyingly restricting, but you hoped this would be temporary.

You decide to spend your time roaming around the gardens. They were absolutely beautiful; you were fascinated at how the plants differed from the ones you knew of back home. You smelt and admired almost every blooming flower you came across. As you inhale the scent of lavender, you hear some chatter. This intrigues you, and you try to focus on their words.

You see their figures; they were only a few feet away. They were servants by the looks of it, responsible for the upkeep of the garden you're currently in. They had not yet noticed you as they continued gossiping away.

"Can you believe them?" one puffs his chest.

"I know, right? They never leave their chambers this early," the shorter man adds.

"The amount of abuse the other servants had to endure is unbelievable. They were so adamant about having breakfast in the gardens," he rants to the man, going on and on. Enunciating each word. The other man nods in agreement, listening to his complaints.

"So unlike them," he continues.

"I think they want to impress that new foreign lady that's here."

"You think so? I thought, sh-", your foot accidentally scuffs against the gravel; this makes them stop and snap their heads towards the location of the sound.

Their faces pale at the sight of you.

You can't help but laugh at their reaction. You try to soothe them by complimenting their work and the botany surrounding you. You can’t imagine what fear the Emperors have instilled in the servants and maids that work here.

---

You hear of a commotion forming in a part of the palace. It seems people have already started gathering in the hall. This tells you that your time of mindlessly wandering around has ended. A praetorian stands in front of you, declaring that your presence is needed in the entertainment hall. Right on time.

You're relieved to see that the room is not yet full, only a few nobles gathered in some parts of the room. You're guided to where the Emperors are lounging at. They were seated on a creme, cushioned lectus, that had a gold trim and an ornate pattern in the fabric. Caracalla was in his preferred position, slumped over with his legs spread wide open. His togas length falling in-between. You shy away at the sight. While Geta was a lot more modest with his pose. Slouched forward instead, holding the hand of a concubine.

The concubines that surround them are more resigned, keeping to themselves. Which is a stark difference from when you first met the Emperors. Getas ones are still a bit handsy, however.

"We're so glad you're here to join us, Princess", the one in silver declares, speaking for the both of them.

"I'm honoured you've invited me", you politely respond. Fiddling with the bracelets you're wearing.

"Come sit!" Caracalla announces with his arms wide open. He sits up and pats a spot to the left of him. Wanting you to sit beside him.

You smile and head over to where he's sat. As you near the lectus, Geta pulls at your wrist. Forcing you to sit in between the both of them. Caracalla shoots a glare towards his brother. His grip remains on your wrist, but after you've settled he softens and lets go. It seems Caracalla wanted to hog you all for himself. He doesn't say anything but Geta can hear the cogs turning in his head.

"Symmetry," Geta states offhandedly, ignoring his brother’s disgruntled face. You can't help but chuckle at his retort.

"What's funny.", the one in gold grimaces, eyeing you. This throws you off. This is the first time he's talked to you in such a way. "Uh, nothing, Emperor", you stammer.

Geta flat-out ignores the change in his brother’s demeanour and perks up, "Have you ever been to the arena and seen a gladiator fight?" He asks with genuine interest.

"..No, Emperor, I have not". You've had chances to attend but you never did. Having a distaste towards such unnecessary suffering.

"Really??", he muses, leaning in closer to you. "Well, you're really lucky then, you'll be getting front-row seats."

You feel nauseous at the idea. There was only so much blood you could endure. You've seen people die before but... When people are dying for entertainment? That just makes you sick to the stomach.

You smile softly, "That's so generous of you Emperors, I'm thankful for the opportunity", you flatter.

You three quiet. All that can be heard is the chatter of nobles and the sound of light music playing. They both were so close. The lectus was long enough to allow wider spaces between the three of you. However, it seemed they had no care for this.

You can smell Caracalla again, the same way you were able to when he was in your chambers. Caracalla’s mood seems to be the same. Because of this, he's keeping to himself and so is Geta. You're honestly thankful for this. Sparing you some tranquillity for a short while. You innocently ask, without much thought, "Will Acacius be attending this today?"

Geta almost instantly scowls. Noticing that you dropped his title completely. Now both of their moods have gone sour. The somewhat comfortable silence has now turned into a suffocating tension.

Geta shifts in his seat, "No, he's busy fucking Lucilla after being gone for so long.", giving you a half-assed answer.

You feel a pit in your stomach. You regret ever speaking. "Why? You miss him or something?", Caracalla jabs.

"No, no, I just thought that this would be something he would attend" you, answer genuinely believing this.

Caracalla leans forward, and his arm wraps around your waist. His other hand comes to gently move the hair from out of your eyes. You can see the blemishes and scars his skin is littered with, and how the makeup tries to conceal it. His breath ghosts your ear.

"Did you two fuck..?" he barely whispers this, intending it to be heard by others. Desiring to further embarrass you.

You turn red. Your eyes dart all over his face, shocked at such a question. He gasps, a grin appearing on his lips. "What will Lucilla think?" he actually whispers this time.

You shake your head, "I would never..!" you protest plainly, flustered at the accusation.

You can admit to yourself that the General is a good-looking man, but such unsavoury thoughts have never crossed your mind. You were too busy worrying about your fate to even feed those delusions.. or decisions.

You notice Geta scanning your face, they're both amused and smiling at your discomfort. Their moods have improved but only at your expense. You're all three pulled out of your inside joke as a man greets the Emperors. They seemed excited by his presence.

"Macrinus," Geta greets. The man that stood before you three was dressed in a dark toga. The man's appearance seems familiar to you but you can't make out where you’ve seen him before.

"Have you two bet yet?" he enquires with a sly leer.

Caracalla chuckles at his fowardness, "We have trust in your fighter, Macrinus".

"He will not disappoint, Emperors" he insists, nodding to make a point. Geta acknowledges this with a hum, scratching his chin absentmindedly, waiting for him to leave them be.

Macrinus instead, decides to point his attention to you. You were hard to avoid, not only because of your appearance but because you were sandwiched in between the Emperors of Rome.

"Who's this?" he asks, innocently. Inquiring into your background.

They both simultaneously turn to you. They introduce you to him and you make acquaintance, "Pleasure to meet you, Macrinus", you say on cue.

"Likewise, Princess. What brings you to Rome?", he smiles. This continuous questioning has annoyed the brothers. As you're about to respond, Geta intervenes, "Visiting", providing a one-word answer to stop his interrogation.

The people of Rome have no idea that the Emperors are searching for an Empress. The two of them are insistent in trying to keep this hush-hush. Attempting to avoid any disappointed nobles that can’t present their own daughters as bachelorettes. However, your presence has still led to rumours and inquiries into why you’re here. Many are more-so confused about why they had chosen you, you were not a well-known name amongst royals.

This causes Macrinus' confidence to falter. He mutters under his breath. "Well, I hope you enjoy the many pleasures of Rome, Princess," he states before disappearing from their increasing displeasure.

---

As more treasured nobles and rich folk fill the hall, Macrinus is asked to introduce his overly praised fighter.

You notice that the Emperors beside you topple forward, directing all of their attention to what's happening before them. You’re finally free from Caracalla’s grasp.

The man, that is owned by Macrinus, looks tired and vengeful. He looks like that’s what he ran off of, rage. You wonder what led him to be here. You felt pity for him, but you doubt he's the kind of man to appreciate such a sentiment. You assume he's the kind to view it as an insult. 

Caracalla interjects the fight, seemingly annoyed, "Swords!" he declares. "We want swords.", he throws a couple to the ground for them to clamour to. He returns to his seat, placing an arm around your waist, once more.

The violence has just begun and you signal to the cupbearer for a drink, you don't know how much you can endure of this while sober. You hope this gives you some solace.

You wince as the man staggers forward, pouncing on his opponent. You hear gasps amongst the crowd as each slice and pound of a fist makes contact with flesh. You barely pay attention, focusing on Caracalla’s subtle squeezes to your hips, him pulling you closer as the fight escalates. You feel his rings dig into your skin, the cool metal subduing the stress, allowing you to focus on that instead of the fight.

Squelch. The crowd gasps and turns silent. Thud. The man falls to the ground at the hands of the vengeful one. Geta jumps out of the lectus, arms raised.

"Remarkable!!" he shouts, his voice loud, resounding in the hall.

He passes past Macrinus, "Congratulations." he quickly notes.

His breathing is fast and erratic, excitement courses through him. "From where are you?" he demands from the shackled man.

The interaction between the Emperor and the winner is tuned out by your breathing. You watch as the dead man gets dragged out from behind him. Seeing the blood smear and stain the once white marbled floor. You feel nauseous at the sight, gulping down more wine than should be necessary. The deep colour only reminds you of the event that just took place.

You notice that after the bloodied man's poem, he looks at you. None of the brothers see this. Caracalla stumbles from his seat, praising Macrinus for such an amusing show. Leaving you, momentarily.

The winning man is then guided to a healer. He's appointed to play in the upcoming gladiator games. In your now cloudy mind, you wish him luck. Knowing that only death will follow him.

However this isn't the end, you’re told there's more entertainment to come. But, you feel as though this was more than enough excitement for today.

As they return to their lounge area, they sit on either side of you. Instead, you stand with your cup in hand. Caracalla instinctively grabs ahold of the end of your blue stola. You can see their faces contort. "..I don't feel well," you mumble, they await for you to continue. "I feel that I should return to my chambers..", you carefully reason, taking a step from them.

Geta takes your hand in his. You try to pull away, but he only pulls you closer. "Stay," he demands.

You stay quiet at his demand. He forces you into his hold, making you sit in his lap. His scent clouds your senses. The proximity doesn't subdue how nauseous you feel. Caracalla stares at the two of you. You're unable to read his expression, you think that the wine may be at fault for this. You feel Geta’s arms enrapture around your waist. Your arm finds itself naturally behind him, holding onto his shoulder for support.

Caracall tries convincing you in his own twisted way, "It was fun," referencing the brawl that just ended.

Geta adds, "You'll learn to enjoy it", he leans against the lectus, your body is now fully pressed up against his. His words imply that there will be more violence-filled games for you to witness.

This visit doesn't seem as temporary as you had prayed it would be.

---

The evening has come to a close and they're now trudging their way to their chambers. You had still managed to leave early, thank the gods. It wasn't as early as you would've liked but you were pleased either way. Small victories, you jest.

They both walk together through the halls. Geta is then reminded of you as they pass by your room. "I think I do", he declares, his voice echoing against the barren walls.

"What.?", the older one furrows his brows.

"Like her", he continues.

"You think you like her?", Caracalla asks, putting his brother’s sentence together.

"Yes.", he hums.

"Who?", Caracalla asks, scratching his head in an attempt to make sense of who he was talking about. Geta just stays silent, side-eyeing his brother as they reach their own chambers.

taglist - @duckyhowls @himikoquack @lover-rep-fanfic @t6gse370 <3

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ DRABBLE 01

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: In which Bakugou not only taught you how to use the public transportation system, but also the wonders of a 7/11 (A continuation from chapter 5 / deleted scene from chapter 6)

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: This Drabble is a continuation of this chapter!

˚✿˖ Masterlist

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The train ride had been… an experience.

Between Bakugou’s attitude (which you’re learning is incredibly sassy) your near-death encounter with inertia and stiletto boots, and the fact that his hand had been on your waist for far longer than necessary, you were convinced your heart had been put through an endurance test.

Aizawa and his crazy assignments could never get this level of heart pounding anxiety from you.

But somehow, miraculously, you made it to your stop without combusting!

Which led you here.

A 7-Eleven.

The sushi spot you had been craving had been sadly temporarily closed for renovations, and this store had been right around the corner.

“Wow, this is incredible! I’ve never been in one of these before!” you gasp, eyes sparkling as you take in the rows of cheap candies, brightly colored cup ramen, and an ungodly amount of processed snacks.

So many different flavors to choose from!!

Behind you, a deep, unimpressed voice deadpans, “It’s literally just a 7-Eleven.”

You, of course, blatantly ignore him. Instead, you grab a small shopping basket—its handle slightly wobbly, the paint chipping at the edges—and immediately start filling it with snacks like a kid let loose in a candy store.

“This might just be my new favorite store!!” you announce, practically vibrating with excitement as you move toward the freezer section.

You scan the ice cream selection with growing delight, marveling at the sheer variety of brands and flavors—all for a shockingly low price.

This so beats the organic, gluten-free, sugar-free, fun-free supermarkets your mom usually had her staff shop at on your behalf.

Bakugou, who has been trailing behind you like an exhausted babysitter, watches as you pluck a pink tub of strawberry swirl ice cream from the fridge. Your face lights up at the cute graphics on the packaging.

is that a strawberry cow?! Eeek!

“I’ll get this one too,” you hum, hugging the tub to your chest like a prized possession.

Bakugou nearly rolls his eyes into another dimension. “Taught ya how to take the damn train to become a better hero, and now you’re gonna kill it all with this shitty food.”

You gasp, clutching the ice cream closer like it’s your firstborn child.

“Are you joking?!” you exclaim. “This ice cream is gonna make me feel better before I go to sleep! This is incredible!”

Bakugou snorts as you absentmindedly go to adjust your glasses—except, oh, wait.

You’re not wearing them.

Your fingers meet empty air, your contacts having replaced your usual frames for the night.

A slow, knowing smirk stretches across Bakugou’s face.

Your ears heat up. Hastily, you shove your ice cream into the basket he’s—when did that happen?!—holding and mumble, “Shut up. It’s a habit.”

He doesn’t even bother with a comeback.

He doesn’t have to.

The glint of amusement in his sharp, crimson eyes says everything.

In just one day—somehow spent mostly by your side—Bakugou has come to one solid, undeniable conclusion:

You’re just like the rest of his idiot friends.

Just blessed with a far better face than shitty hairs or dunce face.

Honestly, before today, he half-wondered if you were mute. That theory shattered the moment you started rambling in the middle of the station, your excited outbursts completely at odds with the cool, composed image you gave off.

The new you in front of him was almost jarring.

Not that he’d ever really paid much attention to you before.

You were just quiet. Unusually so. You didn’t hover around the usual class friend groups, never really stuck with the girls of 1-A. He would’ve noticed—he’s been dragged to enough forced social outings by Kirishima to be painfully aware of the class dynamics.

Yet somehow, three years into your degree, he was only just now hearing what your voice actually sounded like.

Not that you were forgettable—far from it. Your face was one of the first he recognized when he stepped into class 1-A on his first day of freshman year.

And your last name? Impossible to ignore.

Bakugou never really gave a shit either way.

But one thing had caught his attention—the way people wouldn’t shut up about you when it came to the Big Three. It was no surprise when he, Deku, and Todoroki solidified their spots. That was a given. But you?

He remembers his brows raising when he first heard your name being thrown around in the conversation. He wasn’t necessarily threatened, just... intrigued.

The media adored you. Your social accounts had more followers than any other student at U.A., and magazines were already fighting for the chance to put you on their covers.

All the while, you could barely mutter a full sentence to anyone in class.

Now, watching you stand in the middle of a 7-Eleven, holding two cans of soda in your perfectly manicured hands, he can’t help but snort to himself. You carefully scan the sugar content on the labels like it actually matters—only to immediately toss both cans into the basket without hesitation.

Figures.

“Y’know, if you’re just gonna buy both, why waste time lookin’ at the numbers?” he asks, shifting the basket to one hand as he watches your little decision-making process unfold.

You huff, completely unbothered. “It’s about making an informed choice.”

“Bullshit. You just wanted both.”

You shoot him a look but don’t bother denying it, instead grabbing a pack of Pocky and tossing that into the basket too.

You’re already fixated on the next aisle, eyes practically sparkling at the ridiculous variety of instant noodles. He’s never seen someone get this excited over convenience store food in his life.

And somehow, he finds himself following along, weirdly unbothered by all of your little quirks that would have had him rolling his eyes and snapping at all the other idiots in his life.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, annoyed at his own thoughts.

Comparing you to the extras he’s been stuck with for years? What kind of bullshit was that?

Yet, as he watches you crouch down to examine the instant ramen selection like it’s some kind of treasure hoard, he realizes—against his better judgment—that it doesn’t piss him off the way it should.

You hum thoughtfully, manicured fingers tracing over different flavors, your brows furrowing in deep concentration. “How am I supposed to choose just one?” you mumble, more to yourself than to him.

He snorts. “You’re not. You’re gonna throw at least three in the basket and pretend like you struggled to decide.”

You gasp, turning to glare at him, scandalized. “You think you know me so well, huh?”

“I know an indecisive dumbass when I see one.”

And just as he predicted, you grab three different flavors and plop them into the basket without another word.

Bakugou exhales through his nose, shaking his head. Somehow, despite himself, he follows as you dart to yet another shelf, eyes alight with childlike wonder.

He should be annoyed. Should be telling you to hurry the hell up so you can both get out of here, but instead, he just watches as you get distracted by a random keychain display near the register, fiddling with a tiny All Might figure that probably wouldn’t even fit on your fancy designer bag.

“This is so cute,” you murmur, flipping it over in your hands before glancing at the other characters on the rack. A tiny Bakugou keychain dangles right in front of you, and before he can react, you’re holding it up with a smirk.

“Oooh, look, it’s you,” you tease, shaking it so the little chibi version of him bobs wildly.

Bakugou scowls. “Put that shit back.”

You only laugh, placing it back on the hook (but in a better spot, front and center, because you think it’s actually pretty adorable).

By the time you finally reach the register, your basket is overflowing. Bakugou just stares at it, unimpressed. “Y’gonna eat all this tonight or somethin’?”

You shake your head, grinning. “No, well maybe the icecream, yes.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, As the cashier hands you the bag, you beam like you’ve just won the lottery.

And for some reason, as the two of you step back into the cool night air, Bakugou finds himself shaking his head with something that—if he didn’t know better—almost feels like amusement.

What the hell was he getting himself into?

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[baekchelor]

Off Script

pairings: Drew Starkey x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, Drew Starkey, discovers an undeniable truth: that the line between fiction and reality is thinner than he ever imagined.

