#just the best way to share it with the people

[nerdycheol]

Love, On Air || Choi Seungcheol (valentine's special)

♡ Pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

♡ Genre: best friends to lovers, romance, fluff, slice of life

♡ Word Count: 7.8k

note: Happy Valentine’s Day! 💖 This is a special Valentine’s edition based on the poll results(so if you voted—congrats, you manifested this 👀). A massive shoutout to @facethesunflower for proofreading and making sure this didn’t turn into a total disaster. 😆 Hope you enjoy this fluffy, slightly dramatic, finally-they-confess moment.

Remember: if your best friend is acting suspiciously like Cherry… maybe it’s time to connect the dots. 👀💕

The clock hits 9 PM. You take a deep breath, adjusting the headphones on your ears as the familiar hum of the radio booth wraps around you. The room is small, dimly lit by the soft glow of the equipment and the neon sign flashing LIVE on the wall. 

"Alright, we’re live in 3... 2... 1..."

Your hand hovers over the soundboard as you smile into the mic. 

"Good evening, lovely listeners, and welcome back to The Heartbeat Hour, your go-to late-night show where we talk all things love, relationships, and everything in between," you say, your voice smooth and warm, like a cozy blanket on a cold night. "I’m your host, __ , and tonight is extra special because we’re in the heart of Valentine’s week. So, buckle up, folks—this week’s all about confessions, crushes, and, of course, giving you some advice to help you sort through your feelings."

You press the button for the first song request, the soft strains of a romantic ballad filling the room. As the music plays in the background, your eyes scan the requests that have been flooding in. The chat box is constantly ticking with messages—listeners asking for advice, sharing their love stories, or seeking songs that speak to their hearts. You feel that rush, the adrenaline of knowing you’re connected to so many people in real time.

"Now, I’ve got a message here from a listener who needs a little help," you say, pulling up the request. "This one’s from 'Cherry,' who writes in: ‘I’ve been crushing on someone for a while, but I’m not sure how to confess. Any advice?’"

You let out a small breath, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk as you think. This one’s a classic. You've seen it all before, but every confession still feels fresh. You smile softly into the mic.

"Ah, 'Cherry,' I get it. Confessing your feelings can be scary, but it’s also one of the most real things you can do. Here’s my advice: Keep it simple. No need for grand gestures, no elaborate speeches. Sometimes, the best way to let someone know how you feel is through a small, sincere gesture. Maybe write a note or give them a little gift that shows you’ve been thinking about them. And when you tell them how you feel, just be honest—there’s no such thing as a perfect confession. Just be you."

You pause, feeling the warmth of the words settle into your heart. The music swells in the background, adding to the ambiance of the moment.

"Remember, 'Cherry,' it’s not about getting it perfect—it’s about being brave enough to say it. And hey, the worst that can happen is they don’t feel the same way. But you know what? You’ve still won because you were true to yourself. So take a deep breath and go for it. You got this.”

You let the silence linger for a moment, Cherry’s words still hanging in the air. Then, with a small smile, you reached for the controls.

"Alright, Cherry, and everyone out there holding onto feelings they haven’t found the words for—this one’s for you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to say what’s in your heart, or at the very least, remind you that you’re not alone."

With a soft click, the studio filled with the delicate, wistful melody of "From the start" by Laufey—a song that is the ultimate friends to lovers song for all delusional daydreams.

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced out at the city lights reflecting against the glass. Somewhere, maybe Cherry was listening, hesitating over a letter they weren’t sure they’d ever send. Or maybe, just maybe, they had already begun writing.

After an hour of song requests, confessions, and quiet laughter shared through the airwaves, the LIVE sign dims. You take off your headphones, stretching your neck as the studio falls into silence. Another night, another show wrapped up.

Gathering your notes, you stack them neatly before grabbing your now-lukewarm latte from the desk. The faint chatter of coworkers drifts through the halls—other RJs wrapping up, producers discussing schedules.

"Great show tonight, ___," someone calls out in passing.

"Thanks! See you tomorrow!" you reply with a small smile, pulling on your coat.

Near the exit, your producer glances up. "Don’t forget—tomorrow’s segment is longer for the Valentine’s special. Get some rest!"

"Got it. Night, everyone!"

Pushing open the station doors, you step into the cool night air. The city hums in the distance, but here, it’s quiet—still. You take a slow sip of your latte, savoring the warmth against the crisp breeze.

And then, just a few steps away, you see him.

Leaning against his car, hands tucked into his coat pockets, Seungcheol watches you. The street lamp casts a soft glow over him, catching the faint curve of his lips.

You stop in front of Seungcheol, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

He tilts his head, acting like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I was just passing through."

You narrow your eyes. "Passing through? Your workplace is nowhere near here."

"Okay, fine," he chuckles, pushing himself off the car. "I thought I’d pick you up. It’s been a while since we had dinner together."

"Ah, I see. You missed me." You smirk, taking another sip of your latte.

"Don’t flatter yourself, " he scoffs, but the amusement in his eyes gives him away.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head before walking around the car. "Alright, alright. Let’s go before you start crying about how I never have time for you."

He pulls open the passenger door for you with a teasing bow. "Your chariot awaits, my lady."

Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you slip inside, and he shuts the door before making his way to the driver’s seat.

As he starts the engine, Seungcheol glances at you. "Nice show today."

You blink. "Oh? What’s up, Choiseung? You’re complimenting me?" You raise an eyebrow, grinning.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Forget it. Should’ve just let you believe no one listens to your rambling at night."

"Too late. I’m taking this to heart forever," you joke, leaning back in your seat.

A few minutes into the drive, Seungcheol reaches into his coat pocket and hands you a neatly folded envelope.

"Here."

You glance at it, then at him. "What’s this?"

"Just open it."

Curious, you unfold the letter inside. His familiar handwriting stretches across the page, carefully written, filled with warmth. It’s a simple note—thanking you for being in his life, for always listening, for just being you.

Your heart softens as you read.

"Ohh, Cheol... this is so sweet. Thank you so much, friend." You smile, touched by the gesture.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he freezes—just for a second.

Then, with a short nod, he looks away, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

"Yeah… friend." His voice is light, but something about it feels off.

You don’t notice. Or maybe, you just don’t understand.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"Nothing," he clears his throat, turning into a street. "We should hurry before the restaurant gets packed."

You let it go, tucking the letter safely into your bag as the city lights blur past.

Dinner is simple—warm bowls of stew and easy conversation. You catch up on each other’s lives, laugh over childhood memories, and argue over who should pay the bill (which Seungcheol wins, as always). It’s comfortable, familiar—just like it’s always been.

But every now and then, Seungcheol watches you with something unreadable in his gaze. Something just beneath the surface.

Later, he pulls up in front of your place.

"Thanks for dinner, Choiseung." You grin, unbuckling your seatbelt.

"Yeah, yeah. You can pay next time."

"I’ll believe that when it happens." You laugh, stepping out of the car. "Goodnight!"

He waits until you disappear inside, only driving off once your lights flicker on.

And then he waits.

Seated in his car, he watches as your silhouette moves around the room. It’s only when your lights finally turn off that he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck before driving away into the quiet night.

The next day passes in a blur of work, coffee, and the usual routine. You go through meetings, reply to emails, and try not to fall asleep at your desk. It’s just another regular day—until night falls, and you’re back in the studio, headphones on, mic live, slipping into the comfort of your show.

"And that was 'Moonlight' to set the mood for tonight," you say, adjusting the volume on the console. "Now, let’s see what’s on your mind, listeners. Late-night confessions, random thoughts, love letters—I'm here for it all."

A familiar name pops up in the chat, and you smile.

"Ah, a message from ‘Cherry’ again," you muse, skimming through it.

"So, Cherry says: ‘I wrote them my feelings, but I feel like they didn't get the hint. Any advice?’”

You lean back, thoughtful.

"Confessions are tricky, aren’t they? But if words feel too heavy, why not try something else?"

You pause, then smile.