◄ ᴘʀᴇᴠ

One | Star-Crossed from the Start

The first read-through for Dharma takes place three weeks later at a film studio in Los Angeles. Although Drew let Maddie crash at his place last night, he didn’t even bother to say goodbye when he slipped out of the apartment early that morning. She was still fast asleep on the wrong side of the bed, and he had no reason to stay. He liked to be early, and leaving a pot of coffee ready on the kitchen counter didn’t fit with a no-strings-attached situation.

When Drew arrives, the only people there are Greta Gerwig and a few staffers. The crowd outside, however, is another story—his fans have gathered, screaming declarations of love and waving signs.

“Y/N’s not here yet,” Drew remarks as his tired blue eyes scan the room. He’d hoped to catch her before the reading. Since they hadn’t done a chemistry test, he wanted a chance to introduce himself before diving into the scene.

“She’ll show,” Alma reassures him with a knowing smile, already handing him a cup of coffee like she does every morning. Drew chuckles—his manager’s predictability is comforting. “I heard Joe Burrow’s private jet landed from Cincinnati last night.”

That gets a laugh out of Drew. Alma’s a great manager, but she’s also the biggest gossip in Hollywood. When she called to tell him he’d landed the part in Dharma, she filled him in on every juicy detail the media had published about Y/N and Joe Burrow’s notoriously private relationship.

Alma shrugs, feigning innocence as she watches him sip his coffee. Lowering her voice to a whisper meant only for his ears, she adds, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept with him last night. But she won’t be sleeping in.”

Drew raises an eyebrow, intrigued. Alma’s lips curl into a sleepy yawn. “Apparently, she’s always on the dot. Never early, never late.”

Amused, Drew checks his phone. Nine o'clock. “Thirty more minutes, then,” he says, placing the phone down next to his script. “Let’s time her.” Alma chuckles, shaking her head, and Drew plays it cool, pretending to savor his coffee with exaggerated delight before flipping open the script.

Dharma is set in 1857 India. The story focuses on Aakesh, a penniless Hindi boy—played by Dev Patel—who believes his low social status is a consequence of bad karma from a past life. Y/N is playing Marina, a wealthy Spaniard, whom Aakesh imagines to be his reincarnated lost love, the very person responsible for his quest to redeem his karma. Drew’s character, James Barlow, comes into the picture when Colonel Edmund Thorn (portrayed by Michael Fassbender), Marina’s concerned fiancé, assigns him as her personal guard when the Indian rebellion ensues. James and Marina fall in love.

As Drew thumbs through the middle of the script, where the plot thickens, it hits him just how demanding this role will be. His character’s love for Marina is expressed not through words, but through quiet, intense glances and subtle gestures—he’ll need to convey a deep, unspoken devotion, stronger than anything he’s played before.

INT. JAMES' ROOM - MIDNIGHT, 1857 The room is cloaked in darkness, save for a faint sliver of moonlight that slips through the heavy curtains. The shadows of two figures are etched upon the wall, their forms entwined in a moment that feels both eternal and fleeting. MARINA, delicate and ethereal in her simple nightgown, stands enveloped in the arms of JAMES. Her braided hair spills over her shoulders, catching the pale light. She is a vision of vulnerability, her small frame trembling against his solid, unyielding presence. JAMES, his eyes shut tight, clings to her as though she might vanish into the night. His grip tightens, his heart pounding as if it might burst from his chest. The air is thick with the weight of unspoken words and the ache of impending separation. MARINA (whispering, her voice trembling) I do love you. Tears slip silently down her cheeks, glistening in the moonlight. She does not sob, but the quiet sorrow in her voice is enough to shatter the stillness. MARINA (softly, almost pleading) I am in love with you. James exhales sharply, as though her words have struck him to his core. His eyes remain closed, but he leans down, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in a kiss that lingers—a silent vow, a desperate plea. His hand rises to cradle her face, his touch tender yet urgent. He tilts her chin upward, his lips hovering just above hers, the space between them charged with longing. The kiss begins softly, a tentative brush of lips that speaks of reverence and fear. But then, as if some unseen force has unleashed their restraint, it deepens. Their mouths meet with a hunger that defies reason, a desperate attempt to hold onto what they know they must soon lose. Marina’s tears mingle with the kiss, but neither pulls away. The moment is too precious, too fragile. JAMES (whispering against her lips, his voice trembling) I shall return to you. I swear it. There is a pause, heavy and suffocating. The room seems to hold its breath, the distance between their hearts already widening despite the closeness of their bodies. JAMES (voice breaking, barely audible) I love you.

The words hang in the air, soft yet final, as though this moment is all they will ever have. The moonlight bathes them in its cold glow, a silent witness to a love that dares not speak its name.

Drew closes his eyes, trying to immerse himself in character. He imagines speaking to someone he desperately loves, picturing Maddie—her thick, ash-blonde hair, her smiling eyes, the pink warmth of her cheeks, and the heat of her mouth when they kiss.

It feels almost like cheating, though, because his character is supposed to be in love with Marina, and though Maddie is a girl he enjoys spending time with, he’s not in love with her.

Drew sighs, the breath escaping him in a long, labored stream.

“Everything all right?” The voice is sweet, with a slight upward lilt—a little hesitant but trying not to show it.

Drew looks up. There she is. Y/N Y/L/N stands before him, dark-haired and flushed, her shy expression soft and warm.

“Oh, hello there,” Drew says, shaking himself from his thoughts. He stands and extends a hand, his smile easy but his eyes curious. “Drew.”

“I know,” she giggles, shaking his hand. Her palm is warm, while his is cool. “Y/N. I’m very, very pleased to meet you.”

Drew feels a bit sheepish at that, though he tries not to show it. “Likewise,” he says, his voice warm as their hands fall back to their sides.

“Drew’s been pacing around all morning,” Alma cuts in, her tone dry but teasing as she steps forward. She extends her hand to Y/N, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of them. “I’m Alma, by the way—Drew’s manager, babysitter, and occasional therapist.”

Y/N laughs, a bright, genuine sound that seems to light up the room. “Nice to meet you, Alma. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“You have no idea,” Alma says, shooting Drew a pointed look before turning back to Y/N with a smirk. “But don’t worry, he’s on his best behavior today. Mostly.”

Drew rolls his eyes, though there’s no real annoyance in it. “Thanks, Alma. Really selling me here.”

Y/N's eyes twinkle as she shrugs, playfully coy, “Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse.” Her tight little skirt, which Drew is sure Daisy owns too, looks far better on Y/N. “Look at us getting along,” she says, her eyes transforming into crescent moons. “I must confess, I came prepared to break the ice.” She pauses, pursing her lips, then laughs. “Sorry, that sounded like we’re going on a blind date or something.”

Drew laughs too—her giggles are infectious, and it is kind of funny. “We kinda are? We’re playing star-crossed lovers and didn’t even do a chemistry test. I’m pretty much going into this blind.”

“Aren’t we?” Y/N says, clearly relieved to find someone in the same boat. “I was talking to Dev earlier—apparently, he thinks we’ll have great chemistry.”

Drew chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “My friend Chase said the same thing. He’s convinced we’ll be the next big on-screen couple.” He pauses, his tone turning teasing. “Though I think Joe might have something to say against it.”

Y/N laughs, her hand instinctively flying to the “J” pendant hanging from her necklace. “Oh, please. Joe doesn’t care about Hollywood gossip. Especially not during football season.” 

Drew raises an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “You sure about that?” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t fade. “Trust me, he’s fine. If anything, he’d probably just joke about it and say I’m downgrading from a Super Bowl champion to… well, you.” 

Drew clutches his chest in mock offense. “Ouch. And here I thought we were bonding. Guess I’ll have to step up my game.” 

Y/N grins, her fingers still brushing the pendant. “Good luck with that. He’s kind of a big deal.”

 Drew leans forward, his tone playful but curious. “Big enough to handle sharing you with the world for a few months? Because if this movie hits—and it will—you and I are going to be everywhere.” 

Y/N’s smile softens, and she shrugs. “He’ll be fine.” 

Drew nods, his expression thoughtful. “Fair enough. But if he starts giving me the stink eye at premieres, I’m blaming you.” 

Y/N laughs, her hand dropping from the pendant. “Deal. But don’t worry—he gives the stink eye to everyone.” 

Before Drew can respond, Greta chimes in, appearing seemingly from nowhere. “I knew you’d have natural chemistry,” she says, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s cheek. “Still on time, huh? You never change.”

“It’s all on Sal,” Y/N giggles, referring to Salvatore, her very Italian manager who’s laughing in the far corner, talking to the staff. Drew is only half-listening, his mind still occupied with Y/N's easy charm. He can’t seem to shake the feeling that she has some sort of magnetic presence.

The conversation shifts toward Y/N's last movie, The Selection, where she and Tom Holland bring the bestselling book to life. Drew remembers vaguely that Holland plays a prince, while Y/N's character competes for his heart. It’s not Drew’s kind of movie—he’s pretty sure it’s a bit cringe-worthy—but for some odd reason, he’s decided to watch it when he gets home. Maybe Maddie won’t be there, and he’ll grab some beer and popcorn, settling into the couch for a few hours of forgettable entertainment.

Drew checks his phone discreetly. Nine thirty-five. He and Y/N have been talking for about five minutes. He smirks inwardly.

Right on the dot, he thinks, recalling Alma’s words. Then he hears his name.

“Pardon?” Drew asks, a little startled.

Y/N smiles sheepishly. “I’m going to go sit with Dev. Catch up with you later?”

“Yeah, of course,” Drew says, his tone betraying a hint of reluctance,“Do what you need to do.”

Greta calls for everyone to take their seats around the actors’ table. By luck, Dev and Y/N’s seats are right across from the one labeled Starkey. Drew slides into his chair and places his phone back on the table.

As Y/N walks toward Dev, she turns over her shoulder with a playful smile. “Talk to you later, then, Heartbreak Prince.”

“Heartbreak Prince?” he says, flipping back to the first page of the script. He folds the cover back neatly, his eyes asking the question.

Y/N gestures toward the window where the sound of fans chanting his name still echoes through the street. “Seems fitting.”

Drew laughs softly,“Seems fair.” Then, rubbing his palm over the script, he decides, on a whim, to give her a nickname, too. But he abandons the idea last minute. So, he just laughs.

“Okay,” she says, walking backwards, her hands entwined. “Let’s have fun today, Heartbreak Prince.”

EXT. GARDEN - MORNING, 1857 The garden is a sanctuary of tranquility, bathed in the soft golden light of the morning sun. Tall palm trees stand sentinel at the edges, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. At the center, a grand basin of emerald water glistens, its surface catching the light like a jewel. Paths lined with blooming pink roses wind through the garden, their fragrance perfuming the air. The scene is serene, almost otherworldly, as though time itself has paused to admire its beauty. EDMUND and MARINA stroll side by side, their steps unhurried, their presence a quiet harmony. Edmund’s hands are clasped behind his back, his posture upright yet relaxed. His gaze is tender, fixed upon Marina with an affection that is both gentle and unwavering. Marina walks with her eyes lowered, her cheeks tinged with a delicate blush. A soft, almost shy smile plays upon her lips, betraying the contentment she feels in this shared moment. As they walk, Edmund’s eyes catch sight of a single blossom clinging to a nearby tree. He pauses, bending gracefully to pluck it from its branch. He holds it out to Marina, his smile warm and sincere. EDMUND (softly, with admiration) No flower in this garden is as fair as my beloved. Marina’s gaze lifts to meet his, her smile deepening as she accepts the blossom. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, but carries the weight of genuine feeling. MARINA (gently) And no heart in this world is as kind as thine. The words hang in the air, sweet and sincere. Yet, unbeknownst to her, in but a few weeks, she will come to learn the bitter truth of her own words. Edmund halts their walk, his expression growing more earnest. He gently takes her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. With deliberate care, he presses her hand to his chest, right over his heart. His gaze never wavers from hers. EDMUND (solemnly) This heart is no longer mine. It is thine. His voice is steady, but there is a depth of emotion in his words that cannot be ignored. He pauses, as if to ensure she feels the truth of his declaration. EDMUND (continuing, his tone softer) In all my thirty years, no woman has laid claim to it. But you, Marina... you have claimed it entirely.

Marina looks up at him, her eyes searching his. For a moment, the world around them fades—the garden, the breeze, the distant rustle of leaves. There is only the two of them, and the unspoken promise that hangs between their intertwined hands.

A spark of love passes between them, silent yet undeniable. The moment is tender, fragile, and brimming with the hope of what could be.

“Flirty Thirty.”

A gleam in her eye, a quirk of her lip, and it’s no longer Marina speaking. It’s Y/N, tittering playfully.

The room erupts in laughter. Drew laughs the hardest of all, his amusement genuine.

“Y/N,” Greta chides half-heartedly, her tone more fond than strict. “Don’t break character.”

“Sorry, G,” Y/N replies sweetly, her smile full of innocent mischief. “I just thought I’d break the ice.”

Somehow, Drew finds himself smiling too.

_

Today marks the fourth official Dharma read-through, and the tenth time they’ve gone over the entire script. Drew understands why Y/N is antsy; he feels it too. He can’t wait to start filming in Mumbai—to inhale the chaotic, spicy air of the streets, to hear the fast-paced hum of Hindi in the background. He’s eager to feel James settle in his bones, the character enveloping him, becoming flesh and blood with each take.

The fact is, read-throughs are dull. So damn repetitive. Drew is just glad he has the perfect distraction in Y/N to make things bearable.

Gerwig sighs in resignation. “Let’s break for lunch,” she announces, addressing the entire group. “Reconvene in an hour.”

Drew catches Y/N’s eye and mouths, Padella? Y/N nods vigorously, flashing two thumbs up and a bright, infectious smile—the one Drew’s grown especially fond of.

“I'm starving,” Drew mutters a few minutes later as they walk toward the nearest Italian restaurant.

“Same here,” Y/N agrees, grinning. “Two more read-throughs, then India, here we come!”

“But we go through the script three times each meeting,” Drew half-whines, half-sniggers at Y/N’s dramatic eye-roll. “We’ll probably take even longer than usual today because of your little adlib.”

“Sorry...” Y/N shrugs playfully.

“It was fun, though.” Drew’s hand instinctively reaches to ruffle the hair at the top of Y/N’s head. He’s not sure why he does it, but the impulse is too strong to resist. He just hopes it doesn’t make her uncomfortable. “Not a lot of laughs in this love story of ours.”

Y/N doesn’t bother smoothing down her messy hair. “Have you ever loved someone that much?”

“Uhm…” Drew hesitates, his fingers instinctively brushing through his fringe. He can feel the strands falling just a little too long, and the thought of needing a trim before the live shoots nags at him. Shifting uncomfortably, his gaze drops for a moment before meeting Y/N's eyes again. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly, his voice softening. “Their love… it’s not something you see every day. It’s like—I don’t know—it’s hard to even describe.”

He pauses, his mind drifting to the script, to the quiet intensity of James and Marina’s connection.

“It’s the kind of love that consumes you, you know? It’s not just about passion or romance—it’s deeper than that.”

He doesn't comment further, Drew’s thoughts are already elsewhere. He’s thinking about Y/N, about the way their own dynamic has started to blur the lines between fiction and reality.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmurs, watching him absently. Her voice is soft, almost wistful, as if she’s caught in the same current of thought. “It is.”

He wants to say something, to break the silence, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that she returns with a quiet understanding.

When they reach the restaurant, the waiter, clearly a fan of Y/N’s, greets them enthusiastically.

“You two are so good-looking,” she gushes, but Drew knows the compliment is aimed at Y/N. The waiter, whose name tag reads Flo, is just being polite by including him in the praise. “You get more and more dashing every time I see you.” Y/N offers her the prettiest smile, and Flo beams, thrilled at the reaction she got out of her. Drew would be thrilled too if Y/N smiled at him that way...

<<What?>>

Padella has become a familiar haunt. After the first read-through—when Drew discovered Y/N’s favorite food was any type of pasta—it became their regular spot. Always ordering something new to try and two glasses of wine. Not exactly keeping in line with their diets, but Drew figures these cheat days won’t hurt.

In record time, Flo brings their dishes, leaving a courtesy starter on the table. Drew twirls his fork through the fettuccini, the satisfying, gooey sound as the pomodoro sauce mixes with the pasta making his mouth water.

“Oh, right, if I may,” Drew says. Y/N hums in response, mixing the contents of her own plate. “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow? I’m having dinner with Madelyn Clyne—she’s a very good friend of mine—and she’s cooking carbonara.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N looks up from her dish, her mouth practically watering at the thought of her favorite food. “She won’t mind me crashing your dinner?”

“No,” Drew replies, slouching over his bowl. “She asked me to invite you.”

“Really?” Her brown eyes widen a little in surprise. “Why?”

A mouthful of bolognese slides into Drew’s mouth with a slurp. “I might’ve mentioned your love for Italian food.”

Y/N takes a sip of her rosé. “Won’t you mind me crashing your dinner?”

“Nah,” he smiles, though his heart gives a small, unexpected flutter. “We’re friends.” He swallows the food he’s been chewing on the side of his cheek, then tries to avoid her eyes. “I kind of like hanging out with you.”

“Oh,” she answers instantly, so casual, yet pink paints her cheeks. Drew adores it. “I kind of like hanging out with you, too.”

Drew glances up at her then, and they share a knowing smile before going back to their food. The pasta is oily, red, a little salty. Drew knows he’ll need to brush his teeth and throw a box of mints into his mouth before they return to the read-through, but right now, he doesn’t care. The food is delicious.

Their comfortable silence is interrupted when Y/N’s phone rings from inside her bag. She pulls it out, glances at the screen, then gestures to Drew that she’s going to take the call outside.

"I’ll be right back.” 

Drew nods as she answers the phone and walks toward the door.

"Hey, Joe," he hears her say as she slips outside.

Burrow, he thinks, poking another strand of fettuccini into his mouth.

Fleetingly, he wonders if he should tell Y/N to bring Joe along—after all, it’s a friendly dinner. But the thought drifts away when Flo comes by their table to offer more wine. The question doesn’t resurface, not even when Y/N strolls back in from her private call. Joe is in Cincinnati anyway.