"Here’s an idea—make a playlist. Fill it with songs that subtly express your feelings, and share it with them. You can name it something meaningful, like ‘For You’ or ‘Songs That Remind Me of You.’ Maybe they’ll get the hint, maybe they won’t, but either way… music has a way of saying what we can’t."

A soft melody plays as you set up the next song, your voice lowering.

"Speaking of confessions… Cherry, this one’s for you."

___

After the show, you gather your things, stretching as the familiar hum of the studio fades into the quiet of the night. Stepping outside, the cool air brushes against your skin—and there he is, leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting.

"You again?" You arch a brow, teasing.

Seungcheol smirks. "What can I say? Madam needs her personal chauffeur." He pushes off the car, opening the door for you with a playful grin.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you slide in. "More like my chauffeur needs his daily dose of validation."

He chuckles, shutting the door before rounding the car. "Can you blame me? Gotta make sure my most important passenger gets home safe."

You shake your head, biting back a smile as he starts the engine. The familiar warmth of routine settles between you, comfortable and unspoken.

As you drive, soft music fills the space—a melody unfamiliar yet strangely intimate. You pause, listening. It’s not his usual sound. Gone are the heavy beats and sharp rhythms he prefers. Instead, the speakers hum with gentle tunes, lyrics drenched in longing.

You glance at him, amusement flickering in your gaze. "Since when did your taste in music change this much?"

His fingers flex over the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. "Dunno. Just felt like switching things up."

You hum along absentmindedly, letting the melody wrap around you, comforting in ways you don’t fully understand.

Seungcheol exhales quietly, gripping the wheel a little tighter, sneaking a glance your way. Because this playlist isn’t just a mix of songs—it’s a confession. One he can only hope you’ll hear.

As Seungcheol pulls up in front of your place, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t make a move to unlock the doors just yet. Instead, he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, stealing a glance your way.

"__, since tomorrow’s the weekend... you wanna hang out?" His voice is casual, but there’s something just a little hesitant in the way he says it.

You turn to him, brows raised. "Sure. Where?"

Seungcheol clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away. "Nothing much… just the amusement park. Maybe a café after, y’know."

You blink before breaking into a small smile. "Huh, it’s been a while since we’ve gone there."

He nods, still avoiding your eyes. "Yeah. Thought it might be fun."

You tilt your head, watching him for a second before nudging his arm. "Well, if you’re paying, I’m definitely in."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes but grinning nonetheless. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go overboard with the snacks."

You laugh, reaching for the door handle. "No promises. See you tomorrow, Choiseung."

As you step out, he waits, watching until your lights flicker on inside. Only then does he drive off, the soft hum of the playlist still playing in the background.

The next day, the weekend air carries a hint of excitement as you step outside, spotting Seungcheol waiting by his car. Dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, he looks effortlessly relaxed—except for the way he keeps checking his phone, as if trying to act nonchalant.

"Wow, you’re actually on time today," you tease, walking up to him.

He scoffs, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Please, I was born punctual."

You snort. "Sure, if 'punctual' means making me wait at least ten minutes every time."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but opens the car door for you anyway, his usual playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Just get in, before I make you walk to the amusement park."

You laugh, sliding in as he rounds the car. Soon, you're both on the road, the soft hum of music playing in the background.

"So, what’s the plan, tour guide?" you ask, glancing at him.

He shrugs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Nothing fancy. Just rides, food, and you trying not to chicken out on the roller coasters."

You gasp dramatically. "Excuse you, I do not chicken out—"

"You literally backed out last time," he deadpans, making you groan in protest.

The banter continues, filling the car with laughter as the amusement park comes into view, the vibrant lights and distant screams of thrill-seekers setting the perfect scene for the day ahead.

As Seungcheol parks the car, you glance at the towering rides ahead, the excited chatter of parkgoers filling the air.

"Alright, where to first?" he asks, stretching as he steps out of the car.

You scan the park, lips pursed in thought before pointing towards the roller coasters with a challenging grin. "Since you’re so confident, let’s start with that."

His eyes widen for a split second before he huffs. "I wasn’t the one who backed out last time, remember?"

You laugh, linking your arm with his and pulling him along. "Exactly. Time to redeem myself."

The line moves faster than expected, and soon, you're seated, the bar locking in place. You grip the handles tightly, sneaking a glance at Seungcheol. He looks relaxed, but the way he exhales deeply before the ride starts doesn’t go unnoticed.

The moment the coaster shoots forward, your screams mix with laughter, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you grip the bar for dear life. When it finally slows, you glance at Seungcheol, only to see him looking at you instead of the ride’s descent.

"What?" you ask, breathless.

He shakes his head, a small, fond smile on his lips. "Nothing. Just glad you didn’t chicken out this time."

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully as you both step off the ride, your legs slightly wobbly from the rush.

The day continues with more rides, playful bets on who can win the most arcade games (he cheats, you swear), and an unnecessary but hilarious attempt at a claw machine.

"Face it, I'm just naturally gifted," he boasts, tossing you a small stuffed bear.

"Naturally full of it, maybe," you grumble, but take the bear anyway, hugging it to your chest.

Finally, as the night settles, you both find yourselves on the Ferris wheel, the gentle hum of the ride filling the comfortable silence. The city sprawls below, glowing under the streetlights, and in the distance, fireworks begin to bloom in the sky.

"Didn’t think today would be this fun," you admit, leaning back against the seat, the cool glass behind you a contrast to the warmth in your chest.

Seungcheol glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. He exhales softly, his fingers tapping against his knee.

"Yeah... I, uh—" He hesitates, licking his lips, his voice quieter now. "There's actually something I—"

But before he can finish, a particularly loud firework crackles in the sky, painting the cabin in flickering colors. You turn quickly, eyes lighting up as you take in the view.

"Oh, look at that one! It’s so pretty" you say, completely missing the way Seungcheol sighs, his half-spoken words swallowed by the moment.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," he murmurs, gaze lingering on you instead of the fireworks. "It is pretty."

Eventually, you both find yourselves at a cozy café just outside the park, the scent of coffee and pastries filling the air.

After placing your order, Seungcheol suddenly pushes back his chair. “Be right back,” he says, flashing a quick smile before heading toward the counter.

You don’t think much of it, scrolling through your phone until the waiter returns with your drinks. As they set your cup down, you notice the delicate heart design floating atop the foam.

You tilt your head, stirring it slightly with your spoon. “Oh? Is this some kind of Valentine’s special?” you ask, amused. “Did you get one too?”

Seungcheol, who’s just returned to his seat, glances at his own plain coffee and shrugs. “Yeah… no.”

You raise a brow. “Huh. Guess they just like me more.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink, but you don’t notice the way he hides his small, satisfied smile. Because the truth is, he had asked for that heart—just for you.

//

The next evening, the soft glow of the studio lights casts a warm hue as you settle into your seat, adjusting your headphones. Outside, the city hums with life, but a sudden downpour has turned the streets into shimmering reflections of neon signs.

"Looks like we’re in for an unexpected downpour tonight," you say, adjusting your headphones with a small chuckle. "So if you're heading home, grab an umbrella—or better yet, find someone who’ll share theirs with you—if not, maybe this is your chance for a classic movie moment. You know, the whole ‘one umbrella, two people’ thing."

With a quick tap, you queue up a slow, dreamy melody.

"Wherever you are tonight—rushing through the rain or just watching it fall—I hope this keeps you warm. Stay safe out there." As the song plays, you sit back, stretching your arms with a sigh. 

As the show wraps up, you take off your headphones, letting out a small sigh as the last song fades into silence. The studio, once filled with the hum of voices and music, now feels still. Gathering your things, you push open the door, stepping into the quiet hallway.

Outside, the rain still falls in soft sheets, blurring the glow of streetlights. You pause near the entrance, rummaging through your bag. No umbrella. Right. You meant to bring one this morning, but in the rush, it completely slipped your mind.

 You pause at the entrance, contemplating making a run for it, when a familiar voice calls out.