_

In her pale silk blouse and snug skirt—the same one Y/N owns—Maddie looks every bit as stunning as she does in her basic house ads. Drew has to admit it. Yet, there’s a faint itch of discomfort when he looks at her, something that nags at him. To distract himself, he shifts his attention to the other Madelyn in the room: the friend, not the fling.

She’s setting down a plate of sourdough bread on his dinner table, her hair tied back in a casual ponytail. Drew watches her lazily, admiring the elegant table setting. It looks like something out of a high-end restaurant—far superior to Padella’s.

“Since when did you become a chef?” he teases, his tone playful. Madelyn giggles, her focus entirely on the preparations. She wants everything to be perfect—no, better than perfect.

Only then does Drew glance back at his lover, noticing she’s staring at him, her pretty red lips forming a pout.

“Why not?” she asks, her voice tinged with frustration. Drew resists the urge to roll his eyes, too polite to indulge the impulse. He lets her continue her little tantrum. “You know I had a poster of Joe Burrow in my old dorm, right? The whole time I was in university?” Drew gives a barely perceptible nod, though he knows she’s lying. There’s no way she knew who Joe Burrow was back then. “So, please, please, please, please… Please, Drew. Let me meet his girlfriend, hmm?”

“No,” he replies flatly. The hurt in Maddie’s green eyes tells him he’s been too harsh. He reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she lets him, her lips curling into a small, sweet smile. “I’ll get jealous, baby,” he lies, trying to soften the blow.

She laughs, hiding her face as it flushes a flattering shade of crimson. She’s always been easily flattered by such comments, though Drew doesn’t quite understand why. After all, they’re not a couple.

“Okay,” she says, circling the table. Her fingers lace into Drew’s as she settles onto his lap, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I’ll get going then. Call me later?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pecking the tip of her nose. Her eyelashes flutter in response.

The moment Maddie leaves, her namesake, Madelyn, pops her head out from the kitchen.

“You know, Joe Burrow is my crush too,” Madelyn says, her tone light and teasing. Drew isn’t sure if she’s mocking him or if she means it.

“Why is every girl I know infatuated with him?” Drew asks, half-exasperated, half-amused.

Madelyn shrugs, a playful smirk on her lips. “He’s the most handsome quarterback in the league. What’s not to like?”

Before Drew can retort further, the doorbell rings. His eyes flick instinctively to the wall clock. 8 PM. Right on time.

“She’s here,” Madelyn says, her tone casual but warm. She smooths her hair back once, a quick and effortless gesture, before heading to the kitchen to finish setting the table.

Drew walks to answer the door as Madelyn places the pasta on the table. Y/N stands in the corridor, a bottle of red wine in hand.

“Look who decided to show up,” Drew says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. “And here I thought you’d gotten lost on the way.”

Y/N laughs, shaking her head as she steps inside. “You wish. I’m always on time, Starkey.” She rises on her tiptoes to hug him in greeting, and Drew chuckles, taking the wine. As she steps back, her necklace—the one with the “J” pendant—gets tangled with his earpiece. She laughs, but Drew hates it. He hates that “J” around her neck almost as much as he hates everyone’s obsession with Burrow.

“Right on time, as always,” he says, his tone teasing but his smile genuine.

“Come on in,” Drew adds, waving her inside. “Madelyn’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

Y/N steps into the living room, her warm smile spreading evenly across her face. “Hey, Madelyn. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Madelyn turns from the table, her expression relaxed and welcoming. “Hey, Y/N. Likewise. Drew’s told me a lot about you.”

“Hopefully all good things,” Y/N replies with a laugh, her tone easy and friendly.

“Mostly,” Madelyn teases, shooting Drew a quick glance.

_

Save for a few streaks of pancetta, the serving plates look as though they’ve been licked clean.

“That was incredible, Mads. The best carbonara I’ve ever had,” Y/N compliments the cook. “Thanks for letting me try it.”

“Anytime,” Madelyn replies, her smile warm and genuine. Drew smiles at her, pouring both women another glass of wine.

The night has gone well. Madelyn, ever the outgoing host, wasted no time making Y/N feel at home. She’d seated her next to Drew at the table, and the conversation had flowed effortlessly. At one point, they drifted into a lively discussion about last week’s Bengals at Chargers game, which Madelyn had attended.

“That touchdown Burrow threw in the third quarter was insane,” Madelyn says, her eyes lighting up as she recounts the play. “The way he dodged that sack and still managed to get the ball to Chase—it was unreal.”

Y/N nods, her expression a mix of pride and amusement. “Yeah, he’s something else. I still don’t know how he does it. Every time I think he’s about to go down, he pulls off some ridiculous play.”

Drew, who has been quietly sipping his wine, can’t help but chuckle. “Sounds like you’re describing a superhero, not a quarterback.”

Madelyn laughs. “That game was wild, though. The Chargers almost had him a couple of times.”

“Almost,” Y/N says with a smirk.

Madelyn raises her glass in mock salute. “Touché. How many games have they won in a row?”

“Ten,” Y/N replies, her smile unwavering. “I hope they keep it going. He’s not exactly fun to be around when they lose,” she adds with a laugh.

“I can imagine,” Madelyn says, joining in the laughter.

_

Drew offers Y/N the last bit of burgundy in the bottle. When she declines, he pours it for himself.

“So, Y/N,” Madelyn says, leaning back in her chair with a relaxed smile, “what’s it like dating a quarterback in postseason? Does Joe ever turn it off, or is it all football, all the time?”

Y/N laughs, her tone light and easy. “Oh, he tries to turn it off, but it’s hard. It’s kind of endearing, honestly.”

Drew can’t quite put his finger on it, but he thinks she’s lying. It’s not endearing—not really. There’s something in her voice, a faint edge that makes him wonder if she’s trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“So he just never … relax?”

“Sometimes,” Y/N says, her smile softening, her gaze lingering on what Drew presumes are those rare moments Joe isn’t talking football. “But it takes a lot to get him out of football mode. I have to remind him that there’s more to life than touchdowns and interceptions. Like, you know, me.”

She says it without any bite, but Drew can tell it hurts her. There’s a quiet resignation in her tone, a hint of something she’s not saying.

Drew swirls the wine in his glass, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“It can be,” Y/N admits with a laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I don’t mind. He’s worth it.”

Is he? Drew thinks, the question slipping into his mind before he can stop it. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the way Y/N’s smile falters for just a second makes him wonder if she’s asking herself the same thing.

Madelyn nods, her expression thoughtful. “I get that. It’s not easy being with someone who’s that driven.”

 “Exactly. But when he’s not in football mode, he’s actually really sweet.”

Drew raises an eyebrow, his tone teasing but with a hint of something sharper underneath, “Lucky guy,” he says, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something he quickly masks by taking a sip of his wine. Blue eyes lingering on Y/N for a beat too long.

“Okay, enough football talk,” Drew says, clearing his throat. He tells himself it’s not jealousy that makes him speak up, but the way his jaw tightens betrays him. He reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. “I’m just gonna step out for a smoke. Anyone care to join me?”

Madelyn’s face pinches in disapproval. “I wish you’d quit. Those things are horrible for you.”

“Just one,” he bargains, his tone sweet as honey. He pats his belly, producing a compact sound. “I need it. You fed me too well, Mads.”

Y/N snickers, and Madelyn rolls her eyes. Pointedly, she asks, “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes,” Y/N admits. “But keep it a secret. Joe would kill me.”

Drew raises an eyebrow, his tone teasing but with an edge that makes Y/N’s cheeks flush. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Come on, keep me company.”

Y/N hesitates, glancing at Madelyn, who shrugs. “Go ahead. I’ll clean up here.”

“Fine,” Y/N says, standing up. “Lead the way.”

_

They take the elevator down to the pool area on the fifth floor, where smoking is permitted. He offers her a cigarette, but she declines, so Drew places one between his lips, holding his lighter in front of it until the flame ignites.

Y/N takes a long look at him, the wind tousling his hair across his forehead, the cigarette glowing between his lips. She almost reaches out to touch his face, her fingertips lingering near his stubble, but she decides against it. Instead, she brushes his hair back into place. “I love your earpiece.”

“Thanks,” Drew exhales, his blue eyes locked on hers as smoke curls into a diaphanous ribbon. “So, everything’s going well with Joe, huh?”

Y/N tears her gaze away, her voice softer now. “You say that like you know for sure.”

“Alma likes gossip,” Drew says, licking his lips. They taste of wine and olives.

The girl shrugs, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s been a little chaotic.”

“Oh?” Drew blows a few smoke rings, rounding out his mouth and flicking his tongue to create the hole in the center. “Mind if I ask why?”

“Football season, this movie…” Y/N rushes to answer, her words tumbling out as if she’s been holding them back. “I’d rather not talk about it. Sometimes it’s just… hard to make it work, you know?”

There’s a pause, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. Drew studies her, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. Without thinking, he makes an offer he didn’t realize was on the table. “Whenever it doesn’t work,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you should just hang out with me.” He quickly adds, “And Mads. Me and Mads.”

Y/N looks at him, her eyes searching his for something he can’t quite name. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the silence stretching thin but not uncomfortable. Finally, she smiles, a small, tentative thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I might take you up on that.” There's a pause, and then she says, “But I’m flying to Cincinnati tomorrow, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

Drew nods, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long before he takes another drag of his cigarette. “When you're back,” he says, his tone light but his words carrying a weight that surprises even him. “You know where to find me.”

Y/N watches him smoke in silence for a few more minutes, the faint glow of the cigarette casting fleeting shadows across his face. When she yawns, Drew stubs it out, the ember dying with a faint hiss. He steps closer, his arm looping around her waist almost instinctively.

Unconsciously, she leans into the touch, her shoulder brushing against his chest. “It’s weird,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, “that we didn’t know each other two months ago.”

Drew’s lips curve into a faint smile, though his eyes remain thoughtful. “Really weird,” he concedes, his voice low and tinged with something she can’t quite place. He’s slightly buzzed from the wine, the edges of his thoughts blurring, but there’s a clarity in this moment that feels undeniable. “But I’m glad it’s two months later.”

Y/N tilts her head, studying him. The faintest hint of a smile plays on her lips, but there’s a question in her eyes, one she doesn’t voice. Instead, she says, “You’re not so bad yourself, Drew. For a guy who hates Joe Burrow.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “I don’t hate him. I just… don’t get the obsession.”

“Maybe you’re just jealous,” she teases, her tone light but her gaze steady.

“Maybe,” he admits, surprising himself. His hand shifts slightly against her waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her blouse. “Or maybe I'm just more of a Patrick Mahomes type of guy.”

Y/N’s breath catches, just for a moment, before she laughs softly, the sound mingling with the cool night air. “Careful, Drew. You're talking about my boyfriend's worst enemy.”

“I am,” he laughs, his voice dropping lower. “But I’ll let you decide if I mean it.”

She looks at him then. “You’re full of surprises,” she says finally, her voice soft but steady. “I’ll give you that.”

Drew’s smile deepens, and he doesn’t pull away. “Stick around, Y/N. You might find there’s more where that came from.”

_

She returns from Cincinnati the morning of their second-to-last script reading, the “J” necklace still clinging to her neck like a stubborn reminder.

Nonetheless, in the days leading up to Mumbai, dinners at Drew’s become a regular occurrence. Every other night, Y/N shows up with something to contribute to the table: a bottle of wine, a box of pastries, a six-pack of beer, a flour-dusted baguette wrapped in paper, or even a basket of fresh fruit.

Sometimes, Madelyn joins them, and the conversation flows effortlessly, like blood through veins. But more often than not, Y/N excuses herself early, citing a late-night or early-morning flight back to Cincinnati. Drew pretends he doesn’t care, though the empty chair beside him feels heavier than it should.

Other times, when Madelyn is out with her boyfriend and the other Maddie isn’t bombarding Drew with texts—asking him to dine with her, catch a movie, or join her at the theater—or when it’s not Sunday, Thursday, or Monday football, Y/N and Drew find themselves alone. On those rare occasions, they chat idly until the wee hours of the morning. The ice in their drinks crackles and melts, diluting the colors of their beers as they delve into childhood dreams, the winding trajectories of their careers, and the shared fears of an industry that chews up and spits out even the brightest stars. They laugh about their management teams, who have long since given up on damage control when it comes to their love lives.

Drew tells her more about Alma—caring, candid Alma—and Chase, his co-star turned best friend. In turn, Y/N opens up about Joe, her voice softening as she speaks.

“It’s not always easy,” she admits, her gaze dropping to her glass. “I mean, he’s amazing—driven, passionate, everything you’d expect from someone like him. But sometimes… sometimes it feels like I’m competing with football for his attention. And football always wins.”

She also opens up about how the pressure and expectations of both their careers harm their relationship—and the fact that her dad loathes him.

"Keep that to yourself," Y/N adds after a brief lull, her voice softer now. "I’ve never told anyone about it."

"They won’t hear it from me," Drew swears, taking a gulp of his watered-down Pilsner. He doesn’t even tell Chase.

_

Dharma begins its live shoots three months after the first read-through. Y/N and Drew are scheduled to film in Mumbai for three months, but Alma informs Drew it’s likely they’ll extend to four due to Greta Gerwig’s infamous obsessive compulsiveness. Her actors often end up filming simple scenes over and over for days, all because the director doesn’t think the natural light, the color of a couch, or the overall feeling is quite right.

“Already cleared it with the boss,” Alma shares brightly. She means the head of his management, who happens to adore Drew—as all CEOs adore their biggest star.

“Fine with me,” Drew says with a shrug. “I don’t mind staying in Mumbai a little longer.” He’s worked with far less pleasant directors than Greta before, and a little OCD won’t take the fun out of filming with Y/N.

He’s pleased to discover she feels the same way.

“Let’s press for four months,” Y/N says as they climb into the luxury car waiting for them at the airport. Her voice is calm, almost serene, as though the chaos of screaming fans outside the vehicle doesn’t exist. But Drew barely notices the noise; his attention is fixed on the absence of the “J” around her neck. “I can’t wait to discover India. Have you ever been?”

“Never,” Drew replies, sliding off his sunglasses and running a hand through his hair. He glances at her, a small smile playing on his lips. “But I’m looking forward to it. Especially if you’re the one leading the tour.”

Y/N’s eyes soften.

Quietly, with her voice carrying a warmth that settles deep in his chest, she says. “I think we’ll make a good team, Heartbreak Prince.”

[elericelery]

"I only knew you was better than Michael, I didn't know you was good. There's a big distinction there."

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Big brother is a prince!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: The ouran host club get an unexpected visitor ➼ what to expect:  "you need him as much as he needs you" ➼ warnings: None ➼ Part ten | Part eleven

"I am scared to think of the jokes the twins are going to make today" You raise an eyebrow at the sight of the host clubs attire for the day. Hikaru gasps "We are gentlemen y/n, we would never, you are the one with a dirty mind" You roll your eyes, laughing as you sit down at your usual table, pulling out your notebook.

"Sure" you roll your eyes through a laugh. "Just you wait y/n we will convince the boss that you should start wearing the costumes aswell" the door creaks open strangely early for the time of day "Oh. what an unnaturally young guest" Tamaki notes, low and behold stood in the doorway it a little girl that couldn't be older than five years old. "Well, glad you're here, my little lost kitty cat" he extends his hand to the little girl.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

Big brother is a prince!

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

"Little kitty-cat, why have you come to see us today?" taaki asks, leaning down to make eye contact with the girl, who raises her hand to point at the club "It's a reverse harem!"

you nearly spit out your tea from over at the table at what the girl said, convinced tha you must have heard wrong. The hosts freeze up for the same reason "That can't be right. I must've heard wrong. Maybe there's still some water in my ear from when i went swimming" Tamaki bashes his head.You want to point out that he went swimming days ago but you also want to believe that you both heard wrong.

"Water in the ear that's gotta be it"

"I'm sure we just heard her wrong, there's no way this cute little girl said the words 'reverse harem' something's going on with our ears"

"There's debauchery here!" the girl exclaims again,at this point there was no denying that you had heard her right. "Yay! There's debauchery here, isn't there?"

"You're the glasses character" she points to Kyoya

"You're the boy-lolita, and the stoic type" she points to Honey and Mori.

"Twincest"

"The sex appeal" she points to you, a horrified look taking over your face. "I mean I'll take it but oh my god"

"And the bookworm!"

"hmm" she turns to tamaki who stumbles in fear, the girls eyes widen at the sight of him "Big brother?"

"My brother’s blond- you must be him!” Then, much to his surprise, she throws herself into Tamaki’s arms, hanging from his neck and kicking her feet.

“You never told us about this.”

“Since when do you have a little sister?” The twins accuse.

“I don’t- I’m definitely an only child- at least as far as I know…” Tamaki fears, holding the squirming little girl so that she doesn’t fall. "I must admit you two do look similar" You point out.

“I want to know if ‘glasses character’ is superior to 'big brother.’” Kyoya wonders, clearly still slightly tense between the two of them after what had happened at your apartment.

“Does that matter? I can’t believe she called me a bookworm.” Haruhi stews, thoroughly unhappy with her assigned character.

"You study all the time Haruhi, I got sex appeal, from a child. I'm horrified" you stare at the scene before you with concern. "They're not wrong though" the twins comment, you laugh.

"Excuse me. You want to tell me your name, little one?" Tamaki asks, slightly frazzled from the interaction. "Kirimi!"

"Kirimi?" Haruhi questions, wondering who would name their child afer salmon. "Kirmi-chan, I'm afraid you've made a mistake. I'm really sorry but I don't have a younger sister"

Tears begin to well up in Kirmi's eyes "Are you sure? You're blond just like me" it is at that moment that you know that Tamaki isn't going to be able to resist "Well, that is true..."

He picks her up "i give in! As of this moment, I'm your new big brother! You're so cute!" he spins her around.

"I know you get carried away by emotion , but don't you think it's irresponsible to make such empty promises?" Haruhi points out, watching him spin around Kirimi.