"Figured you’d forget yours."

You blink as Seungcheol steps forward, holding out an umbrella, his usual smirk in place. His hair is slightly damp, his coat dusted with droplets, like he had hurried here without much thought.

A small flutter, barely noticeable, stirs in your chest. You shake it off with a teasing smile. "What, no chauffeur duty today?"

He chuckles, tucking a hand into his pocket. "Uhh, not tonight. I have to stay late for that project."

You tilt your head, a little surprised. "So you came all the way here just to give me this?" You motion toward the umbrella in your hand.

"Yeah," he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Before you can say anything else, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, sighs, then looks back at you. "I gotta go. Text me when you get home, okay?"

You nod, watching as he jogs toward his car, the red taillights fading into the rain.

For a moment, you just stand there, gripping the umbrella a little tighter. You don’t know why, but the weight of it in your hands feels different.

Then, shaking off the thought, you open it and step into the rain, heading home.

//

As morning arrives, the first thing that comes to mind is Seungcheol. You blink at your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

Texting him isn’t anything new—you’ve done it countless times before. But for some reason, tonight, it feels… different. Maybe it’s your coworker’s words still echoing in your head, or maybe it’s the way he’s been occupying your thoughts more than usual.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

You: Did you get home okay?

A second passes. Then another. You bite your lip, debating whether to add something else.

You: And did you even sleep well? Don’t tell me you stayed up all night working.

You press send before hesitation can creep in. Almost instantly, the dots appear.

Seungcheol: Wow, checking up on me? I must be special.

You roll your eyes, already imagining the smug grin on his face.

You: Forget I asked.

Seungcheol: Wait, wait— I did sleep. Kinda. Had a long day, but I’m home now.

You: Good. Don’t overwork yourself.

Your fingers hover over the screen for a beat before you add one last message.

This time, he takes a little longer to respond.

Seungcheol: You too.

You lock your phone, exhaling softly as you sink into your pillow.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking. But the warmth unfurling in your chest suggests otherwise.

At work, the usual hum of chatter fills the office. You’re halfway through your emails when a coworker slides into the seat beside you, a teasing grin already in place.

"I saw you yesterday," they start, leaning in slightly. "With a guy. Was he your boyfriend?"

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

"What? No!" The denial is immediate, instinctive. Too quick. You clear your throat, forcing a casual shrug. "Just a friend."

Your coworker chuckles, clearly amused. "Mmm, sure. You should’ve seen your face just now."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Oh, please. It’s not like that."

They raise an eyebrow, smirking as they lean against your desk. "Right. Just a friend, huh?"

You roll your eyes, waving them off, but as they walk away, their words linger.

Just a friend. 

You’ve said it a hundred times before. So why does it feel different now?

The soft glow of the studio lights wraps around you like a familiar embrace as you settle in for another night on air. The playlist hums in the background, filling the quiet spaces between your thoughts as you scroll through messages from listeners.

One catches your eye.

“I think I’ve fallen for my best friend. It wasn’t sudden—more like a slow, creeping realization. One day, I caught myself smiling at my phone just because they texted me. I don’t know if they feel the same, and I’m scared to lose what we have. What do I do?"

You hesitate for a moment, the words settling heavier than they should. There’s a flicker of something familiar in them, something that makes you sit up a little straighter.

You take a breath and lean toward the mic. “That’s… complicated,” you begin, your voice even, steady. “Falling for a best friend is tricky. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. One day, they’re just… them. The same person they’ve always been. And then suddenly, everything feels different.”

Your breath catches slightly. A part of you wants to laugh at the timing, but instead, you clear your throat and lean into the mic.

You exhale softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your notes. "I think the scariest part isn’t even confessing—it’s the thought of what happens after. What if they don’t feel the same? What if things change? But… at the same time, isn’t it worth knowing? Isn’t it better than wondering ‘what if’ forever?"

The words come naturally, maybe a little too naturally, and you catch yourself mid-sentence, blinking at the realization. Your fingers tighten slightly around the papers in front of you.

You shake it off with a light laugh. "Anyway, I’m not a love expert. But if you’re listening… maybe ask yourself this—would you rather take the risk or live with the regret?"

As the segment transitions, you queue up the next song, the soft melody of Can't Help Falling in Love by Kina Grannis filling the airwaves. A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.

//

The idea of a team dinner had been floating around the office for weeks, but it wasn’t until today that your producer finally put his foot down.

“We’re going,” he declared, arms crossed as he leaned against your desk. “No more excuses, no more ‘let’s do it next week.’ Tonight, we eat.”

Your coworker snickered, spinning lazily in their chair. “You just don’t want to go home and cook.”

“Exactly,” he admitted shamelessly. “Besides, it’s been a while since we all hung out outside of work. You in?”

You hesitated for a beat, glancing at your screen before sighing. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do. “Yeah, I’m in.”

And that was that. A few hours later, you found yourself walking toward the restaurant with the rest of your team, the air buzzing with conversation. Your producer was still arguing about food, insisting that this place was “decent at best” while another team member defended it with an almost personal level of passion.

You laughed at their banter, falling into step behind them—until something made you slow down.

A familiar figure stood just outside the restaurant, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Even before he turned, you knew who it was.

Seungcheol.

Your brows lifted slightly in amusement. “Are you a stalker?” you teased as you approached. “You’re literally everywhere I go.”

He turned toward you, chuckling under his breath. “No, I’m here with someone. My cli—”

“Shall we go?”

The voice belonged to a woman who stepped up beside him, her posture poised, her tone polite. She looked… elegant. The kind of effortless elegance that didn’t even need to try.

Your gaze flickered between them, something unreadable tightening in your chest before you smoothed your expression. “Who…”

The woman met your eyes and smiled. “Oh, I’m Lee Hana. I’m working with Seungcheol on a project.”

You nodded, lips curving into something light, something easy, even as something else tugged inside you. “Right. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” you blinked, shifting slightly. “Our team is having dinner.” You motioned toward the restaurant behind you. “You know, bonding and all that.”

He nodded, but before he could say anything else, Hana touched his arm lightly. “Shall we?”

There was a pause—brief, barely there—before he cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.” Then he glanced at you again. “Bye, then. Have fun.”

And then he was gone, walking away with her at his side.

You watched them leave, something unspoken pressing against your ribs. It’s not jealousy, you told yourself. Not really. But the feeling stayed anyway.

A voice broke through your thoughts. “Oh, isn’t he the umbrella guy?”

You turned to see your coworker standing beside you, glancing after Seungcheol with mild curiosity before their gaze shifted back to you. “Did he come here with a woman?”

You said nothing, but that seemed to be enough of an answer.

They hummed knowingly. “You really must be just friends.” And with that, they walked inside.

You stayed there a second longer, staring at the spot where Seungcheol had just been, before shaking yourself out of it and following them in.

The night air is crisp as you walk back home, the sounds of the city buzzing softly in the background. Your team dinner had ended a while ago, but instead of feeling full and satisfied, there’s a strange heaviness in your chest—a weight you don’t quite understand.  

As you turn the corner to your apartment complex, you slow down, your steps faltering.  

There, leaning against his car with his arms crossed, is Seungcheol.  

Your brows knit together. “What are you doing here?”  

At your voice, he straightens, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t look well back at the restaurant,” he says, his tone light but laced with something else—concern, maybe. “So, I thought I’d check on you.”  

You blink at him. “You drove all the way here for that?”  

He shrugs. “It’s not far.”  

Liar. His office is nowhere near your place.  

There’s a brief pause. The usual banter is on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, the words don’t come out as easily tonight. Maybe it’s because he actually showed up. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what to do with the way your heart stutters at the sight of him standing there, waiting for you.  

You shift your weight. “Do you��� want to come in for coffee?”  

At that, he chuckles, shaking his head. “Coffee? At this time?” He tilts his head at you, amused. “You must really hate me if you don’t want me to sleep tonight.”  

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Then I’ll give you plain water. Just come in.”  