"Don't listen to that mean Haruhi. I'm not irresponsible. Come home with me and I'll look after you" you sigh as you watch Tamaki definitely being irresponsible. "What do you think we should do?" You turn to Kyoya.

"We should probably try to find out if she actually has a brother at this school"

"Kirimi"

"Kirimi"

The black magic club door appears once again in the music room yet this time the person who steps out in a way resembles Tamaki, with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Hey, uh, who they hell are you?"

"He looks like a foreigner!"

"What's up with that? How come the door looks different all of a sudden"

"Oh Kirimi" the boy steps out from the door way "Master, you forgot your cloak" a maid and butler steps out from behind him wrapping a dark cloak around the boy, which is the point that everyone realises who it actually is. "Nekozawa-senpai?" they all question in tandem.

"Master Umehito is terribly vunerable to any kind of bright light for that reason, if he doesn'tshroud himself in black, he will fall victim to the brightness of the outside world, and will undoubtedly collapse and just to be comfortable, he even has to cover his beautiful blond hair with a dark wig " The maid explains.

"On the other hand his sister, mistress Kirimi, is frightened of dark, dimly lit places" The butler chimes in.

"So this little girl is Nekozawa-senpai's younger sister?" Haruhi asks.

"You are quite insightful. Yes, that will be correct sir."

Tamaki puts Kirmi down, leaving her to stare in confusion at her brother. "Kirimi, so this is where you've been hiding." he approaches her in his typical way which certainly is nightmare fuel to a child.

"Big brother save me from the monster!" Kirimi launches herself back into Tamaki's arms.

"Please don't be scared, I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is Belzenef, the nekozawa family had worshipped cats for generations"

"You know, I get the feeling she's not scared of the puppet call me crazy, but I think it's you" Haruhi points out, Kyoya nodding behind her. "It's probably your clothes, we'll help you change, 'kay?" The twins slide in.

"Oh! Don't do that! It's far too bright! I may die!" Nekozawa-senpai cries as the twins pull at his cloak.

"I know! Why don't we just darken the room!" Honey goes to draw closed the curtains of the music room, Krimi bursts out crying "Don't! I'm afraid of the dark!"

"Don't worry little one!"

"Either way, someone's unhappy" Kyoya points out.

"It's a tragedy that these two siblings are such polar opposites. As a result, they have come to be known as the Nekozawa family's Romeo and Juliet"

"But Romeo and Juliet weren't brother and sister. I think their situation was a little different" Haruhi points out.

"Oh I'm well aware of that, to be honest it's something I just came up with on the fly. Pretty impressive huh? I thought it might make the story more dramatic"

"Oh I see"

"We were sent by the master's family to get our beloved mistress Kirimi back home safely"

"Is the rest of the family..." "As out of touch as you three are?"

"How dare you say such a terrible thing! The Nekozawas are a distinguished family! They're descendants of the Tokarev dynasty of russia!"

The host club's heads tilted to the side at the name "Tokarev, huh?" Kyoya questions. "Wait, you mean Romanov, right?"

"There's a legend that says once every few hundred years, a Nekozawa child is born. A child who is destined to be possessed by that darkness, exactly like our master Umehito" there is something about the maid that was starting to remind you of renge with her flare for the dramatic.

"That legend may or may not be true"

"What do you mean it may or may not be true?"

"Is it or isn't it?"

"Mistress Kirmi fell in love with the handsome fairytale prince of an odler brother she had seen in portraits. However, as a result of his condition, the master is unable to go near his sister without being shrouded in black. Once she learned that her older brother was enrolled in a high school here, she decided to go looking for him. That's what brought her to your host club. We've tried to keep her comfort by reading her bed time stories about princely characters like her brother, but we ran out of stories so we've started reading her shoujo manga that had princely characters in them and i'm afraid she's become completely addicted"

"Shoujo manga?" Haruhi questions "Oh...that's not..." you cringe at the idea of shoujo manga being read to sucha small child. "Is there really debauchery in shoujo manga?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to haruhi" you shake your head. "But Sashimi-chan is so young"

"Not Sashimi" "It's Kirimi"

"So Kirimi-chan doesn't know that you're her real older brother Nekozawa-senpai?"

"Yes, we've talked to her, but she refuses to believe us"

"That's so sad, well no wonder Neko-chan is so upset"

"It's painful, that's why every night I offer prayers, in hopes that one day, Kirimi will come to embrace the darkness"

"I think you've got it backwards buddy"

"You should try to get accustomed to the light" "What are you trying to do to your sister?"

The butler steps forward "Come along mistress kirimi"

"It's time to go home"

Kirimi bursts out whailing "I'm not going with you! I don't wanna go home! I wanna stay with my big brother!"

"Nekozawa-senpai?"

"Don't worry about me Suoh, all I want is for my sister to be happy. Make sure she gets the love she deserves" Nekozawa runs away in clear distress.

"But wait a minute! Senpai!" Nekozawa is long gone.

"Sibling relations are a source of problems in any family" Kyoya pushes his glasses up, which you know that means he isn't entirely just talking about Nekozawa-senpai and Kirimi.

"I must admit though, that was a noble act, giving up being apart of kirimi's life so that she can be happy, even if leaving her with Tamaki is certainly not the best option" You think aloud.

"Even so, I'm kinda jealous, I grew up an only child, so I can't really relate. But I can't imagine how tough it must be to have a sibling that's so different from you that you can't even spend time together"

Tamaki places Kirimi down "Is something wrong? Tell me, big brother"

"I'm sorry Kirimi-chan, but I'm not the big brother you've been looking for, don't worry, he's still out there. Believe it or not you have a big brother that's even more handsome than I am, and I promise you he's a real prince"

"Oh no" you mutter, for a second you thought that Tamaki may have been doing the right thing but he's ended up going in the complete opposite direction.

"Once she stepped foot in this room, Kirimi-chan became a guest of the host club and it's our job to make all our guests happy! It's an absolute tragedy to see a brother and sister at odds this way. We have to do something to help them! Starting now, 'operation: change Nekozawa-senpai into the princely character of Kirimi-chan's dreams' is underway!"

"Are you serious?"

"But sir"

"You want to change Umehito from a prince of darkness to a prince of light? I don't know if that's even possible"

"Senpai, quit getting carried away by your emotions! Don't make promises you can't keep"

Tamaki smirks "Oh, ye of little faith. Have you forgotten we have an expert on our side?"

"Oh no" you already know where this is going even before you hear the ghastly shrieks of laughter and the churning of a motor as Renge arises out of the floor.

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"And as winefried rose from the well she vowed that she would never go near him again...Kirimi can we take a break?" you figured that baby-sitting kirimi would be better than witnessing whatever Renge has in store for Nekozawa-senpai, however you figured that reading her stories you had from back at home may be more age appropriate than reading her shoujo manga.

"No! I haven't heard these stories before I want to know!" She jumps up and down on the sofa next to you, shaking your arm as she does so. "Okay one more"

"yay!" Kirimi throws herself backwards to lie back on the couch, head resting on your leg. "There was once a princess called Dwynwen..."

It is about halfway through that you realise that Kirimi has fallen asleep on top of you. "I thought it was strangely quiet" Kyoya hums from the doorway, drawing your attention "I think she has been running around so much at the dragon stories she's worn out"

"I was unaware you owned so many fairytale books" He enters the room, approaching the two of you "There are very few of these ones in print, I brought them with me to make sure they don't get thrown out"

Kyoya picks one up "I see" he trails off, attempting to read the language on the cover despite the fact that you're pretty sure that he does not know it. "How is Renge's 'masterclass' going?"

"interestingly...I must admit she certainly runs a tight regime" you laugh "Sounds about right" you pull a blanket over Kirmi after she stirs in your lap. "Do you think it will work?"

"Possibly, I know that Renge certainly does not like to take no for an answer"

"And how are things with..."

He raises an eyebrow "with?" your head tilts to the side, knowing that he is playing dumb. "You know what I am referring to"

"Tamaki and I have yet to have a chance to speak" he looks off into the distance, not wanting to make eye contact with you. "You have had ample time, you are avoiding the topic"

"And what if I am?" he finally turns back to look at you "You shouldn't, you need him as much as he needs you"

"He was incredibly careless, I cannot forgive that"

"Kyoya." your voice is stern, pulling his attention. "Do you think that Tamaki messed up my apartment maliciously?"

"Well- No- Of course I don't- he wouldn't"

"He wasn't thinking, I will admit that because he never does, why was that any different to today when he decided to get the hopes up of a five year old that he will somehow change Nekozawa-senpai into something he is not?"

"It...It isn't different and it is incredibly different at the same time"

"How?"

Kyoya pauses, looking back at you with the same look you had given him seconds ago "You know how it is different" you raise an eyebrow "I do?"

"You do. and if you do not then you are less astute then I thought you were which I incredibly doubt"

"Tell me anyway?" Kirimi stirs before Kyoya can give an answer, waking up once more, rubbing her eyes as she sits up. "Oh its the glasses guy again" you laugh.

"I'll talk to Tamaki if you want me to but no promises of anything beyond it"

All of a sudden you hear a whail from the science room down the hall, everyone's heads snapping to look at the door. "Maybe we should double check that Renge isn't going too overboard"

You move Kirmi to sit on the sofa properly "Wait here for a moment Kirimi I will be right back"

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"Dare I ask?" as you enter the science room you find Haruhi yelling tamaki who was standing next to a mannequin who appeared to be dressed like her. "It's better if you don't"

"Big brother?" Kirimi appears next to you in the doorway "This room is dark and scary" she starts to tear up. "Oh, Kirimi-chan, i asked you to wait for me in the other room"

"What's wrong little one? There, there, calm down" Tamaki runs over, picking kirmi up "You see? There's nothing to be afraid of" the two of them laugh as he spins her around.

"Senpai?" You turn around to find a dejected Nekozawa-senpai chanting to himself about being a princely big brother. "I'm not afraid of this flashlight! Self evil beam!"

Nekozawa-senpai flashes the torch in his face. "He did it!"

"Nekozawa-senpai's come a long way, he's able to shine a flashlight in his own face"

"Bravo, senpai, bravo"

"Good job, I'm impressed"

"You did it! Your little sister is going to be so thrilled"

"Look there Kirirmi-chan that gentleman is your real big brother." Tamaki points to Nekozawa.

"Kirimi" Nekozawa-senpai turns around, a horrifying look on his face due to the the underlighting. Kirimi screams at the sight, running away.

"So I guess shining the flashlight in his face" "Scared her and sent her running"

"Oh kirimi" Nekozawa-senpai bursts out crying. "I've had enough. Even if I continue your special training there's no guarantee that Kirimi will ever accept me I think she'd be better off if you acted as her brother in my stead, Suoh"

"But that's rediculous you're the big brother she's looking for. If you care about her, you'll do whatever it takes to win her over"

The twins finally pull back the curtains of the room "Hey, look Kirimi-chan hasn't made it out of the courtyard"

"There's something down there with her...oh it's just a cat" Nekozawa-Senpai gasps "Your family sure does love cats" "Even strays warm up to you guys"

"What did you say?" Nekozawa-senpai pushes the twins away to take a look "They're revered by our family, it's true, but Kirimi wouldn't participate in something like that. Something as occult as befriending a stray cat. Kirimi is afraid of animals and cats are the creatures she fears the most"

"Kirmi!" Nekozawa-senpai jumps through the window.

"Nekozawa-senpai!"

"But he's not wearing his black cloak!"

Nekozawa-senpai runs up to Kirimi, who jumps into his arms, now actually able to see him in daylight without the cloak.

"Now look at that, this is all thanks to my special training" you roll your eyes, although even you can admit that while her methods were questionable, Renge was more helpful than not this time.

"I think Nekozawa-senpai is ready to continue on his own now, one of us should probably sort out what we're going to do about this window" You look at the remains.

the rest of the host club hum in agreement "Kyoya, Tamaki? would you mind?" the two of them look at you hesitantly "S-sure" Tamaki stutters out in nervousness, whether that be at you or Kyoya it is unclear.

You smile "Great, we'll leave you to it" turning around as you go to leave you place a hand on Kyoya's shoulder "Talk to him, remember what I said, you need him" You whisper, leaving the room with the rest of the host club.

Maintaining relationships certainly was not Kyoya's strong point, that much was clear, but if Nekozawa-Senpai can overcome all that to reunite with his sister, maybe he can learn to change too, with time, and patience.

Next time on patience 'Honey's three bitter days!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja

[lyjen]

Stay, stay, stay | Evan "Buck" Buckley

Summary: When Buck gets assigned to get up the ladder and put a fire out during a rain and thunderstorm, he gets struck by lightning. He’s walking around in a coma dream and has to find his way out of it to get back to his fiancée (Y/n).

Request: @shauna-carsley

<<< 9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

(Y/n) swung the towel over her shoulder as she turned around and made her way to the shelf to get some herbs. 

Buck, on the other hand, placed his foot into the last step of the staircase as he scanned the environment. When he saw his fiancée cooking in the open kitchen, he smiled and made his way over. 

“So.. did I hear you right earlier or are you actually about to serve the team your so-called ‘experimental pasta bake of doom’ for dinner?” he asked as his smile morphed into a playful grin on his face. 

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms as he waited for her to answer. (Y/n) chuckled and threw him a side-eye as she stood on her toes to reach the herbs she needed. When she caught the herbs she closed the cabinet and turned back around to the stove. 

“First of all, it’s not the ‘pasta bake of doom.’ It's just pasta with a little creative touch. Second, aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the truck or something instead of bugging the chef?” she said as she shook the little container to add it to the pot. 

Buck shrugged his shoulders as he moved to the kitchen island where the stove was, and (Y/n) was working on her dish. “I finished, so now I’m on ‘supervision duty.” He answered her question. “You know, just making sure you don’t set the firehouse on fire. Again” he continued as he placed his right hand on the counter and tried to get her to look at him.

She grabbed the wooden spoon that was in the pot and started to stir. “That was one time! And it wasn’t even my fault- the oven malfunctioned.” She told him as she felt the eyes burning into her skin even more. 

But before Buck could even come back with an answer, Chimney passed by with a smirk on his face. “Pretty sure it was malfunctioning because someone put too much cheese on their lasagna.” He said as he kept on moving. 

Buck his eyes grew wide at the reaction, he pointed his finger out at Chimney. “See? It’s not just me who remembers.” Buck said as he turned back towards (Y/n). 

(Y/n) stopped stirring as she gave Chimney a look that said really? She glared at both of them. “You two better shut up or I’ll accidentally forget to make enough for either of you.” 

In the distance a small laugh came from the dining table where Eddie was sitting, his phone was in his hand but his eyes were locked on the conversation between the two. “Really brave, Buck. You keep poking at the person in charge of our  food today. Bold strategy.” Eddie chimed in. 

(Y/n) let out a small sigh  as Buck didn’t drop the conversation, she tapped the remaining sauce off the spoon, back into the pot. Maybe she wasn’t the best chef, and maybe she did almost burn this place down. But at least she was trying? That must’ve meant something, right? 

Buck didn’t even bother to react to Eddie’s comment as the grin on his face grew wider. “I’m just saying, if this pasta bake ends up being a total disaster, the entire firehouse is going to blame me for not stopping it.”

She tapped the spoon one last time on the brim of the pot as she pointed the wooden spoon at him. “You should be blamed- for being annoying, not helpful.” she said as she let the spoon move in between them, almost letting it look like a threat.

A small grin appeared on her face as she locked eyes with Buck, he was just teasing her. They both went silent for a moment as they just looked at each other. Until a voice interrupted the moment. “What’s going on here?” 

Bobby walked in with a clipboard in his hands and one eyebrow raised at the sudden silence. “Nothing, Buck was just on his way to leave the kitchen. He’s officially banned from the kitchen, he’s already on his fifth snarky comment and dinner isn’t even ready yet.” she said as she stood across Buck, switching looks between Bobby and her soon to be husband. 

Buck glanced over his shoulder as he held up his hand in defense. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! Someone’s got to make sure this meal doesn’t turn into a second alarm.” he said as he looked at Bobby. 

And then a familiar sound roared through the entire firehouse, but it wasn't the fire alarm Buck was talking about. 

“Engine 118, truck 118, ambulance 118, structure fire, MacArthur Park Apartments“  The alarm sounded through the house. 

“Okay, one eighteen let’s go!” Bobby said as all the people on the loft dropped what they were doing and stood up to make their way towards the rigs. 

Everyone except for (Y/n).

She was actually on light duty because during her morning run a few days ago, she twisted her ankle. 

She didn’t even know how it happened. It just.. happened. She tried to walk it off, but when she returned home and Buck saw her stumbling while entering the house, he sighed. She always had been kind of clumsy. 

Anyways, walking was still difficult, she could walk but every step hurted. And since it would only slow down the team more than actually help, Bobby had decided that it was best for her and the team to put her on light duty. 

So here she was, trying to make dinner. While the alarm zoomed through the house. (Y/n) watched her friends and colleagues leave the loft, making their way towards the rigs as Buck took another second to look at his fiancée. Buck scanned the scene, he knew no one was waiting for the two of them to be close.. especially on shift. 

But no one except the two of them were on the loft right now. “See you in a bit” Buck said as (Y/n) had already continued to stir the sauce, facing the stove. He pressed his warm lips quickly against her cheek. “Be careful” she told him as he was already making his way towards the stairs. “Oh and don’t do anything stupid!” she added, sounding a little louder now. 

Buck turned around as he continued walking backwards, that same grin as before was written all over his face. “Have you met me?” he said, his grin turning into a small smile as he sent her a fast wink and turned back around speeding down the stairs. 

She didn’t know how long this call was going to take. It was a structure fire, it could take an hour, or it could take four hours, or even six. She decided to just try and finish the dish, so she could reheat it when her team came back from the call. 

-

Buck watched the rain splatter against the windows of the rig as they were making their way towards the structure fire. It was silence on the rig, as everyone was trying to get into focus. The only thing sounding through their headphones was the thunder roaring over Los Angeles. 