His lips twitch into a smirk before he pushes himself off the car. “If you insist.”  

And just like that, he follows you inside.  

The door clicks shut behind you as you step inside, flipping on the lights. The familiar warmth of your home settles around you, but with Seungcheol standing in your living room, it suddenly feels… different.

“You can sit,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the couch as you move toward the kitchen.

He hums in response, wandering over but not immediately sitting down. Instead, he looks around, eyes flickering to the small details of your space—the stack of books on the coffee table, the blanket draped lazily over the couch, the half-full cup on the counter from this morning.

“By the way,” you start, keeping your voice casual as you pour warm milk, “who was that woman earlier?”

Seungcheol hums in acknowledgment, but when he answers, it’s after a slight pause. “Just a client. I’m handling a project for her company.”

“Ah.” You nod, stirring the coffee a little too forcefully. “Looked like you guys were close.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Are you interrogating me right now?”

You scoff, bringing the mugs over to the table and handing him one. “No. Just making conversation.”

You drop onto the couch beside him, curling your legs under you. He’s been here so many times before, and yet tonight, the usual comfort feels a little different—like you’re hyper-aware of the way he leans back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the way he watches you over the rim of his mug.

“You seemed off earlier,” he says after a beat. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you lie, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Seungcheol doesn’t press, just tilts his head slightly, studying you like he’s figuring out a puzzle. “If you say so.”

After a while, he stretches, glancing at the time. “I should go.”

You nod, following him to the door. He lingers for a second, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Text me when you wake up, yeah?”

You frown. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just ‘cause.”

You roll your eyes, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes your chest tighten. “Fine.”

He smirks. “Good.”

And then, with a small wave, he’s gone.

You stand there for a second, staring at the closed door, fingers curling tightly around your cup.

The theater is dim, the soft glow from the screen casting flickering lights across Seungcheol’s face. The film has barely begun, but the hum of quiet conversations and the rustling of popcorn bags fill the space around you.

You’re not sure who suggested this movie. Maybe he did. Maybe you did. Maybe it was just one of those things—where he casually texted, "Movie?" and you didn’t even think before replying, "Sure."

The movie plays, but your focus wavers. You’re aware of him. Of the way his shoulder is just barely brushing yours. The way his fingers drum lazily against his knee. The way he shifts slightly every now and then, getting comfortable.

And then, his hand moves to the popcorn bag between you.

Your fingers accidentally graze his. Just for a second.

You don’t think much of it—until it happens again.

The second time, neither of you pull away immediately. It’s not intentional, not deliberate. Just… a pause. A moment that lingers for a beat too long before he finally retracts his hand.

Your pulse stutters, but you keep your expression neutral.

A few more scenes pass. You’re getting lost in the film when suddenly—

A jump scare.

It’s sudden enough that your breath catches, and before you can stop yourself, your hand darts out, grasping the closest thing—his arm.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say a word. Just glances down at your fingers curled around his sleeve.

You realize what you’ve done a second too late. Heat creeps up your neck as you start to pull away.

But then—

His arm shifts just slightly, just enough that your hand slides from his sleeve to his wrist, fingertips brushing against his skin.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The moment stretches, unspoken, unacknowledged. Not quite intentional. But not exactly not intentional, either.

And suddenly, the movie is the least interesting thing in the room.

The movie ends, and the crowd slowly shuffles toward the exits. You stretch your arms as you step out of the dimly lit theater, the cool night air greeting you.

"That wasn’t as scary as I thought," you say, glancing at Seungcheol.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Sure. That explains why you nearly ripped my sleeve off."

You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "That was one time."

He smirks. "Uh-huh. And what about the other time? And the time after that?"

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real bite behind it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"Okay, whatever. Where are we eating?" You change the subject swiftly, and Seungcheol hums, pretending to think.

"Ramen?" he suggests.

Your stomach growls at the mention of food, and you nod. "Sounds good."

It’s a short walk to the small ramen shop tucked away on a quieter street. The place is cozy, warm, and familiar—one of those late-night spots you’ve both ended up in more times than you can count. The moment you step inside, the comforting aroma of broth and spices fills the air.

Seungcheol orders for both of you, as he always does, rattling off your usual without even asking. The cashier doesn’t even blink, already used to it by now.

You shake your head with a small smile. "One day, I’m going to switch things up just to mess with you."

He leans against the counter, grinning. "No, you won’t."

He’s right, and you hate that he knows it.

The two of you settle into a booth, the conversation flowing easily between bites of food. Seungcheol steals a piece of your fish cake without asking. You retaliate by swiping a sip of his drink. It's effortless, familiar.

By the time you step back outside, the streets are quieter. The late hour drapes the city in a peaceful hush, the occasional headlights casting long shadows on the pavement.

Neither of you say much as you walk, but it isn’t an awkward silence. Just the kind that lingers when words aren’t needed.

At some point, Seungcheol slows his pace, falling into step beside you instead of slightly ahead.

The street lights flicker above, the air crisp but not too cold. You rub your hands together out of habit.

A beat passes before Seungcheol exhales through his nose and, without a word, reaches out.

His hand brushes yours, just barely.

You think it might be an accident until he does it again.

This time, he doesn’t move away.

And neither do you.

The apartment is quiet when you step inside, the familiar space wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. You toe off your shoes, set your bag down, and exhale, as if the night still clings to your skin. The soft hum of the refrigerator is the only sound filling the air, but your mind is anything but quiet.

You wander into the kitchen on autopilot, reaching for a glass, but your fingers hesitate over the cabinet handle. The thought slips in, uninvited.

What if he already knows?

The question lingers, settling into the corners of your mind like an echo. You shake your head as if that alone could shove it away, but it doesn’t work.

Maybe it’s the way he laughed tonight—soft, genuine, like the sound itself belonged to you. Or the way he leaned in closer, just enough that his warmth almost touched you. Maybe it’s nothing at all, just the way he exists around you—familiar, steady, yet suddenly… different.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to chase the feeling away, but it’s stubborn. Because now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t unsee it. Every teasing remark, every lingering glance, every small, meaningless moment—it’s all been leading to this.

And the worst part?

You don’t even know when it started.

You sink onto the couch, pressing the cool glass against your palm, grounding yourself. You try to convince yourself it’s nothing. You’ve always been close. He’s always been there.

But tonight, when his hand brushed yours and he didn’t pull away… when he said goodnight like he meant something else…

Your heart had stuttered.

You bite your lip, staring at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to settle.

...What if he already knows?

//

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of the equipment. The city lights flicker through the window, casting faint shadows against the booth. You scroll through the messages, eyes landing on a familiar name.

Cherry.

“I tried everything you said—gave them a letter, took them out, spent so much time together. And honestly? I swear they like me too. But… nothing. What do I do?"

You let out a breath, tapping your fingers lightly against the desk.

"Okay, first of all—don’t give up. I know it’s frustrating when someone doesn’t read between the lines, but sometimes, people need things to be said plainly. No metaphors, no subtlety. Just… real words."

You lean back slightly, eyes flickering toward the dim window of the booth, where the city blurs in the distance.

"Because here’s the thing—what if they do feel the same way? What if they’re just as scared as you are? Wouldn’t you rather know than spend your days wondering?"

The words come easily, almost too easily, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re really just talking to Cherry anymore.

You exhale and push forward.

"So here’s my advice, Cherry. Tell them. No hints, no half-confessions. Just look them in the eyes and say, ‘I like you.’ And if they don’t feel the same? At least you’ll know. At least you won’t have to live with ‘what if.’"

Your hand hovers over the controls for a moment longer than necessary before finally pressing the next song cue.

The melody flows through the studio, soft and steady. And yet, your heart is thudding slightly faster than it should.

The night air is cool against your skin as you step out of the building, the faint hum of the city filling the quiet. Work is done for the day, your coworkers already heading their separate ways after a few lingering goodbyes.

You stretch your arms slightly, exhaling as you adjust the strap of your bag—only to freeze mid-motion.