The truck pulled to a stop, not even a second later Buck and the rest of the team were stepping out of the rigs. Buck stepped out of the vehicle, feeling the puddle with water splash against his boots. 

“Okay, Hendrix, Meyers, Perez!” Bobby’s voice sounded over the scene, trying to be louder than the rain that was coming down like the gods were mad. The team followed Bobby as he started shouting orders to specific people. “Start evacuating the building!” he continued as he pointed to the building that was on fire with his hand. 

“Chimney, Buck, Eddie.” Bobby pointed at the right people, “You guys are on ladder duty.” He added as the three of them nodded at his words. “I want you to get up to that window and hit it. Let’s go!” the captain continued as he pointed his index finger to the right window. “Copy that cap!”

Not even three minutes later, Eddie was already turning and extending the aerial to the assigned window. With a ladder belt secured around his waist, Buck made his way back to the top of the truck where Chimney was waiting to go up the ladder. The tip of the hose set was hanging over his shoulder as he watched Eddie extend the aerial. 

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going? I got this.” Chimney said as he saw Buck climbing on top of the truck with the ladder belt secured around his waist. “No way, you got the last one.” Buck answered as a soft grunt fell from his mouth and made his way to the start of the ladder. 

Chim squinted his eyes at the rain that was pouring and hitting his face. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track,” he said. Making Buck grin “Come on, Chim, it’s me. I’m always keeping track.” Buck said with enthusiasm in his voice. 

These were the things he loved doing on the job. 

Eddie grinned at the conversation, grabbing the hook and securing Buck to the line, so if something went wrong he wouldn’t fall to his death. 

“Alright, cowboy, go get ‘em.” Eddie said, as Buck accepted the line Chimney was holding out to him. “Alright” he said, as he carefully made his way up the aerial. 

In his left hand he held the hose line and he used his right hand to climb up the ladder. The mix of people’s voices and sirens were filling his eardrums as he finally reached the top of the ladder. 

With his heart beating in his chest, he turned the hose line on and started to aim for the window Bobby had mentioned earlier.  

Where Buck could hear voices from below the ladder earlier, that sound faded away as some electrical buzz took over the scene. It almost sounded like an electricity pole was damaged, but it didn’t come from below him. Whatever he was hearing was from above. 

“The hell is that?” he asked himself. Buck looked above him, fully facing the rain that was still pouring down. But he couldn’t find a source, so he just continued doing his job. It didn’t take five seconds, or there was a flash of white covering Buck’s entire vision. 

The lightning hit his body. And he felt it, everywhere. 

Bobby’s eyes were locked onto the person who was on top of that ladder. But his heart dropped the second he saw what was happening right in front of his eyes. He could hear a loud scream and then Buck’s body tumbled over the edge of the ladder, his body now hanging on to the line that was secured to the ladder belt he was wearing. 

Eddie fell onto the ground after the bolt had struck just near him. He grunted at the pain in his back when it had met the ground. He rolled to his side, as he got onto his knees and hands to reach for his helmet that had prevented him from hitting his head on the asphalt. 

He pressed one hand onto the ground as he pushed himself off the ground and back onto two legs. He pressed his helmet back onto his head as was on his way to climb back onto the truck, not really knowing what had happened. But the moment he was climbing the ladder to get on top of the truck, towards the control panel of the aerial, he looked to his right. 

His best friend was floating in the air, lifeless. 

His eyes widened at the sight, “Buck!” he screamed out. Without thinking, Eddie hurried up the ladder. The steps were wet, making him almost slip now and then, but he didn’t care. He needed to help his teammate, his colleague. 

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Captain Nash, 118. We have a firefighter down at the MacArthur Park Apartment fire. Need additional task force and rescue immediately.” Bobby’s voice sounded over the radio as Eddie called out for his best friend, hoping for some kind of reaction. 

It was horrible, seeing him hanging like that. 

In the meanwhile when Eddie had finally reached the top of the ladder, he tried to pull him up. But pulling up someone who was unconscious was impossible. “Can you hear me? Buck!” he called out, but calling out his name was more for a cry for help than to get him to wake up. The water from the hose line was still spraying down, Eddie didn’t even bother to turn it off. He only had one goal, and that was trying to get Buck down to an ambulance.

If he couldn’t pull Buck up, they had to lower him down. Chimney had taken place down the ladder, ready to help. “We need more slack!” Eddie called out on the top of his lungs. “More slack coming up!” Chimney yelled back. Eddie groaned as he gently let the rope slide through his fingers, and watched Buck’s body being lowered down to the ground where Bobby was. He was commanding Hen to get the ambulance as close as possible. They couldn’t waste a second. 

Buck’s body was almost down at the ground again. Bobby grabbed his feet and turned him so he could be laid down onto the gurney easily. “Come here kid” Bobby’s voice was filled with worry. He put his arm on his back, “I got him, I got him!” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was telling the team, or if he was soothing himself with those words. 

“Okay bring that gurney over here, let’s go!” Bobby commanded his paramedics. 

“I need the lifepak!” Chimney shouted through Bobby’s orders to hurry up. They needed to do something, he was up there for way too long. The entire team was helping Buck onto the gurney which was being flooded with water the second it came out of the ambulance. 

“Let’s get the lifepak on!” Chimney continued as they disconnected Buck from the line he was still attached to. Hen gently took off Buck’s helmet, as they opened his turnout coat. and cut through his uniform to get to his chest. “No pulse.” Hen said as she held her fingers to his neck to check his pulse.While, the worry in her voice almost turned into panic mode. 

“Get that lifepak ready!” Chimney now shouted. But the second he got handed the lifepak, Hen spoke up. “It doesn’t make sense to shock him. He’s in full cardiac arrest!” she said as she looked over at her partner, and towards Buck’s bare chest thinking of what to do. 

“I’m starting compressions, get that lifepak off!” Hen’s partner now said, as he climbed on top of the gurney, pressing his hands deep into Buck’s chest. “Come on Buck! Come on!” Chimney’s voice said as he tried to get his brother-in-law’s heart beating again. “Come on man! You can’t leave (Y/n)!” he continued shouting, hoping those words would get him back to reality. 

“Alright Chim! Chim, we've got to move!” Bobby ordered Chimney, but he was so determined to get him back, words around him weren’t coming through. It wasn’t until Hen gave him a small push, that he realized he needed to get off the gurney. 

“Dispatch, this is Captain 118. We have a firefighter down, struck by lightning, unresponsive, three minutes out.”

______

(Y/n) arrived through the emergency entrance of the hospital. Desperately looking for someone she knew, and could tell her what the hell had happened on that call. Her hair was soaking wet, she didn’t even bother to grab a jacket when she ran outside towards her car. She didn’t care if she’d catch a cold. That was the least of her worries at the moment. 

“Wha..- What the hell happened?” (Y/n) gasped as she stumbled into the waiting room. Finding a small part of her crew. Oh god, the moment she stepped through those doors it almost made her puke. They had been through too much already. But walking through those doors made her heart pound in her chest, like she had run a marathon for miles. 

She hadn’t cried at all, but walking through those doors made it seem more real to her. 

She saw Hen and Eddie turning around, Hen’s eyes were still watering and Eddie’s were red like he hadn’t slept in days. But it wasn’t the exhaustion that made his eyes that red. The second she locked eyes with Hen, (Y/n)’s eyes were still wide open in shock. Tears were stinging in her eyes as the two of them walked towards her. 

“(Y/n)...” Hen sighed, as she stood across from her with Eddie on her left side. “No…” she said as she looked at Hen. Trying to suppress the cry and the tears that were crawling up. Eddie pressed his hand to her upper arm, trying to comfort her. While she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to comfort herself too. 

But the feeling in her chest started to feel tighter within the second. Her breaths were shallow and inconsistent as panic clawed its way through her. Her vision became blurry and she grabbed the fabric of her shirt, pressing the small piece of fabric between her hands to try and get herself back. 

Her world began to spin faster and the sound of her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears. Tears were beginning to slowly stream down her face when Hen started to explain what had happened on scene. But none of the words she told her we're coming through. Everything she said was inaudible. 

“Hey, hey, (Y/n), look at me,” Hen’s calm yet commanding voice cut through the haze, pulling her attention. Her eyes were locked onto Hen now, “Breathe with me, okay?” her voice said. 

(Y/n) shook her head, as more tears streamed down her face. “I... I can’t... I can’t breathe.” 

“Yes, you can. I’m right here with you. We are right here with you.” Hen said softly, as she looked at Eddie and back at (Y/n), gently placing her hands on (Y/n)’s shoulders. “In through your nose for four, out through your mouth for four. Let’s do it together. Ready?”

Hen took a breath in, holding up four fingers as she inhaled. (Y/n) struggled but copied her action, shaky and uneven. Hen’s fingers slowly counted down from four to one, guiding her through it again.

“That’s it. You’re doing great. Just one breath at a time.” She coached her. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s breathing began to steady, the panic loosening its grip. Hen kept her focus on (Y/n) “There you go. See? You’ve got this,” Hen said with a reassuring smile, squeezing (Y/n)’s shoulder. 

Tears rolled down (Y/n)’s cheeks, but she nodded, a small sense of control returning. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Always,” Hen replied, as she guided her to take a seat in one of the hospital waiting room chairs. Eddie and Hen both took a seat beside her, trying to comfort her as they waited for some news. 

“He’s going to be okay” Hen said, placing her hand onto her shoulder as she gave it a soft, gentle, squeeze. 

• Buck’s coma dream

“People have been dropping off food all day.” Margaret said as she proudly looked around the apartment of Buck. Pointing at the flowers and the cards he had received over the days he had been in the hospital. 

“And oh, your kids.. ” Wait, did he hear that right? Was he a father? Did he have kids with (Y/n) in whatever this was? His eyes grew wide, filled with hope as she said those words. He cleared his throat, “I- Um..- Kids?” he stumbled. 

Margaret smiled and nodded at his short question, “yes, your students.” she answered with a duh tone in her voice. Like he had to know what she was talking about. But when the word “kids” fell off his mother’s lips, all he could think about was: where was his fiancée? 

His eyebrows furrowed at her latest words, students? What was she talking about? He was a firefighter, right? What students was she talking about? “What?” he asked his mother with a confused look all over his face. But when his mother wanted to answer his question, he threw another question at her.

“Wait.. Where’s (Y/n)?” he then asked. Looking around the apartment for any clues. What kind of future, dream, universe was he in? He had so many questions floating through his mind right now. 

His mother was looking at him in confusion, “What are you talking about? Who is (Y/n)?” Margaret asked as she followed her son’s eyes, desperately searching the cabinets and shelves that were in the apartment from a distance. 

“My girl, my fiancée? Where is she?” Buck asked. Why didn’t anyone recognize her name? They knew about her, and how much he loved her. Why wasn’t anyone telling him where she was. Were they playing some kind of weird mind game with him? 

“How hard did you hit your head when you made that fall?” Phillip chimed in then. A feeling of annoyance slowly entered his body. “What? I-” he stumbled, but before he could even think of a proper something to say, his dad turned to Daniel. 

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Phillip asked his eldest, with a drink in his hand. Daniel sighed as he opened the fridge and grabbed a beer out of it as he read the label. “Yeah, why do you keep doubting me?” Daniel answered as he closed the fridge then again. “It’s not like I'm a doctor or anything.” He continued, with his eyes still burned onto the label of the beer and he made his way towards the living room part of the apartment. 

As Daniel and Phillip walk towards the couch, Buck’s eyes were locked onto the two of them. But then his attention was caught by something else. A sparkly, golden, 3D model of a ferris wheel was on one of the cabinets in his apartment. 

Determined, he walked towards the cabinet, standing in front of the ferris wheel as he let his fingers trace over the model. “What’s this?” he asked his mother who was following his steps. 

“No Idea. It doesn’t go with anything else I picked out.” Margaret answered his question. 

Only the thought of a ferris wheel made his mind go back to one of the worst days of Buck’s life. His fingers traced over the golden ferris wheel parts, as his eyes were locked onto the piece of decoration. 

The room around him seems to fade away. The sound of the television in the living room playing, and his family members communicating, it all dissolved into the deafening roar of rushing water. 

He was back on the pier. 

The sky was clear and blue, the sun’s reflection was shimmering off the ocean’s surface. Within the snap of a finger, the water retreated, a silent inhale before it’d drown Los Angeles. 

Buck lifted Christopher over his shoulder as he grabbed (Y/n)’s hand who was still staring at what ever the fuck was happening with the ocean. “(Y/n)! Come on!” he yelled as he roughly pulled her with him towards land again. 

He sees (Y/n). Terror in her eyes. Her hand slipping from Buck’s grip as the wave rips them apart.

“(Y/n)!” Buck gasps, his breath hitching. (Y/n) was fighting the water to keep her head up and above the water, but the waves were too strong. He can still feel the water closing in, pulling him under, tossing him through the wreckage. His lungs burn. His muscles scream. (Y/n)’s horrifying scream went through his marrow and bones again, like it did every time he thought back of that day. 

The memories crash into him like the waves did that day. 

“But if you like it, I love it.” His mom touching his shoulder and upper arm yanks him back to the conversation he was having with his mom. His chest heaves as he blinks, the 3D model of a ferris wheel coming back into focus. The sound of water is gone. The scream of (Y/n) still sounding faded in the back of his head. 

• Reality

(Y/n) walked those awful grey and white hospital hallways. She kept her head low, looking down at the ground as she didn’t know what to do with herself. (Y/n) didn’t know how to feel, there were so many emotions rushing through her body.

 She took another turn to the left, Chimney and Bobby came into her view. They were standing in front of one of the windows, looking into the room Buck was being placed in. 

“Hey.” she said, her tone worried. “What do we know?” she asked the two men in front of her who were slowly turning towards (Y/n) now.

“Not much, He’s alive. In critical condition. They had to put him into a medically induced coma to allow his body to rest and recover. The next twenty four hours are going to be crucial.” Bobby said, surprisingly calm. 

She didn’t want to even glance through the window. If she’d do that, things would be real. But it wasn’t a dream. If this was a dream, this would be the definition of a nightmare. But all the times she had pinched herself, wasn’t enough. She sighed as she finally found the courage to look through the window. 

Slowly she let her eyes wander to the bed Buck was lying on. This would be one of the moments that’d hunt her forever, the picture would be burned into her brain. She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lower lip. It was real. 

She took another shaky breath, opening her eyes once more. Scanning the environment. “He’s on life support. Breathing with the help of a ventilator?” (Y/n) said, but it sounded more like a question. 

“The lightning strike was literally a shock to his system. Sent him into cardiac arrest.” Bobby explained the situation as (Y/n)’s eyes were only locked onto her fiancée who was hooked up to all those different machines. 

But Bobby’s explanation was interrupted by a soft sound of a ringtone. Bobby quickly fished his phone from his pocket as he read the caller-ID. “Oh- I’m sorry I have to take this..” he said, excusing himself as he walked away and pressed the phone to his ear. 

Chim took place next to (Y/n) who was still looking through the window. Chimney didn’t say anything as he joined her looking through the window. He gave her some time to just look in peace. There was already so much information coming towards her. 

“It’s so weird.. an hour ago he was up and jumping through the station with his jokes. And now, he’s in there.. hooked up to whatever machines to stay alive.” 

Chimney swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, raw with disbelief. “One second he’s making fun of your cooking skills, the next he’s—” He gestured toward the room, as if that explained everything. As if it ever could.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. (Y/n) bit her lip, her gaze tracing the pale face of the man lying in the hospital bed. He looked so still. So unlike Buck.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Chimney said suddenly, more to himself than anything. “He has to.” he added as he looked to his left, looking at (Y/n) who was trying to suppress her emotions.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. Their throat burned, emotions threatening to spill over. Finally, they nodded, forcing a small, fragile smile.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “He has to.”

And yet, as they stood there, watching Buck fight the battle they couldn’t help him with. All they could do was wait.

• Buck’s coma dream

After Buck had finally convinced coma dream Chimney that he actually knew him, he was hanging with him at the kitchen island. Chimney opened the fridge as he placed a bottle of beer right in front of him. “The last thing I remember is: we were at this apartment fire. It was raining. I went up the ladder and… there was a giant flash.” Buck was going over his thoughts once again. He pushes himself up and he opens the bottle of beer.

“Sounds like you were struck by lightning.” Chimney said, looking at Buck who was starting to pace through the room. “Yeah but, I don’t think I’m dead. It feels like some kind of coma dream.” Buck answered. But just as he turned around and started his first steps of pacing around the apartment..

His eyes fell onto the dining table of Chimney’s apartment. A miniature fire truck was lying on his side on the table. “What the…-” he stumbled, as the memories flashed before his eyes.

Within’ a blink of an eye he was lying on the ground. His hands pressed onto the asphalt beneath him as his left foot was in an odd angle. 

His ears were ringing, his eyes were trying to adjust to what ever the hell just had happened. His vision was blurry, and changing from red to yellow-ish every second. Buck’s hand brushed over the asphalt as he tried to scan the scene he was in. 

The glass windshield of the truck broke, and fell onto the ground. Sending an awful, horrible pain through his leg, making Buck grunt. 

Everything hurt. His head. his legs. his back. Even breathing hurted. 

Buck really didn’t really get whatever was happening. There was this boy, holding some kind of deadman trigger. He kept on wandering around, screaming something. But Buck’s ears were still ringing, so the voices sounded dull to him. 

Suddenly, Bobby was there. His hands in the air, slowly making his way towards the young boy as Buck himself kept fighting to keep his eyes open, and push himself up. Buck couldn’t really register what was happening. He only knew his leg hurted, his head was pounding like it was going to explode any second now. 

Then, Hen, Eddie and Chimney came rushing over towards him. “You’re still with us Buck?” Chimney asked, but he didn’t answer his question.  Hen placed a medic bag next to him as they began to access him. “Buck, how are we doing?” she asked as she dug through the bag. “Kind of numb.” he answered with a trembling voice. But was the only thing that basically could come out of his mouth. 