He’s there.

Standing just outside the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket—except for one, which lingers behind his back, hiding something.

Your heart stirs, something instinctive. “Seungcheol?”

His lips twitch in a small, almost nervous smile. “Hey.”

“You’re waiting for me?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, stepping toward him.

“Yeah.” A soft exhale. “I had to.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why?”

Seungcheol hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then, with a slow exhale, he pulls his hand from behind his back—revealing a bouquet of flowers, delicate and vibrant under the streetlights.

Your breath catches.

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

“Seungcheol…” Your voice is softer now, unsure. The gesture feels too deliberate, too thoughtful. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

He watches you for a second before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said this sooner. A long time ago, actually.” His voice drops slightly. “I think—no, I know—I’ve liked you for a while now.”

Your breath catches.

He holds it out to you, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. “I know it’s kind of cheesy, but... I saw this and thought of you.”

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

“Seungcheol…” Your voice is softer now, unsure. The gesture feels too deliberate, too thoughtful. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

He watches you for a second before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said this sooner. A long time ago, actually.” His voice drops slightly. “I think—no, I know—I’ve liked you for a while now.”

The world feels like it slows down.

His eyes flicker with something—uncertainty, vulnerability, an honesty so raw it makes your chest tighten.

“I tried not to,” he continues, voice steadier now. “I thought maybe it would pass, that maybe we were just friends and I was misreading things. But then you started showing up in my thoughts at the most random times. I’d hear a song and think of you. I’d pass a café and wonder if you’d like their coffee. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it… it was always you.”

Your fingers tighten around the flower.

“So I’m done pretending.” His voice is quiet but firm. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

You swallow, fingers tightening around the flower as your heart stumbles over itself. The weight of his words settles over you—not heavy, not suffocating, but something warm, something undeniable.

For a long moment, you don’t speak. You don’t know if you can.

Seungcheol watches you carefully, his usual confidence laced with something softer, something uncertain. You can tell he’s waiting, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

So you inhale slowly, steadying yourself.

“You—” Your voice falters slightly before you clear your throat. “You’ve liked me for a long time?”

He nods, lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah.” A beat. “I thought you knew.”

Your breath catches.

Did you?

You think back—to the lingering glances, the easy laughter, the way he’s always been there, steady and constant. The way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. The way your heart has been shifting, your feelings unraveling into something you weren’t ready to name.

“I…” You pause, lips parting, your heart beating so fast it’s dizzying. And then you laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. “God, I feel so stupid.”

Seungcheol blinks, caught off guard. “Huh?”

You meet his eyes, and this time, there’s no doubt, no hesitation.

“I like you too, you idiot.”

For a second, everything is still.

Then Seungcheol lets out a sharp breath—a laugh, almost disbelieving—and suddenly, that teasing smile you know so well is back, but there’s something else in his expression now. Something real. Something unshakable.

“Yeah?” His voice is quieter, laced with something warm.

You nod, lips pressing together. “Yeah.”

And then, he pulls you in—his hand resting at the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.

His lips press against yours, gentle at first, then firmer, like he’s been holding this in for too long. His other hand stays over yours, the bouquet still between you, petals brushing against your skin.

The city buzzes in the background, but all you can hear is the quiet rush of your own heartbeat. And in that moment, with his warmth, his touch, his everything—

It just feels right.

You pull away just enough to look at him, breathless, your forehead still resting against his. His hands remain on your waist, warm and grounding, as if neither of you wants to let go just yet.

And honestly? You don’t think you ever want to.

A soft laugh escapes you, light and airy. “You know… a listener of mine also loves their best friend,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. “They tried everything—subtle hints, letters, taking them out—but their best friend was too dense to get it.”

Seungcheol chuckles, his thumb brushing over your wrist. “Sounds familiar.”

“Right?” You sigh dramatically. “So, I told them to just confess. No hints, no half-confessions, just… real words.”

He hums, nodding thoughtfully. “Good advice.”

“Yeah,” you grin, looking up at him. “I wonder how it went for them.”

Seungcheol pauses for a second, then leans in just a little, his voice playful yet quiet. “I’d say pretty well.”

You blink. “Huh?”

His lips quirk up, and suddenly, the way he’s looking at you feels a little too knowing.

And then, before you can process it, he says it—just two words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks.

“I know.”

You stare. “What?”

He grins, tapping a finger against your forehead lightly. “Your listener. Cherry.”

Your brows furrow. The pieces are there, but your brain refuses to connect them. “What about them?”

He hesitates, as if savoring the moment, before finally confessing, “It’s me.”

Silence.

You tilt your head, processing his words. “...You’re Cherry?”

Seungcheol nods, clearly holding back a laugh at your expression.

For a second, you just stand there, staring at him.

Then, with a dramatic gasp, you lightly smack him with the bouquet in your hands.

“Ow—hey!” He feigns pain, stumbling back slightly, but the wide grin on his face betrays him.

“You idiot!” You hit him again, though there’s no real force behind it. “You made me give love advice for your own confession?”

He catches your wrist, still laughing. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can retaliate, he tugs you forward, pulling you into another hug.

This time, it feels different.

Familiar, warm, but with something new. Something neither of you have to question anymore.

You sigh against his shoulder, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you.”

He grins. “Believe it, Baby.”

[jhyoos]

Idk why but I’m really feeling a streamer!vi x fem reader smut 🤨 .

i haven’t really done smut before but i can try!

streamer vi! x streamer! reader

summary : vi fingers you while she lets you play on stream.

mentions : smut with a lil plot, modern au, fame au, plot twist, lowkey loser! vi

Vi had been a well-known name in the streaming world for a while, skyrocketing to fame after her The Last of Us playthrough went viral. Her genuine reactions, quick wit, and undeniable charm—along with the fact that she was, undeniably, hot—made her an internet sensation. Meanwhile, you had carved out your own space in the streaming community, building a dedicated following through your high-energy Roblox horror game playthroughs. People loved watching you scream at pixelated jumpscares, and your frequent collaborations with other big-name streamers only expanded your reach.

Your paths crossed during a crossover event that neither of you expected to lead anywhere—but after that first collaboration, you never stopped talking. Texting turned into late-night calls, which turned into video chats, and before you knew it, months had passed, and you'd both fallen hard. Moving in together felt like the natural next step, and soon, you found yourselves in a shared apartment with two separate, decked-out streaming rooms.

It was Vi who first suggested the idea of a joint stream. Just one game, babe. The internet’s gonna lose its mind. You didn’t need much convincing, and the next thing you knew, you were live on her channel, settled comfortably on her lap as you navigated the latest chapter of Poppy’s Playtime. Vi, however, wasn’t nearly as focused on the game as she was on you. Every time you hit a checkpoint, she pressed a slow, teasing kiss to your shoulder, her smirk widening at the way your concentration wavered. When you struggled with a puzzle, her hand slid over yours, guiding your movements effortlessly—but she didn’t pull away after helping. Instead, her fingers intertwined with yours, her chin resting on your shoulder as she murmured a low, “You got this, babe,” just for you.

The chat went absolutely feral.

The teasing started slow—just little touches that could’ve been innocent if not for the way Vi’s fingers lingered a little too long. At first, it was just her hands resting on your thighs, a casual, almost absentminded gesture as she watched you play. But then her fingers started tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, inching higher with every passing minute.

You swallowed hard, your focus wavering as she casually slipped her fingers between your thighs, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Instinctively, you parted your legs just a little, the movement barely noticeable—but Vi noticed. Of course, she did.

Your breathing grew heavier, the game on the screen blurring in and out of focus as her fingertips skimmed dangerously close to where you were beginning to ache for more. But when you flicked your gaze toward her, expecting to find her watching you with that signature smirk, she wasn’t even looking at you.

Her face was the picture of nonchalance, her eyes glued to the computer screen as if she weren’t doing anything at all. As if she weren’t driving you absolutely insane.

You continued to focus on the game, looking at the chat every now and then and interacting with them. “Yeah I’ve never played this game before. Vi did the other ch—ah!,” you gasped as you felt Vi’s hand go into your panties.

Thankfully, something that was jumpscare worthy popped up on the screen covering up your gasp. Vi looked at you “You okay?,” she says innocently. You looked at her with a nod “Y-yeah,” you say. She took that as a sign to continue as she rubbed circles onto your clit, kissing your shoulder. You cleared your throat, trying to cover up the moan that almost escaped as you continued to play the game.

Your walls clenched around nothing as you tried your best to focus on the game as Vi continued to play with your bundle of nerves, creating a pool in your panties. “Fuck…,” you let out a moan, trying to cover it up as a sigh of frustration. “Just focus, baby. You got this,” she says.

She getting off on this as much as you were, grinding up against your ass slightly trying not to let the viewers see. The feeling soon stop, relief rushed over you but it was soon short lived when two fingers went inside of you. You bit your lip as you tried not to moan.

“Vi…,” you say shakily as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of you slowly. There were faint sounds of wetness from your arousal bring swished around with her fingers. It couldn’t be heard because of the game sounds. Vi used her other hand to help you with the game, putting her hand on top of yours. “There you go,” she says.

You didn’t know if she was talking about the game or you.

You continued to play the game as she slowly pumped in and out of your cunt. You leaned over slightly which made her fingers reach the spongy part of your insides, you unexpectedly let out a moan.

The chat started to explode wondering why you moaned. “I…hit my toe on the monitor,” you said. You bite your lip as you continued the game, this time Vi’s fingers didn’t move.

You needed them to move.

You took a quick peek at her and she only gave you a smile, a knowing one.

Suddenly, her fingers started to move faster than what they did before. You automatically clenched against them, but that didn’t stop the pace of her fingers.

You bite your lip as you try to focus on the game but then Vi spoke up. “We’re gonna continue this later tonight, you guys. Thank you for watching and remember to turn on your notifications for when I go live again,” she says before pulling her hand out of your shorts and ending the live.

She immediately attacked your lips with hers as she wrapped her hand around your neck, pulling you closer than what you already were. “Fuck. You’re so hot,” she says in between the kisses.

You thought she was going to go in for another kiss until she moved her hand from your neck and started to kiss your neck, leaving marks.

Her fingers made its way back into your cunt as she started to finger you at a fast pace, her thumb rubbing your clit. You moan loudly, it almost sounded pornographic as you put both of your legs on the desk, spreading them wider for her.

“You’re such a slut. Letting me finger you while we’re live. You enjoyed it didn’t you?,” she teased.

“Vi!,” you managed to get out. It was the only thing you could respond with besides your whines and moans. You were getting close and Vi knew from how tightly you were clenching to her fingers.

“Come on. Cum for me, pretty girl,” she says in your ear before harshly biting it. It only sent you over the edge.

“Fuck!,” you moaned out loudly as you came around her fingers. Vi’s pace slowed down as she helped you calm down from your high.

You whined when she finally pulled her fingers out, putting them in her mouth as she sucked your arousal off her fingers. When she was done, she grabbed your face and kissed you deeply. You kissed her back.

ping!

The sound made you guys both stop in your actions. You looked over at the computer. The camera was off, but the audio was still going.

The stream was still on.

Fuck.

“Vi! I thought you said you ended it!,” you said hitting her in the chest.

if you don’t like it…you can punch me in the tit.

REQUEST ARE OPEN !!

[ill0usainte]

But, we friends thou? 3k+

pairings: virgin!caleb x virgin!reader

cw: unprotected sex, mentions of condoms, college au, corruption, nipple play, dry humping, messy make out, rough sex, choking, overstimulation, rubbing, loss of virginity, dom!caleb, hentai reader!caleb, cherry popping (iykyk), both are inexperienced, stomach bulge, creampie, pet names (princess, pipsqueak, pretty girl), edging, nasty sex, no penetration, squirting, mentions of blood, crying

Caleb is known for being the heartthrob of the campus. He's everything that people want-- smart, handsome, athletic and was rumored to be "big" down there. A lot of girls in the campus have been gushing over your best friend. Many have been saying that he sleeps with different girls everytime-- but was it true?

And of course, in your part you don't get the hype about Caleb. Yeah, he's your first kiss but so what? As his best friend, you both share secrets with each other. And one secret that you've kept about him is that....

He's a virgin himself.

As cocky as he is-- of course he'd feed into those rumors about him just to boost his ego. Little do they know, he's just a virgin otaku who reads hentai mangas on his free time. At first, it did bother you that he started reading those-- but as time passed by, you got used and even shared some recommendations you've found. And started having interest of his likings.

"Have you seen the new publish?" He asked, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolls. You leaned your back against your chair as you cross your arms.

"Of course, the art improved a lot" You answered, crossing your legs while Caleb shows you a panel of the erotic manga he's talking about. "You bet! It looks so realistic!" He chimed, pointing at the part where the girl was getting fucked and you can only push his phone away.

"Seriously, be glad that some of our classmates went out" You scoff, leaning against your desk as you grab your bag and started putting your textbooks inside. "Come on, I know you agree that scene was hot!" He raise his brow to tease.

"Shush" You silenced him and he only shrug in response as you continued putting your things inside your bag. You can't lie but that scene was really hot-- the way that the guy was dicking down the girl so good. Makes you wonder how would it feel like if it was you.

Your thoughts were pushed away when he interrupted. "Oh, I almost forgot" he said, straightening his back as he grab his bag and opened it. "I just finished the manga that you recommended me a few days ago" Grabbing the book from his bag as he placed it on your desk-- and you were quick to snatch it. It was embarassing the fact that the cover of the manga was a girl getting railed.

Hugging the book against your chest as you glare at Caleb and punched his shoulder, earning a grunt from him. "No need to be harsh, pipsqueak" He chuckled, as he looks at you in amusement.

You whisper curses at him as you opened your bag wider to fit the book in but something suddenly fall out.

A condom.

"Wha-" He froze, as his eyes widened-- looking at the packet of condom over your desk. Your eyes shifted to him as you look at him confused.

You hum, and followed where his gaze was at-- making your heart drop when you saw the packet of condom over your desk, you quickly grab it by your hand and shove it inside your bag. "Haha- my bad...." You chuckle awkwardly as you sweatdrop, closing your bag and rested your hands over your lap-- eyes glued to somewhere while you pretend nothing happened.

"I'm pretty sure that was a condom...?" Caleb thought, sweadropping also as he cleared his throat. But at the same time he wants to push your buttons--to see where you'd last.

"...an interesting thing you're carrying around...." He smiled, making you uncomfortable as you felt heat rising through your body out of embarrassment.

"It's just something I bought out of curiosity....." You answered, fixing your skirt because it was revealing a glimpse of your plushed thighs. Caleb noticed how you shift--only makes him want to push further. I mean maybe something might happen after this?

"Oh...I thought you're going to use it"

"Huh- haha no way...."

Awkwardness seeps between the both of you--while you try to not steal glances at the male. Inhaling deep as you question him.

"Do you have one, Caleb?" You asked.

"Have what?"

"Well...a condom?" You whisper, loud enough for him to hear as you toy with the ends of your skirt. Caleb blinks as he looks away, leaning against his desk while fidgeting his pen.

"I don't...not like I'd have a chance to use one anyway" He joked, shaking his head lightly. You nod at his words as you pursed you lips. You can't help but wonder if all of those rumors about him is true-- about "big" he was. Even though you knew he's a virgin there's still apart of you that doesn't believe that.

Class ended early as you and Caleb walked together. Talking about the new mangas that were published while enjoying each other's company.

"I swear that old man should stop giving us new assignments everyday" Caleb sneers, putting his hands behind his head while walking besides you.

"He should, I swear I noticed his bald spot earlier during lecture" You snort, making him laugh at your words as you joined.

You were glad that everything went to normal-- that Caleb forgot about that condom incident earlier. You can only swear that if he brings up the topic again you would just dig your own grave out of embarrassment.