While Hen, Eddie and Chimney were diagnosing him and tried to give him first aid, he was only searching for her. “Buck!” (Y/n)’s voice, high and strained, cuts through the chaos. His head jerked up, searching for her, and there she was..

Held back by Bobby, his strong grip kept her from entering the scene, away from Buck. Her eyes were wide and in panic mode. 

“Let me help!” she cries, trying to push past Bobby who was in civilian clothes, but he shakes his head. “No. They’ve got this. You need to stay back.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument, but she didn’t care.

“That’s my boyfriend!” she snaps, fighting against his hold. “I can’t just—just stand here!” she cried.

He wanted to tell her it’s okay, that he got this, but the truth was, he didn't. The pain in his leg was unbearable, and he didn’t know if he could keep it together much longer.

“Hang in there Buck” Hen’s voice cuts through the noise. Buck’s breath is coming too fast. The edges of my vision blur. The pain is worse than anything he had ever felt, like his leg is being ground into dust. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the pain. Every firefighter on scene was coming together, getting ready to tilt this truck off his leg. But then his eyes snapped open. And suddenly (Y/n) is there, right in front of him. Bobby had let her go. Or maybe she fought him off, he didn’t know. All he knew was the fact that she was in front of him, holding his arms, ready to slide him from underneath if she could. 

“I’m here,” she breathes, her voice shaking but determined. “Y-Y/N,” he managed, his voice was raw. She shook her head quickly, brushing damp hair from his forehead “Yeah, baby. I’m right here. Just hold on, okay?” she said softly, as she looked to the people who were ready to lift the truck. 

The metal groans as the team works to lift the truck. A rush of hope rushed through his veins, only to be crushed under another wave of agony as the pressure on his leg shifts. A scream leaving Buck’s lips before he could stop himself. His entire body was trembling.  

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” she whispered softly, her thumb brushing over his arms as a attempt to soothe him. 

He was looking at the miniature truck between his fingers. Chimney had been in a coma when that rebar went through his head years ago. Maybe he knew something about coma dreams. With those thoughts, he placed the miniature truck back onto the table and turned around. 

“Okay so, when you were in your coma, what do you remember?” he asked, as he slowly walked back towards the kitchen island Chimney was leaning against. “Nothing” Chimney answered. This was so not helpful. “How long have you been walking around in this coma?” Chimney asked now. 

He shrugged his shoulders, “Uh, I don’t know. Time is weird. Maybe two days?” he guessed. “Wait, you've been walking around in an alternative universe for two days and now you’re just now starting to ask questions?” Chimney asked as he pushed himself from leaning on the kitchen island and started walking towards Buck now. 

“It was kinda nice at first, until I asked my family about (Y/n)...” he told Chimney. But if his family didn’t know (Y/n).. Maybe Chimney would, right? “Wait, you know her right?” Buck asked before Chimney could react to his words. 

Chimney took a moment to think, repeating her name multiple times as he looked to the ceiling. “No, I don’t think I do..” he said, pressing his lips into a thin line and shaking his head. 

The panic was rising in his chest, but maybe he needed a wake up call. “You know, always hanging around the firehouse, always laughing at my dumb jokes.” he tried to help him remember. But he shook his head again. “Buck, I swear, I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Chim said. 

“You have to know her! She’s your colleague, friend, she’s my fiancée for god sake!” A mix of panic, stress and desperation filled his voice. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard that name before,” he said. 

No. No, this wasn’t right. (Y/n) was real. He could still hear their voice, still feel their touch. Why didn’t anyone recognize that name? 

Buck’s throat tightened. His chest heaved as he stared at his friend, searching his face for any sign that this was some twisted joke. But Chimney looked genuinely confused. His hands dug into his hair as the walls closed in. His lungs burned.

With his hands in his hair, he felt his heart pound in his chest, trying to break free. His ears started pounding as his airways closed off. 

He pressed a flat hand on his chest, as he tried to take a breath. But his lungs weren’t working. “Wow, hey, hey, hey!” “Are you okay?” Chimney asked as he saw Buck was having trouble getting air. 

Buck grabs his throat, as a sign that he couldn’t. Blood was rushing towards his head, making it red as he gasped for air. Buck’s eyes became blurry as he tried to keep his balance by holding on to the kitchen island. But he fell down to his knees. “Try to calm down! Try to breathe!”  

• Reality

It has been two days since the accident. And to be honest, (Y/n) hasn’t left this room ever since. Only to use the restroom, get some food or drinks. But most of the time she didn’t have to, because if there was someone who came to visit Buck, they brought something for (Y/n). 

The door was closed, but (Y/n) was sitting across from Buck in some kind of “lazy” hospital chair. She wouldn’t do anything except looking at him, keeping an eye on the machines he was hooked up on, and just watching him breathe. The constant beeping of the machines would sometimes make her fall asleep, like right now. 

“Hey” Chimney said as he walked through the hallway, aiming for Maddie who was looking through the window. “Shouldn’t you be inside with your brother?” he continued. Maddie shook her head, Chimney stopped beside her and followed her eyes letting out a soft sigh. 

(Y/n) was sleeping, her head leaning onto her hand that was placed onto the armrest of the chair. “How long has she been in there?” Maddie asked Chimney, since he got more updates from his crew. “She hasn't left.” Chimney answered her question. Tears were burning in Maddie’s eyes as she looked at the two in the room. 

Maddie had given (Y/n) a new set of clothes on the day it happened. She had hoped (Y/n) would’ve gone home every now and then, but the girl was determined. She had to be there when he woke up. 

The constant beeps switched, they became more and more within the second. (Y/n)’s eyes shot open, like she felt something was wrong. Her eyes shot from Buck’s body right towards the machines. In shock she watched the machines. The words “Lower limit warning” lit up in one of the screens in yellow letters. Her eyes rushed from the machine back to his body.

He was breathing like he was hyperventilating. She was alert the moment she read those words. (Y/n) pushed herself onto her feet, as she yanked the door open. “He can’t breathe!” she yelled as she was now in the grey empty hallways of the ICU. 

Tears burned in her eyes as she watched nurses suddenly dropping everything and running towards her. Everything around her became a blur as she felt two people standing next to her. Maddie’s hand was pressed onto her shoulder, trying to give (Y/n) some kind of comfort as Chimney tried to get the nurses into the room. “Hey, hey, hey! We need someone in here!” Chimney called out and pushed the door more open. 

The nurses were doing their job as (Y/n) stood in the door opening with Chimney and Maddie. Looking at whatever they were doing to help Buck. But (Y/n) couldn’t look at this. If he didn’t make it through, this wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. She turned on her heels, placing her hands on her head as she quickly blinked the tears away. 

• Buck’s coma dream

“What’s wrong with him?” Hen asked, pointing at Buck as she looked back at Chimney. 

Chimney held up his hands as he looked stressed at Buck who was still struggling with taking a single breath. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just having a panic attack.” Chimney guessed as he looked at his friend, hoping she’d know how to help him. 

Hen’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the guy in front of her. Was he for real? “Hey buddy, can you hear me?” she asked. Only receiving a nod from the complete stranger. “Buck can’t breathe.” Chimney concluded, as he watched him. 

But then, it was like the invisible hands that were tightening his airways close, let go all of the sudden. The choking had stopped, he could take a breath without any pain or difficulty. Buck let go of his chest and straightened his back, with a surprised look crossed over his face. 

Chimney and Hen looked at him in confusion. “Or maybe he’s pulling our legs. He’s fine.” Hen said as she switched looks between the two guys. “Sorry, I- I don’t know what happened. It was like all of the sudden my lungs just stopped working.” Buck apologized.  

"And now?” Hen asked as a second check. Buck stretched his arms, shaking his head as he felt nothing weird. “Uh, yeah, no.. I feel better.” he admitted. 

That still confused frown was on Hen’s face visible as she faced Chimney. “And how did this happen?” she asked him. “He was asking about (Y/n), that’s what brought this all on.” he explained, as they both looked at Buck now. 

It didn’t make sense to him. Why could no one in this silly coma dream tell him where (Y/n) was? This was his subconsciousness. He was in charge. Right? “How can it be that no one in this entire universe can’t tell me where my fiancée is?” Buck asked as he looked at both Chimney and Hen. 

Chimney just made the same face as he did a minute ago. There was no change in that. “Wait, wait, wait, that name does sound familiar to me.” Hen then said as she was thinking. 

There was a minute of silence, as a little spark of hope jumped in his chest. He gave her the space to think for a second. But after a moment, the back of Hen’s hand slapped against Chimney’s chest, hard. 

“Isn’t she that nurse from First Presbyterian?” Hen asked Chimney. Both eyes were burned on Chimney now as he was thinking. “You know? The one who’s in charge of the ER?” Hen tried to help him remember. Chimney’s eyes grew wide. “You’re right.”

-

He barged through the doors of the hospital and immediately made his way towards the ER. He knew this hospital like the back of his hand. 

“Excuse me? What are you doing?” A female voice asked him, as he pushed through the other set of swinging doors that made him enter the emergency room. 

He entered the ER, his eyes desperately searching for his girl. The lady at the desk probably was too lazy or busy to follow him and make him leave the ER. Buck only had eyes for one person only. And that’s when he saw her. 

She was smiling at one of her co-workers, that smile that made the rest of the world smile too. That smile that had him wrapped around her finger. She turned around and walked through the ER, leaving his line of sight. She was focused, busy, doing her job like nothing was wrong.

He called her name from a large distance as he watched her back walking away from him further and further. He called her name a second time as he made some speed to follow her. He called her name out even louder the third time. But she didn’t react, didn’t even glance his way.

Like she couldn’t hear him.

Frowning, he stepped closer, following her down the hallway. His pulse quickened. She wasn’t running, but she was moving fast, weaving between nurses and doctors, her attention elsewhere. But he knew a shortcut. 

Still, after a few moments, she started to look over her shoulder, like she could feel him following behind her. Like some part of her knew she was being followed.

She glanced back for a third time, and that’s when Buck made his move. Before she could take another step, he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her sharply into the nearest medicine supply closet.

A squeak left her lips as the door shut behind them. “What the hell-?” she gasped. The lights flickered on, and he saw her. She was here. It wasn’t some kind of döppelganger. It was (Y/n).

He exhaled sharply, his grip loosening around her upper arm. But he looked at her for a second, and pulled her into a crushing hug. His arms locked around her like she might disappear if he let go. 

(Y/n) froze in his embrace. “…Buck?” she said in a confused tone. But Buck shut his eyes, holding onto her tighter. “You’re okay, you’re here.” he whispered. 

She hesitated before answering, her voice careful. “Of course, I’m here.” Buck loosened his arms around her body as he looked her in her eyes again. “What are you doing here? Why are you a nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with confusion

(Y/N) met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. Then, with the faintest smirk, she said, “You tell me. This is your dream. I’m just living in it.” she explained to him. 

His stomach dropped. “So… I’m dead,” he murmured as he let his eyes wander to the ground, his head ready to drown in his own thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head slightly. “Close, but not quite.” 

His breath caught in his throat. “Then where am I? What is this?” He looked around the supply closet like the walls could give him an answer. “Is this… some kind of waiting room? Heaven? Hell?”

(Y/N) sighed, folding her arms as she looked at the panicked face of the guy in front of her. “You need to relax.” she told him. “Relax?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve been stuck here for days, I keep getting flashbacks to traumatizing moments of my life, apparently I’m almost dead. Forgive me if I’m having a hard time relaxing.” He started pacing down the small part of the supplies closet. 

(Y/n) gave him a knowing look before turning away. “Come here.” she said as she walked over to one of the cabinets, opening both doors. Buck watched as she pushed aside bottles of medicine and supplies, revealing something that shouldn’t have been there.

There was a window.

His heart pounded as he stepped forward, through the glass he could see himself. He was lying in a hospital bed, intubated. Unmoving. Machines hooked up to him, beeping softly.

Bobby was there, his hand holding on tight to the rosary beads like it was his only lifeline. Also (Y/n) was there. The real her. Sitting at his bedside, her hands clasped together like she had been praying. 

The air in Buck’s lungs vanished at the image in front of him. 

In shock he watched the three people in the room. “What the hell is this?” Buck asked the (Y/n) who was standing beside him. He glanced to his right, waiting for her to answer. She met his eyes, blinking away the tears that were stinging in her eyes. “Well, Evan Buckley, that right there is reality, whatever is happening on this side is your deep dark subconscious.” she explained. 

The way she said his name made his heart skip a beat. She never called him Evan, only when she wanted to mess with him, but she surely never used his full name. 

Buck’s eyes wandered back to watch the scene in front of him. “Do you know what’s happening to me in there?” he asked. (Y/n) shrugged her shoulders, “Well, it depends on how you look at it. You could be dying or fighting for your life. But it’s kinda up to you.” she answered. Although that didn’t really answer his question. 

At that moment, Bobby stood up from his seat. He walked towards (Y/n) and gave her a hug, as Buck’s parents and sister entered the room, following a doctor. 

“W-what is happening?” Buck asks as panic was rising in his chest and voice. But (Y/n) didn’t answer as she just watched the scene in front of her. “What is happening!?” he asked again. 

But as he looked to his right, (Y/n) was gone. And a döppelganger of himself in a doctor's jacket was standing right next to him. He looked him up and down in shock. “Looks like they’re pulling the plug, Evan.” he said. Before he could even answer for himself, the doctor “him” cut him off. “They don’t care about you. You’re not good enough, you never have been.” he said. 

Buck looked at his döppelganger in shock, as he tried to figure things out. “This is all happening inside my head, which means I've been talking to myself the whole time.” He clarified to himself. “I don’t have to feel bad about not listening to you anymore.” He added as he shoved all the aside bottles of medicine and supplies off the shelves in front of the window. 

The döppelganger watched him with a smirk on his face. “What are you doing?” he said, cocky. “I have to get back! I’m running out of time!” The panic was written all over his face as he yanked all bottles and other supplies off the shelves, and moved the shelves from the window. “It’s impossible, there’s no way back there. You’re stuck with me.” The döppelganger claimed. 

“It’s not impossible! There’s not a locked room anywhere that, with the right tools and enough time, you can’t break into. I know that.” Buck told his subconsciousness. But he could hear a chuckle coming from the other him. 

He walked determined to the side of the room as he took a fire axe out of the red box. “There’s nothing for you in that room. No one in there needs you.” Döppelganger Buck said then, with that same stupid grin on his face. But instead of looking him in the eye, he watched the scene, there’s enough hurt in that room. (Y/n) hasn’t stopped crying since he laid eyes on the window, Bobby was praying with his rosary beads, and if he did that, it must’ve been bad. He wasn’t the only one hurting. 

“Keep telling that to yourself.” he said, and yanked the fire axe through the window. 

______

The first thing Buck felt was warmth. A gentle pressure against his hand. Steady. Familiar. Then, muffled voices entered his ears. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. The scent of antiseptic and something softer… vanilla? No… coconut.

It was (Y/n).

His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open. The hospital lights were too bright, but they weren’t what held his focus. It was her.

Curled up in the chair beside his bed, her head resting against their joined hands, fingers wrapped around his like she had been holding on for dear life. His throat felt like sandpaper, his voice hoarse. “(Y/n)…” he managed to get out. 

She stirred instantly, her fingers twitching against his. Her eyes fluttered open, sleepy and dazed until her eyes landed on his. She froze. Her breath hitched.

“Buck?” Her voice cracked as she shot up, eyes wide with disbelief. A slow, tired smile tugged at Buck’s lips. “Hey.”

A strangled noise left her throat half a sob, half a laugh before she lunged forward, throwing herself into his arms. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body molding against his like she belonged there. He could feel her shaking, feel the way her breath hitched against his shoulder.

“Easy,” he croaked, though he had no complaints about being tackled with this much affection. (Y/n) pulled back to look at him, placing both her hands onto his cheeks, cupping his face. “You’re awake.” she whispered, tears spilling freely now.

Buck blinked up at her, brushing his thumb weakly against her hand. “Told you I’d see you in a bit.”

She let out a breathless, watery laugh, pressing her forehead to his. “You idiot,” she muttered. “You scared the shit out of me.” she said. His heart ached at the exhaustion on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the tension still in her shoulders.

“How long have you been here?” he asked. She swallowed hard, running her fingers through his hair like she couldn’t believe he was real. “Since the moment you got here,” she admitted softly. “I never left. Except to use the restroom.” She cried. “And even then, I made Bobby stand guard.”

Buck’s chest ached, not from the coma, not from the accident but from the fact that she had stayed. She had never given up on him.

“Fiancée of the year,” he said, squeezing her hand weakly. (Y/N) let out a choked laugh, shaking her head as she placed a free hand onto his cheek again, rubbing her thumb against his skin. “Yeah, well, I kinda love you, so.” 

His eyebrows shot up and his lips twitched. “Kinda?” She exhaled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Shut up”

Her fingers brushed against his forehead gently, her thumb smoothing over his cheek. Her expression softened. “You shouldn’t be talking this much,” she told him. “You just woke up.” she continued. 

“I have a lot to say.” He then said. “And you can say it later,” she said firmly, already reaching for the call button. “I need to get a nurse-” she groaned. 

His hand shot up, slower than usual, and weaker than he liked but enough to stop her. Her breath caught as he intertwined their fingers again, holding her there. “Stay,” he whispered.

(Y/n) hesitated, her worry flickering between her brows. But one look at him and she melted. She squeezed his hand and leaned in, her lips brushing against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion started creeping in. “Good,” he murmured sleepily. “Wanna marry you first.” he admitted. (Y/n) let out a breathless laugh, brushing her fingers through his hair again. “We will… when you’re out of the hospital.” she whispered. Buck sent her a small smile and as Buck drifted off again he knew, without a doubt, that he had made it back exactly where he belonged.

Home.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

<<< 9-1-1 Masterlist

[prythiansprincess]

CHAPTER THREE

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🤎 pairing: azriel x reader.

🤎 song inspiration: black out days by phantogram.