The laughters piped down and you both continued walking together-- your eyes focused on your surroundings while Caleb on the other hand is urging to bring up the topic again.

"Hey"

"Hm?" You answered, eyes glued to the path.

"So, that condom talk earlier.." He spoke, looking somewhere while you paused. Cursing at yourself because you knew Caleb damn well--if something peeks his interest he wouldn't let go of it.

Inhaling deep as you face him--he puts his hands inside his pockets and gave you a sincere smile-- not that smile, you knew that he's plotting something which makes your body shiver at the sight of it.

"If someone were to ask you to 'use it' would you?" He asked, tilting his head as he waits for your reply. The question makes your body heat rise as you put a hand on your nape.

Letting out a soft awkward chuckle as you look at him "That's way to sudden" You mutter, making Caleb chuckle as he puts a hand over your head-- ruffling your hair.

"Like y'know, the thing I read on that manga you let me borrow" He said and your shoulders tensed up. Glaring at him as you pushed away his hand away from your head because it was messing up your hair.

"Hmp, don't bring me into your erotic fantasies" You huff, brows furrowed while you clutch onto the strap of your bag.

But the thought of it sends excitement through your body onto your clothed pussy-- I mean you'd always wondered what it feels like getting fucked and would you waste this chance? But the only problem is that, Caleb.

You can't imagine seeing your childhood best friend dick you down-- but the thought of it. Too consumed by your thoughts, Caleb pushed the topic further.

"So, what do you say?" He asked, making you snap back at your thoughts. You gulped as you look at him. Lowering your head while you fidget with your fingers-- hesitating if you're going to do it or not.

"We only live once, so risk it!" The voices in your head said in unison.

"I'll let him use it.."

It didn't take long for you two to arrive at Caleb's dorm. Feeling nervous as you try to calm yourself-- while Caleb on the other hand was all chill. You can't help but feel frustrated, can't even believe that you're going to loose your virginity to this man in front of you.

But what you didn't know, is that Caleb was more anxious than you. You both sat besides each other over the edge of his comfy bed as you clear your throat catching his attention.

"So what now...?"

"Right-- Uhm" Putting a hand over his nape as his usual sheepish attitude drains out of his body.

"...let's get naked first." It's rather a command than a question--Caleb nods at your words as he chuckle.

Pouting at him as your hand playfully pushed his face away from your direction "...I don't want you to look.." You confessed, face flustered making him smile as he hums.

"I'm still going to see you naked later, y'know that right?" He teased only for you to push him away more making him give up as you face his back.

Pursing your lips as you unbutton your top-- starting from the top to the button. Your eyes trailed to the figure in front of you-- Caleb removed his shirt in one go, revealing his well built back. And what got your attention was his muscular biceps. You can't help but stare at it but you were interrupted when you heard him talk.

"Like the view?" He chuckles, making you roll your eyes as you told him to shut up. As you finished unbutton your top, you slowly removed it from your body--leaving you just in your lacy bra hugging your plushed tits.

"Hey"

"Hm?" You hum. "Can I look?" Caleb asked, moving his head to the side a bit as he tried to get a glimpse of you behind. You quickly used your arms to hide your tits while glaring at him.

"You sound like a pervert"

"Come on, princess" He pleaded, Your gaze focused on his back as you sigh-- finally giving up as you removed your arms away from your chest. The man in front of you then quickly shifted his body to your direction-- now facing you as his eyes trailed on your plushed tits. His face flushed as he licked his lips-- letting out a soft chuckle while smiling.

"Wow....I couldn't tell at all that you're hiding something like these behind your clothes" He remarks, making you gulp as you sweat drop. "Is that so..." You mutter, lowering your head as your eyes focused on him.

Don't look at him with those eyes-- those doe innocent eyes of yours. Makes him want to bend you over and just fuck you on the spot.

Biting your lower lip as you both stare at each other. "Can..I touch them?" He asked, his hands clenching-- eager to touch your plushed tits. You nod at his words, he had to look at you again to make sure-- his hands tremble as he reached out to your tits in display.

Palm of his hands came in contact with your plushed tits as he gently massaged it-- he couldn't believe it, he's finally touching a literal tits right now. His gesture made your body squirm as you try to bit your lower lip to muffle your moans. Breathing softly as your hand reached behind your back to undo the hook of your bra. Unhooking it in one go as your bra fall from your shoulders as it spills out your bare tits to the male.

His hands continued to massage your tits, thumb toying your perked nipple as you let out a moan-- making him startle as he retrieved his hand.

"Ah- sorry" He apologize, you shook your head and reached out for his hand-- bring it back to your tits. "N-no...you can touch them however you like" You mutter, making Caleb gulp as he starts to feel heat gushing through his body. You're definitely putting fuel to the fire.

Caleb is anxious as he continued massaging your tits with both of his hands-- thumb rubbing circles and pinching your perked nipples earning sweet whimpers and moans from you. The sight makes his cock harden inside his pants-- he can't help but feel aroused seeing you so sensitive to his touch-- so needy.

Your soft moans occupied Caleb's mind-- your moans can't even compare to those erotic hentais he watched, yours is too hot-- like music to his ears. You blabber words at him but he's not listening at all-- too focused on fundling your tits.

You can't help but feel satisfaction that you're able to fill his thoughts-- smirking as you look at him with your hazy eyes. "Are they your satisfaction, miste--?" Your words were cut off when Caleb suddenly lounged at you and pinned you down over his bed. Both of his palm holds your wrists at both side as his soft lips latched onto your tits earning a yelp from you while you squirmed.

"W-wait-..Caleb--!" But he doesn't budge, continuing to suck your sensitive tits as his hot tongue swirls around your perked nipple making your toes curl. His other hand lets go of your left wrist as he reached out to your thigh and places it on the side of his hip. Positioning his hardened cock against your clothed pussy.

Feeling the arousal gushing through your aching pussy as you feel him grind his hardened bulge against your wet clothed pussy. Finally removing his hand from your other wrist as it moves to your left tit and massaged it while he sucked on the other one. Your hands run through his black lock and tried to push him away from your tits--but he wouldn't, still latching on it like a hungry mad man.

"Ngh-! Too much...C-Caleb....Caleb-!" You moan, as your hands cup his cheeks pushing his face away-- he finally gives up, earning a loud 'pop' when he pulls away from your perked tits. Cupping his cheeks as you can see drool from the side of his mouth making you grunt as you noticed how he filled your tits with his saliva.

"Please..." He pleads softly, rubbing his cheek against your palm like a cat begging its owner for food. His muscular arms sneaks behind your back as he wraps it around your waist-- burying his face against your tits. Where did the usual cocky Caleb go?

Letting a soft whimper as you feel him grind against your wet clothed pussy-- shamelessly. Caleb lift his head up as he looks at you with pleading eyes.

"Wanna put it in so bad....but..."

"I don't want to rush you" He exhales, while your heart flutters in awe. Caleb has always been prioritizing your needs other than his-- he wants to make you comfortable, he's not the type to rush you to do things. You flutter your lashes as you lean closer-- connecting your soft lips to his, Caleb melts against your warmth as he relaxes, continuing to grind slowly against you.

His hand reached to the waistband of your skirt along with your lacy panties as he slowly pulls it down-- discarding it on the floor. Pulling back from the kiss as you both pant-- your tongue sticking out as a string of saliva connects to both of your tongue. You're such a hot mess for Caleb-- it makes his cock twitch even more.

"So sensitive just for me...."

His fingers brushed away some strands of your hair from forehead-- you blink, noticing a wet patch on his gray sweats, your eyes then trailed on the visible bulge in front of you. Making your wet pussy twitch.

Caleb is not experienced--but he learned a lot from those hentai mangas he read. And of course a key to start off railing a girl aka his best friend is to penetrate their aching pussy first. He said to his mind.

While you on the other hand was eager-- already wanting to be dicked down by Caleb. Want him to stretch your virgin aching pussy so bad.