🤎 author’s note: happy monday! I hope you all enjoy x

The night before journeying to the Autumn Court, Rhys asked you to meet him at the House of Wind. You were halfway through packing when a knock at the door interrupted your progress. It wasn’t much of a process since your definition of the act consisted of haphazardly throwing the bare essentials into a small rucksack. 

Turning your attention to the door, you lifted the wards and beckoned the familiar figure inside. Azriel’s dark hair obscured the setting sun as he stood in the doorway. Since you weren’t keen on making the trek up the ten thousand steps at the House, the High Lord sent the shadowsinger to fetch you. Neither one of you were happy about the arrangement, but you figured that you might as well get used to it since you’d be spending the next month together.

“Are you just going to stand there?” you asked while shoving a heavy cloak into your bag in preparation for the chilly nights at the Autumn Court. 

The shadowsinger said nothing as he crossed over the threshold to take in the contents of your flat. It was strange to see him inside of your home. In all the years you’ve known him, Azriel had never set foot in your flat. Since you usually met up with the others at either the House of Wind or the River House, there had never been any reason for the shadowsinger to visit your dwelling. Now that he was standing in the middle of your living room, you could see how empty and unwelcoming the space may seem from his perspective. 

The place was hardly furnished and it lacked the warmth of a personal touch. You were away on assignment more often than not so you hadn’t really bothered to decorate. Since your days of exile, the habit of only keeping the absolute necessities remained as a holdover from experiencing life on the run. All you really needed was a working bath, a semi-decent bed, and a kitchen to cook in when the mood struck. 

“Is that all you’re bringing?” Azriel asked through the open door of your bedroom. 

Just like the rest of your flat, the room was bare and empty. There was a bed and a dresser, but if it weren’t for the growing stack of books piled high on your nightstand, no one would suspect that anyone even lived here. 

“I like to pack light,” you replied defensively. “There’s no need to bring anything unnecessary.”

“That much is clear,” Azriel muttered under his breath. He inspected the velvet couch in your living room, which was still in pristine condition. “It looks like you just moved in. Haven't you owned this place for years?”

You rolled your eyes in response. For some reason, the comment brushed you the wrong way. Though you supposed that was nothing new when it came to Azriel. 

“My apologies, shadowsinger. Are my interior design capabilities not up to your standards?”

The sarcasm flew over Azriel’s head as he scanned the walls, frowning when he found it devoid of decorations. “It just seems a little barren.”

“It’s a flat, not a palace.” You replied rather sharply. “As long as I have a place to sleep, that’s good enough for me.” 

Azriel tutted in disapproval before he weaved his way into the kitchen. You tracked him underneath the archway, his wings tucked tightly behind his back as he picked up the one sentimental item in your possession. 

In his hands, the shadowsinger held an enchanted painting of you, Rhys, and Serena. Your friend was smiling with her wings spread proudly while both her and Rhys sandwiched you in between them. In the center, you tipped your head back in laughter. You thought you saw the ghost of a smile forming on Azriel’s lips before you snatched the keepsake out of his hands. 

“Don’t touch that,” you reprimanded. “Do me a favor and stop snooping. I’m almost done packing.”

As carefully as you could manage, you set the painting back to its rightful place and ignored the gaze burning into your side. You could practically hear the onslaught of questions that the shadowsinger was dying to ask as you surveyed Serena’s smile. It was that same smile that had saved you all those years ago.

After you left the Autumn Court, you were forced to roam through Prythian alone. At first, you were able to scrape by working odd jobs as a barmaid or innkeeper, but with the war waging through the courts, the opportunities dwindled down to nothing. 

Driven by desperation, you found yourself foraging for food near the Night Court’s war camps. You came across their supplies and rationalized that they wouldn’t miss an apple or two. You’ve always been quick and stealthy, but Serena had the advantage of her wings. She spotted you almost immediately, but instead of turning you over to her father, Serena took you to her mother and brother. With Rhysand’s help, they offered you a place in the camps. A refuge from your exiled existence. 

With Rhys and Serena, you weren’t a Thorne. You weren’t a young acolyte fleeing from her future as the Autumn Court’s next High Priestess. You weren’t the weapon that Beron honed you into. 

You were just you. 

You found family in Rhys and Serena. You confided in both of them. You trusted them with the secrets of your past. For a time, the three of you had been inseparable. Then Serena died and the loss of your friend hardened you in a way that couldn’t be undone. Her death solidified what you’ve known all along — everything you touched turned to smoke and ash.

You looked at that smile again, wondering what your friend would say if she knew you were returning to the Forest House. She probably would have insisted on coming along. 

Serena was the only one who knew the full extent of the horrors you escaped. The cruelty of the Autumn Court. The familial ties that hounded you. The blood of the fox that took and took until you had nothing left. 

You dreaded going back to that wretched place. And yet, the darkness within you, the rage and fury coursing through your veins whispered home, home, home.

When you looked up, you met the shadowsinger’s gaze. There was something brewing within him, though his expression appeared as cold and stoic as it always was. But there — a sharpness in his eyes that strangely resembled recognition. Perturbed by its implication, you broke eye contact. 

Azriel regarded you warily as he moved towards the couch. If he noticed that you had momentarily lost yourself in thought, he made no mention of it. The shadowsinger plopped down on the cushions and stretched his long legs atop your coffee table. Shadows peered over his shoulders as though they too were passing judgment on the utter lack of decoration in your flat. 

You cleared your throat and marched back into your room to resume packing. If anything, you were just glad to have a door between you and Azriel. 

“We should leave before the sun rises. I can winnow us to the edge of the Winter Court, but we’ll have to fly the rest of the way.”

You rifled through your wardrobe, throwing in a few dresses for good measure before slipping out of the smock you were wearing in exchange for something thicker. You needed to layer if you hoped to survive the flight through Kallias and Viviane’s borders.

“Did Rhys tell you where Beron intends to house us?”

A beat of silence passed. You glanced over your shoulder and realized that the bedroom door was cracked open just enough to give Azriel a glimpse of your bare back. You could feel him staring at the giant wings etched upon your skin — a tribute for the ones that Serena lost.

You slammed the door shut, causing Azriel to flinch. After pulling on a sweater, you emerged from the room just as the shadowsinger cleared his throat and picked up the conversation as though you hadn't just caught him staring at you. 

“At one of his properties near the Forest House. He’s welcoming us into his borders, but keeping us well away from his home until the Blood Moon.”

You frowned. "That's strange," you murmured under your breath. The Beron you knew was a strong believer in keeping his friends close, but his enemies closer. If he was choosing to house you away from the Forest House, then he truly must be hiding something. "I would've thought that Beron would prefer to keep us under constant watch. My uncle is as paranoid as they come.”

“With good reason,” Azriel added with a slight smirk, “Look who he’s letting into his territory.”

That brightened your mood a notch. You couldn’t wait to rob the bloody bastard blind. 

“Fair point,“ you admitted. “Well if you’re done being a busybody, we should head out. Rhys is expecting me.”

As always, Azriel flew in complete silence. You looped your arms around his neck and shut your eyes. Flying was something you had always dreaded and it didn’t help that the shadowsinger dipped and flipped without warning. Those lethal wings of his beat against his back and plummeted you into the air while the wind whipped your scarlet hair into your eyes. 

Despite your tight grip, Azriel carried you in his arms with ease while simultaneously maintaining a considerable amount of distance between you. Gods forbid if Azriel held anyone closer than arms-length. It seemed fitting, given the nature of your relationship. 

Despite being in the same circle of friends, you and Azriel had never really gotten along. On a good day, you might be persuaded to tolerate each other for a limited amount of time and that was only if one of you managed to keep the hostility to the bare minimum. Rhys liked to say that mutual stubbornness was the cause of the clash, but in reality, something about Azriel has always unnerved you. 

What he lacked in words, he more than made up for with astute observation. Even without the help of his shadows, Azriel was extremely perceptive. He picked up on things most people wouldn’t notice. For someone who spent her entire life not wanting to be seen or known, the shadowsinger’s attentiveness was perturbing. 

You could feel his scrutinizing gaze on you even now as he examined the expression on your face with calculated caution. You tilted your chin up and stared right back into those hazel eyes of his. 

“What?” you challenged. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Azriel ignored the question and jumped straight to the point. There was no beating around the bush with the shadowsinger. “The tattoo on your back. They’re Serena’s wings, aren’t they?” 

Everything within you stilled. You stiffened in Azriel’s arms and looked away from him, which was a mistake in itself since there was nothing but the terrifying open sky to be seen from this height. You couldn’t tell whether it was your fear of flying or the subject of your friend that suddenly caused your chest to tighten. 

You never really talked about Serena with anyone other than Rhys. A part of you knew you should, at least to keep her memory alive, but it still hurt to speak of your late friend even to this day. It would never stop hurting. 

“So you were watching me undress,” you accused, shifting the topic of conversation. “Can’t say I’m surprised that you’re into voyeurism.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It’s pretty hard to miss,” the shadowsinger said with a shrug. He paused as his gaze slid over to you once more. Softly, he added, “I’d almost forgotten how beautiful they were. How beautiful she was.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. Sometimes you forgot that Serena had been his friend just as much as she was yours. The shadowsinger had served Rhysand’s father for years and lived under the same roof as her. She always considered Azriel and Cassian as her brothers and she used to tease you endlessly about your rivalry with Azriel. 

The line between love and hate is thinner than you think, your friend would state with a knowing smile. No matter how much you tried to convince her otherwise. Once Serena set her mind on something, there was no talking her out of it. 

While Serena was right most of the time, she couldn’t have been more wrong about you and Azriel. There was nothing between you but hostility and disdain. The only thing you had in common was your friendship with her. It seemed rather odd to you that the two of you could love the same person, but hate one another. 

With a forlorn expression, Azriel set you down on the balcony of the House of Wind. “It looks good on you,” he declared softly. 

You stared at each other for a moment before you cleared your throat and broke off the intense eye contact. 

“I should go. Rhys is waiting for me,” you said. Azriel nodded in confirmation. “I’ll see you at dawn, then.”

“I have to reconvene with my contacts in Rask to make sure things are in order during my absence, but I’ll be back before we’re due to depart.”

You involuntarily flinched at the mention of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the Continent. A kingdom who allied with Hybern. 

Azriel noted the reaction. “Try not to miss me too much, princess. I’ll be back before you know it.”

The shadowsinger grinned as you rolled your eyes at the comment. Not bothering to respond, you spun on your heel and threw Azriel a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

As you ascended the stairs, his dark laughter followed after you like a shadow.

The bloodstone hanging between your shoulder blades gleamed as you tugged on the chain absentmindedly, your focus shifting in and out as Rhysand’s voice floated through the room. His tone took on the form of a question and snapped you back to the present. 

Am I boring you? Rhys asked as he prodded through your mental shields. You frowned in response and clamped down the ruby gates within your mind.

The High Lord winced as you flashed him a feral smile. “You were saying?”

For the past hour, Rhys had drilled you on the plan until you were certain that you could recite the entire thing in your sleep. First, you were to winnow to the Winter Court. After that, Azriel would fly the rest of the way to the borders of the Autumn Court where you would both meet Beron’s welcoming party at the designated spot. From there, you’d be taken to the Forest House and formally presented to the High Lord. 

“How are you faring with all of this?” 

“Fine,” was your customary response. Rhysand raised a knowing brow. This wasn’t just an ordinary mission and you both knew it. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” your friend said with a tinge of worry. “But asking you to go back to that place is not something I take lightly. I wouldn’t have brought this to you if I hadn’t already exhausted all our other options.”

Violet eyes met yours and your demeanor softened. Rhysand rarely asked anything of you. Most of the time, you were the one volunteering to go on dangerous missions, much to his apprehension. 

“I know and I appreciate it.” You offered your friend a reassuring smile. “But you don’t have to worry about me, Rhys.” 

“I do so regardless.” He gazed through the glass window panes with a wistful expression. “You know, she would kick my ass if she knew what I was asking you to do.”

Rhysand didn’t have to say her name. You both knew he was speaking of Serena. 

You chuckled. “Knowing her, she would probably have insisted on coming with me.” A smile bloomed on your lips at the thought. “It would’ve been a sight, wouldn’t it? I’d pay to see her lay into Beron.”

You exchanged a forlorn glance. Both of you would have paid all the damn gold in the Night Court’s coffers to see Serena do anything again. 

“For her sake and mine, please be careful.” Your friend said in a serious tone. “I know you’re not thrilled to have Azriel accompanying you, but you will need each other.”

“I highly doubt that,” you muttered under your breath. 

Rhysand gave you a look of disapproval and you responded with a dramatic eye roll, throwing your hands up in surrender. “Fine, I suppose I can tolerate the overgrown bat for a few days. At the very least, the shadowsinger can tether me if things get out of hand.”

At the mention of tethering, Rhys blanched. You knew that you probably shouldn’t joke about such things. Unleashing your true form was dangerous enough, but setting your power loose in the Forest House meant that someone would have to snap the thread in case your flames gained control over you rather than the other way around. 

You had only ever come close to being tethered once, after Serena’s death. You lost control that day, drowning the bog of Oorid in smoke and ash while you raged to taste the blood of the Spring Court lord and his sons. It took Rhysand nearly half his strength to break into your mind and render you unconscious, which effectively broke the connection and stopped you from laying waste to the desolate swamp.

If Rhys had been unsuccessful, the only alternative was to shatter the thread which would have killed you in the process.

“I’m joking, Rhys. It won’t come to that.” He ran a hand over his face, clearly exhausted from his duties. It probably wasn’t wise to add onto his extensive list of worries. “I’ll be careful.” 

He sighed in relief. “Are you and Azriel set to depart tomorrow?” 

You nodded in confirmation. “Yes, he said he’d be returning from Rask before dawn.” Your gaze shifted to your friend. “Trouble in the Continent?” 

“Quite the contrary. It seems congratulations are in order. The King of Rask plans on crowning his heir.” 

“May the gods be with the young prince.” The declaration filled you with dread and tasted like ash in your mouth. “With Xilas as a father, Cauldron knows the boy will need it.”

“The King is a nasty piece of work.” Rhys said in agreement. You didn’t miss the sidelong glance he cast your way. “He hasn’t tried to reach out to you, has he?” 

You scoffed. “His Royal Highness has no interest in his illegitimate offspring. Xilas made that very clear the day he left my mother.” 

“I’m sorry to even bring it up. I just wondered. The coronation may be in the works, but rumor has it that the young prince did not inherit his father’s powers.” 

The pointed look Rhys sent your way was deflected by a nonchalant shrug. “Regardless, he is the heir to the throne. The only heir,” you added with a tone of finality. 

The High Lord nodded slowly, but kept his gaze leveled on you. “Do the others know? About the King?” 

Rhys shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell. If and when you are ready to tell them, I will support you.” 

The day would likely never come. You were content on being known for who you are now, not for some meaningless title passed down from a father who couldn’t even be bothered to care about your existence. 

“Thank you, Rhys.” You nodded towards the darkening horizon outside. “If that’s all, I’m going to turn in early.  Give Feyre and Nyx my regards. I heard the little Illyrian is teething, so you should probably relieve my High Lady soon.” 

Rhys chuckled. “You have no idea. She’s calling in reinforcements as we speak.” 

You grinned. “Don’t let me hold you up, then.” 

You and Rhysand exchanged goodbyes with the High Lord ruffling your hair and making you promise to be careful just like he did back when you and Serena used to sneak out and get into all sorts of mischief in the city.

You paused in the doorway. “Do you ever talk about her? With Feyre or any of the others? With Nyx?” 

Rhys looked at you for a long time, stars winking in his eyes. “No, but I should.” 

He turned to meet your gaze. “We both should.” 

The High Lord of the Night Court found himself in the heart of the Western Isles. 

Despite his desire to return home to his High Lady and their teething toddler, Rhysand had urgent business to attend to first. 

He watched as the waves of the pewter sea crashed violently against the brutal cliffs of the rocky mountain island. Above the misty peak, the Prison stood menacingly against the dreary backdrop. 

“I’m aware that you have a reputation to uphold, but this is a bit overkill, don’t you think?” 

A flash of scarlet glimmered in the High Lord’s periphery. Rhysand remained silent and stoic as stone while Eris Vanserra slid into place beside him. 

“Always a pleasure, Eris.” 

The Autumn Court male snorted. “I may not be a daemati, but being a Vanserra has made me an expert in spotting insincerity and you’d rival my father in your capacity for drivel.” Rhys almost smiled at that. “Why are we here, Rhysand?” 

“Is everything according to plan?” 

“Would I be here if it wasn’t?” The High Lord leveled a hard stare at the redhead and Eris sighed in response. “Beron has ensured safe entry for my dear cousin and the shadowsinger. After all, Autumn Court law requires him to honor the rite. My father would not dare trample the traditions of our land.” 

The tension lifted from Rhysand’s shoulders. As much as he detested placing his trust in Beron, he knew the male would not be foolish enough to break the customs of his ancestors. Violating the ancient rite was punishable by death. No one was exempt from the provision — not even a High Lord.

It was the only way Rhysand could protect Y/N. Though it didn’t fully alleviate his worries, it at least provided him some sort of assurance. 

“And Xilas?” 

It was the Autumn lordling’s turn to frown. “I have stalled his correspondences for the meantime, but it’s only a matter of time before he makes contact with my father.” Cunning eyes scanned the gloomy horizon and a flash of brooding marred the eldest Vanserra’s fox-like features. “Does she know about the coronation?”

Rhysand nodded. “She’s aware. I tried to broach the subject, but she has made it clear on multiple occasions that she’s not interested in the affairs of the kingdom.”

“Be that as it may, but the kingdom is interested in her.” 

“She’s been through enough.”

“And yet you’re sending her back into the Autumn Court blindly,” Eris said with a hint of bitterness. “This arrangement may protect her from Beron, but she cannot avoid the matter of her birthright forever. Perhaps it would be best to inform my dear cousin of the plan.”

“You lost the right to claim her as family the minute you allowed her to wander through Prythian starving and alone,” Rhys snapped. “I am doing what you failed to do centuries ago. I’m protecting her.”

Ire flashed behind that burning gaze. Eris seemed inclined to argue, but thought better of it and settled for a sneer instead. “Awfully convenient that I’m the one who will bear the brunt of her wrath once she finds out about your twisted little plan of protection. She will be furious with your deception. As will the shadowsinger.”

“Azriel will do what is necessary.”

In that, he had no doubt. As much as he hated keeping both of you in the dark, he knew it was the only option. Azriel would be angry, but his brother would understand. He just hoped that Y/N would too. 

“You may judge my methods, but all that I do, I do for the sake of my loved ones. That is what we do in the Night Court. We protect our families.”

“Grand and noble Rhysand,” Eris sneered. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re not the only one with a family to protect?” Rhysand faltered at that. 

The High Lord examined the eldest Vanserra — the heir of the Autumn Court who possessed deadly wit and an even more lethal hand. Rhys could see the poised, pompous, and arrogant male who pranced about Prythian as though the realm owed him a great debt for merely existing, but underneath that carefully crafted exterior, he thought he was a glimpse of Eris. 

The male who had risked his life to ally with the Night Court, to rebel against his father, to protect his mother, to keep his brothers in line, to rally the troops of the Autumn Court during their fight with Hybern. Rhysand thought that maybe, maybe, they weren’t as different as he had always led himself to believe. 

But that glimpse had only been afforded to him momentarily. Once again, the cool mask of Eris Vanserra clicked into place as his amber eyes hardened on the horizon. 

“The next month will be eventful to say the least,” Eris conceded with a sigh. “But I suppose it isn’t a Vanserra family reunion without lies, schemes, and betrayal. At least my cousin’s arrival will rouse some drama and intrigue in the fox’s den. I dare say it’s gotten a bit dull with only the threat of death gods and war.”

Rhysand’s lips curled a little at that. The Autumn lordling sighed. “Are you sure keeping this from them is the best idea?” 

“It’s safer if they don’t know,” he replied. “Not yet, anyways.”

“She will be furious,” Eris whispered. He didn’t have to say the words that Rhys had spent pondering during the past few weeks. 

She will never forgive you.

The High Lord knew that Eris, of all people, understood what that felt like. 

“Better angry and safe than informed and dead.” The High Lord repeated the phrase almost mechanically, the words falling seamlessly from his lips as he recited them over and over again to himself, though it did nothing alleviate the worry and fear he felt. “She’ll understand. She always does.”

The words caught in his throat. You would be furious with him, Rhys knew that. But it was a risk he was willing to take if it meant keeping you safe. 

I will not lose another sister. 

Rhys had meant what he said. This plan had to work. It had to, because he didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t. 

Right now, standing on the rocky shores of the Western Isles, it wasn’t the High Lord who slipped his trembling hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers. 

It was a brother who prayed that his sister would forgive him for what he was about to do.

TAGLIST

@fuckingsimp4azriel @onebadassunicorn-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @marina468

[wholemeallbread]

... TOXIC BOYFRIENDS AND EXES / ꩜

with ... nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi x gn!reader

warnings ... cheating (rin), fem love interest (rin), lying (rin, isagi), parental issues-ish (isagi), nagi is just a bum (nagi), tiny emotional manipulation (isagi)

part one reo, sae, oliver

"SHE'S JUST A FRIEND" ꩜ ITOSHI RIN

you've known for quite a while that rin has had a... worrying childhood, to say the least. you're also aware that someone else has been his guiding light through his early teens, but is now long gone in the past. or that's what you thought. rin has been silent after hearing the news that his childhood "friend" recently moved back into town, but it's obvious that something else is going on.

especially when he's been visiting a certain house multiple times per week without telling you.

you've been aware of it for longer than he thinks. the moment you texted him "where are you?" instead of asking him to come home, he switched off sharing his location for good. he'll tell you he's just on a jog, but he's said it himself that he doesn't like bringing his phone because its too heavy. it becomes obvious when she starts coming to his games, waving and catching all of his attention while wearing one of his jerseys. you would know, because you accidentally stained one of them when you wore it.

even worse when his own brother that was miles away texted you, asking if you and rin were together. how did he even get your number? and why did rin not tell him you were already years deep into a relationship? oh, rin said he's stuck between the person he loves and the person he trusts? well, that shouldn't really be a question, should it? he should love and trust you, why is there somebody else that he could "pick"?

the break up was mutual. you could tell he was upset about it, but not as much as you, and you wonder why... maybe it's because he ended up in a relationship with said childhood friend only days later. you don't mean to pry in their business, but it's hard not to when you realise everywhere they go together, you've been with him before. this time, he's holding her hand, he's not hiding from the camera, he's smiling. rin has never smiled for you before. it hurts, it really hurts, but you're glad he didn't let things drag on. at least there's something left for you in his heart.

if he didn't love you in the first place, he should've just let you know from the beginning. it seems like you were some sort of test subject for his future.

BABY SYNDROME ꩜ NAGI SEISHIRO

nagi always puts in the bare minimum. you figured "maybe he puts in more effort for things he's passionate about?". well, one certainly is football; all of a sudden he has enough stamina to run a marathon and actually use his strength. since you're dating, he's passionate about you too, right?

keep lying to yourself. it's always you reaching out first, it's always you having to go to his house, it's always you waiting outside of his classrooms. on more than one occasion have you called him, been ignored under the thesis of "i'm too tired to talk, maybe tomorrow." and then being left on delivered for the next twenty four hours. and the cycle repeats over, and over, and over again. the last thing you wanted to end up being was a second reo (sorry to him, he's a lost cause) but when you're having to put his socks on for him like a toddler, unwillingly after he begs for help, that's where you draw the line. he's not a grandpa, and he's not sore. why would he need help?

it was unsurprisingly easy to break up with him. he let you go with ease, and it's not like he was going to argue to make him stay. one less person makes one less hassle, right? afterwards, it's inconvenience after inconvenience for him. now nobody wakes him up in the morning, or helps him with his missing homework, or does all of the work on group assignments so he can go "train". who's going to cook for him now? because it's not you or reo, and ordering takeaway is too much work.

nagi texted you to ask to get back together. you asked why. he said "it makes both of our lives easier". hell no.

MAMA'S BOY ꩜ ISAGI YOICHI

isagi is such a good boyfriend. honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he was the one you ended up marrying. he's sweet, his parents are sweet, everything was perfect. was perfect.

you don't know where or when you messed up, but isagi's mom doesn't seem to like you that much anymore. was it how you got awkward and didn't know how to respond? no, usually his dad helps you through conversations. were you a bad influence? no, surely not. isagi knows his own standards, and sometimes his attitude is worse than yours.

nowadays, isagi looks a bit nervous when you ask to come over. your usual routine together was completely disrupted. you can tell he's subtly avoiding you or keeping conversations brief. he doesn't even hold your hand when you're walking around school anymore. this man willingly used to sprint from your period to the other side of the school just to make sure you got to your class safely, and now, nothing. and why is he wiping his hands with disgust when he's the one sweating buckets? he would've apologised if it was his fault, so it's something to do with you.

"hey, so... my mom doesn't want us together..." well, excuse you? he's stuttering, trying to come up with excuses, but you don't even want to hear them. having your healthy relationship broken up by his mom? and what if you married him hypothetically? would he willingly divorce if his mom said to do it? you know he still loves you, judging from his longing glances and half smiles in your direction. you know it wasn't completely his decision. but if he really loved you, then creating a barrier between the two of you when she wasn't even around didn't make sense at all. he would risk his life for you, but not disobey her loose commands.

on some random important day, valentines or whatever, he tries to ask you out. he wants to "start over". can you even be angry when he looks so remorseful? coupled with flowers, your favourite sweet treats and everything... oh, you swear you can see tears in his eyes. maybe you'll think about it.

[lovemyromance]

The ACOTAR books are not up for interpretation. The reason Elriels are so firm in their stance is because we have canon evidence to back up all our claims. We clearly distinguish between canon moments and just for fun headcanons and theories.

The other side does not have canon moments, and as such, believes that their headcanons and theory are in fact, canon.

They are not.

Elriels don't have to say "it's up for interpretation". This is not a thought provoking soliloquy or word art puzzle. It is a concrete, simple story that follows a logical series of events.

We don't "interpret". We read the words on the page.

Perhaps the word these people are looking for when they say "that was my interpretation" is actually "that was my misinterpretation." because that's all they seem to be doing.

Twisting canon and assigning an alternative explanation for behavior on the page in an attempt to disprove what was written will always be misinterpretation.

That is like if I told you the sky was blue, and you said "But she was only saying that because she probably had an aversion to green. The sky might truly be green!" -> like nope, it's still blue.

At some point, people are going to have to take off their shipping blinders when reading the book, or they will eventually open the Elriel book and it will finally sink in. Or do neither and stay blissfully in their own delulu world. Either way - one day they will be forced to reconcile what was actually canon with the crazy theories they rode so hard for.

I honestly cannot wait.

[stevie-petey]

Had an idea and wanted to pester you about it (I’m kidding, I hope I’m not actually pestering you). What if you were to write a cute snow day blurb for Stug? Set in between S3 and S4? I ask because it’s currently snowing where I’m at and just thought “dang, that’d be so cute.”

you could never pester me i loooove answering blurbs <33 now if i may pester you i changed the timeline to between seasons 2 and 3 because i couldnt resist the idea of pre-dating steve n bug playing in the snow together n being all shy n cutie ugh

enjoy !

"its snowing," steve leans your desk chair back, nearly tipping over completely as he peers out your window. "like. a lot."

theres a mound of assignments on your desk and you only spare a quick glance outside. "oh," your absent minded tone doesnt go unnoticed by steve. "thats nice."

he narrows his eyes. "i thought you loved snow."

"i do," this time more genuineness comes through your voice. you look outside again and ache when you see just how snow has fallen. "but..."

your head tilts down to the work scattered between you and steve. youre insanely behind on calculus assignments and steve has a lab report three weeks overdue and today is the first real day your injuries from demodogs and billy have healed enough to even attempt to understand what a derivative is.

jonathan is stuck at home taking care of will and promised you hed help you with the math as soon as he was able, but now, with all the snow that inevitably will block the roads, you know youre doomed.

steve sees the stress that tenses your spine and an idea pops into his head. he snatches the homework from you and is running out of your room.

"what the-?" but hes already gone, annoyingly fast when he wants to be.

you run after steve, having no other option, really, and find him and dustin rushing to put their coats on.

"shes here!" dustin screeches when he sees you. he shoves at steve, urging him to hurry up, and your mother watches fondly from the kitchen.

you push past your brother. "what is happening?"

steve zips up coat and winks at you, giving no response other than flinging the front door open and chasing dustin through the snow. theyre gone in a heartbeat, giggling like children as they fucking prance through the falling snow.

"id join them if i were you, y/n." your mom says with a slight chuckle. "steve told me to hide your homework until you were 'soaked in snowflakes'."

your jaw drops. "mom-"

"im sorry, sweet girl." she laughs at you now. "blame that handsome boy of yours and go play with your brother outside. itll be good to get some fresh air!"

"but-"

"wear a coat!"

and then your mother shuts her bedroom door, leaving you to watch steve tackle dustin into the snow as they shriek and wrestle in the slippery ground.

"my eye!" steve squeals in pain, rolling around, and dustin giggles menacingly. feeling your eyes on him, steve flings a distressed hand towards you. "y/n, help a guy out here, would ya?"

even though he cant see you, you still roll your eyes at steve. dustin echoes his own sentiments of wanting you to join. the boys plead with you over and over and youre weak to them.

sighing, you grab your heaviest coat. "if either one of you even thinks about tackling me, youre dead."

dustin salutes you. "yes, ma'am."

you help steve up. his hand is cold and his nose red and eyes shining and you cant help but giggle slightly at the sight of him. theres flecks of snow that line his brown hair and hes a delicate kind of pretty that rivals the spiral of snowflakes.

"saved me again, angel." he winks at you again, causing you to blush.

"shut up." you shove at his chest, avoiding his tender eyes. they reveal more to you than you know hes ready to admit.

steve laughs and dustin throws a snowball at your face and everything is warm and soft.

-

﹂blurb masterlist

﹂if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 14

- Minho (Xo Minho) X Kitty

;༊ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

;༊ Warnings : None

;༊ WC : 1,253

;༊ Previous Chapters : 12 & 13

;༊ A/N : Chapter 14 is the last chapter but, I’m thinking of writing three extra cute chapters. What do you guys think? Hope you guys enjoy!!

꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

Chapter 14: The End of the Beginning

The sun was setting over KISS as the final bell of the semester rang, signaling the start of winter break. Students poured out of their classrooms, ready to head home or off to their various holiday plans. The campus was alive with chatter and excitement, but amidst the chaos, Minho and Y/N found themselves in a little corner of the school grounds—just the two of them, away from the noise. It felt like the perfect ending to a chapter in their lives. A chapter that had been filled with moments of uncertainty, laughter, and most importantly, a whole lot of growth.

“Are you sure you’re ready for the holidays?” Minho asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he leaned against a tree, watching Y/N who was furiously scribbling something in her notebook. She looked up at him, her expression half-exasperated, half-amused.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes but her smile giving her away. “I’m ready to eat my weight in food, sleep for at least twelve hours a day, and watch way too many K-dramas.”

Minho chuckled, taking a step closer. “Sounds like a perfect break. No exams or last-minute assignments?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Y/N said, narrowing her eyes at him but smiling all the same. “I swear, if I get one more surprise assignment after all this… I’m going to lose it.”

“Well, just know I’m here to keep you company when you inevitably procrastinate,” Minho teased, his voice dripping with affection. He reached over to gently tug at her hair, a playful glint in his eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, but there was a warmth in her chest that she couldn’t deny. It had been a whirlwind since they’d admitted they were no longer just playing the “fake dating” game. Things had shifted so much between them, and now, a few weeks into their real relationship, it felt like they were in a place where everything was falling into place. They had figured out how to balance school, their social lives, and, well, them.

“Speaking of which,” Minho continued, “I know you’re excited for the holidays, but… I was thinking… Do you want to spend New Year’s Eve with me?”

Y/N blinked, startled by the question. “New Year’s Eve? With you? What do you have in mind?”

Minho’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint. “Well, I was thinking of a quiet night—just the two of us, maybe a movie marathon, junk food, and, of course, midnight snacks. You in?”

Y/N couldn’t suppress the small laugh that bubbled up from her chest. “You’re asking me to spend New Year’s Eve with you alone? No grand parties or fireworks?”

“Not unless you want to make it more complicated,” Minho said with a grin. “But, honestly, I think it’s time we had some quiet time together. Just us.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered. She loved how considerate he was, how he had always been thoughtful about what she wanted, even when it came to small things like this. “That sounds perfect,” she said softly. “I’ll even let you pick the movies, but don’t make it all action films.”

Minho raised an eyebrow in mock offense. “What’s wrong with action movies? I’m trying to teach you about real cinema.”

“Real cinema?” Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please, I’ll teach you about the wonders of rom-coms and tear-jerkers, and we can have a whole marathon of those.”

“Deal,” Minho said with a nod, before leaning in closer to her. “But only if you let me buy the snacks. I promise I won’t get anything too weird.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re on,” she said, pulling him into a playful hug. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Minho’s arms wrapped around her, holding her gently but with a possessive kind of care that made her heart skip. “Can’t wait,” he murmured against her hair. “It’s going to be nice. Just you, me, and a mountain of snacks.”

Y/N grinned, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “Sounds like the best way to spend the night. No drama, no fake dating—just us.”

Minho’s smile softened. “Exactly. We’ve been through so much in such a short time. And you know, I’ve realized that I’m really glad it was with you.”

The tenderness in his voice made Y/N’s stomach flutter, and she leaned up to kiss him lightly on the lips. When they pulled apart, she looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes. “Same here, Minho. Same here.”

Just as they were about to start walking back to the main campus, they heard footsteps behind them. Turning around, they saw the familiar faces of their friends approaching, their expressions curious.

“Hey!” Dae called out, a playful grin on his face. “Are you two lovebirds finally done with your secret rendezvous?”

“Secret rendezvous?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you think this is?”

Q snickered, nudging Dae. “It’s only a secret if we pretend it is.”

Yuri rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to her gaze as she looked at Minho and Y/N. “So, what’s going on? We’ve heard all about your fake relationship, but now that it’s real, are we supposed to throw you guys a party or something?”

Y/N laughed, feeling her heart swell with affection for her friends. “Not a party,” she said, turning to Minho, who was still grinning at her. “But we’ve got New Year’s Eve plans.”

“Let me guess,” Q said, raising an eyebrow. “A rom-com marathon with pizza?”

Y/N smirked. “How did you know?”

“Because that’s exactly what I would do,” Q said with a wink. “Don’t worry, we won’t crash it—unless you want us to.”

Yuri giggled at that, nudging Q playfully. “I think they deserve their quiet time. They’ve earned it.”

“Exactly,” Minho agreed, putting his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “We’ll have a proper date night. No interruptions.”

Their friends laughed, exchanging knowing glances but respecting their privacy. There was a shared understanding between them that, even though their relationship had started as a game, it had turned into something deeper. Y/N had never imagined she’d end up here, with Minho, her feelings no longer a tangled mess of confusion but rather a clear and comforting certainty. She was exactly where she needed to be.

“So, are we still doing the whole ‘New Year’s Eve together’ thing, or are you guys ditching us for your cozy little movie marathon?” Dae asked, a teasing grin on his face.

Y/N shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “No way. You’re all invited to join, but only if you promise to let me control the remote.”

The group laughed again, with Q shaking his head dramatically. “We’ll let you have your moment, Y/N. Just don’t forget us when you become all romantic.”

As they all walked back to the campus, Minho’s hand remained firmly in Y/N’s. He squeezed it gently, and she returned the gesture, her heart warm with happiness.

This was the end of their beginning, the chapter of confusion and miscommunication, but it was just the start of something much bigger. Something real. And with the promise of new adventures and quiet nights ahead, Y/N knew that whatever the future held, she and Minho would face it together.

The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky as they made their way back, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she realized that the best was yet to come.

The End.