"Caleb"

"Yes, princess?"

"Please fuck me"

His brows raise in surprise as he looks at you "But, I need to penetrate you first-- it might hurt if we're going straight at it" He said, tone laced with worry. He feels like he's rushing you-- he doesn't want to.

Feeling embarrassed as you looked away "It's okay...I can handle it" You whisper, your cheeks flushed red. Caleb is having mixed feelings-- he never seen you so vulnerable, so submissive towards him. He can't help but want to abuse the control he has over you.

He clicks his tongue as he chuckled-- grabbing your hand and intertwined it with his, kissing the top of it as his eyes locked on yours.

"You're going to take it like a good girl." It wasn't a question-- your mind goes hazy, all you can think of is being intoxicated with the heat of both of your bodies. You flutter your eyes at him and nod-- following his order like a puppy.

He lets go of your hand and slowly pulls down his sweats-- leaving him with his boxers, you can't help but look at his visible bulge. Oh he's hard-- very hard. You gulped at the sight of it, noticing a wet patch on the part where his tip is-- already oozing pre-cum.

"Don't stare at me like that" He snorts, grabbing both of your thighs-- hands gripping the plushed flesh as he placed it on the side of his hips.

Pulling down his boxer as his hardened cock bounced up against his pelvis-- your eyes widened when you see his cock in display.

You felt embarrassed-- those rumors were indeed true. Caleb's cock is thick and long-- you can see visible veins lining while his angry red tip is already oozing cum.

"W-wait-!" You breathe out when you see him position his aching cock against your hardened clit.

You both locked eyes-- his eyes were filled with love and lust while he continued on rubbing circles against your hardened clit using his tip-- using the pre cum as a lubricant to make it slippery to rub on.

"Let me take care of you..." He muttered, rubbing his tip against your wet pussy lips-- smearing his cum all over it. Earning moans from you as your toes curl, feeling his gritty cock run against your folds to your hardened clit. It sends arousal to your throbbing wet pussy.

Caleb lets out soft grunts and moans as he holds his hardened cock with his palm, pumping it up and down while pressing it against your clit-- making your body twitch with every stroke.

He fastened his pace of rutting his aching cock against your hardened clit. "F-fuck-- I haven't even got inside of you..and I'm already a mess with just rubbing it against your pussy..." He growled, continuing to rut against you making your eyes roll as you felt the bed shaking.

Breathing heavily while you endure the friction against your hardened clit to your puffy slit--a drooling mess as he mixed his pre cum and your juices together and smearing it all over your poor pussy.

Feeling the arousal rising-- you can feel your climax taking over, too overstimulated as you're eager to cum. But just right after you felt the walls of your pussy throb as it ready to release--Caleb stopped rutting his angry tip against your hardened clit. Making you whine in return while you look at him with your glassy eyes.

"W-wha- why--,?" You complained, looking at him while he brushed some strands of his hair sticking out of his sweaty forehead. Panting heavily as his gaze towards you darkened. He lets out a husky chuckle while kneading the plush of your thigh with his hand.

"it'd be a waste if I'd cum outside, right? " He whispered, leaning close to you as your perked tits were pressed against his chest. Feeling his hot breathe against your skin-- making you hitch, your ears perked when you hear him reach out to your bag placed over the nightstand beside.

Even feeling intoxicated, you moved your head where his hand was reaching at-- you quickly grabbed it as you pull it away from your bag. Making Caleb confused as he breathes.

"What?" He stopped reaching out to the condom inside your bag-- you pulled his hand away as you guide it towards your lips. Placing kisses against his fingers with your soft lips while you look at him with your hazy eyes-- just filled with words unsaid. And for Caleb it just translates into "raw, next question"

The sight makes him aroused as he shook his head lightly. "Too impatient? Bad girls like you needs to be punished" He said-- voice low and husky as he slowly pulls away his hand from your grasp and pulls in down-- tracing your chin to your neck.

You bit your lower lip-- you try to hide the fact that you're getting more hornier seeing Caleb being so dominant towards you. But your fucked up face didn't helped. You yelped when you felt his veiny hand grab your neck as his grip tightens--not in a way that you couldn't breathe.

"I'll make sure to fuck you so good-- shit, even better than the ones I've read." He chuckles, making your mouth agape as he pressed your legs against your perked tits. His other hand holds his gritty cock as he positioned it against your drooling slit.

Your heart beats faster-- too anxious and aroused at the same time, while you wonder if his cock would even fit inside your tight little pussy. Too occupied with your thoughts, you suddenly felt him push hit tip inside your tight hole-- causing your eyes to widen as you let out a grunt.

"ngh-! I-i...I don't think it will fit--! Ah!" You moaned, feeling him force his tip to stretch out your tight hole. His hand tightened more around your neck as he chuckles."H-hah-- it's just the tip and you can't handle it?"

"fuck, I wonder what would it be like if I slam my whole cock inside?"

Tears stream down your cheeks while you drool. Seeing him having a hard time pushing his gritty cock inside your pussy--earning loud moans from you while you endure the way his tip is stretching your little hole.

"'ts hurt...s-so much.." You babble, as you bit your lower lip. Caleb pants, as he slowly pushed his gritty cock even more-- your tight hole finally swallowing his whole tip. Even with just the tip inside of you, makes Caleb want to cum and make a mess out of you.

"f-fuck--!"

It's so warm-- he feels like he's in a kiss of ecstasy. The way the walls of your warm tight pussy is hugging his tip so good while it throbs-- is such a euphoric feeling. Shit, he can't even describe what he's feeling right now, finally having to empty his balls in a literally pussy and not with those hentai mangas he reads.

You cried out while Caleb drill his gritty cock inside your warm tight pussy. Both of your bodies tremble, his hand finally letting go of your neck as it joins to hold both of your thighs together and pressed it against your tits. You finally exhales as you try to catch your breath-- hands gripping the covers of the bed tightly.

"nghhhh-! Hah- 'ts hurt so much, I can't-!"

"Fuck!" You screamed, feeling his whole cock slide inside of you so quick-- tears streamed even more as you cry out, grunting as you felt the pain of his gritty cock stretching your tight pussy so good. You drool as you try to process of what happened, feeling a hot liquid oozing out of your entrance.

"S-shit, tight hole finally swallowed me whole" he chuckles, eyes looking down at your pussy sucking him. Blood dripping out of your entrance--just like what he saw on every hentai mangas he read, a cherry pop. His hand reached for your clit as he rubbed circles against it-- making your legs tremble.

"'m gonna start movin', 'kay?" He muttered making you nod as you swallow your cries. He leans close to you-- kissing your forehead as brushed some strands of your hair away. Forehead against each other as his lips slammed to yours. Pulling you into a heated kiss--pushing his hot tongue inside your mouth, as he explored every part.

You moaned between the kiss as you feel him pump his gritty cock in and out of your tight pussy. He was only pushing a small distance inside your pussy--trying to stretch you slowly before he dicks you down for real. You swallow his cock so good, he can't help but grunt each time the walls of your warm pussy throbs--on how it hugs his fat cock so well.

Angry red tip kissing the lips of your womb as he continued on with his pace-- you felt a knot forming inside while gushing an upcoming climax thought your throbbing pussy.

Hot tongues dances and swirls with each other-- leaving you both in drooling mess while you suck on his tongue. This was different from the first kiss you two shared-- this isn't a small peck anymore this is one nasty heated make out.

Hot bodies against each other-- you can't feel your juices oozing out of your pussy as it soaks the covers of the bed, leaving a nasty mess under.

His thumb continued on rubbing your hardened clit-- using your juices as a lubricant for it to be slipper to move on. Your body twitches when you felt him pinched your clit, earning a soft whimper from you.

He pulls away from the kiss, smearing your drool to the side of your mouth while you pursed your lips. Just right after that you yelped as you felt him fastening his pace of fucking your tight pussy. You cried out, your hands wrapping around his chest while you dig your nails against the flesh of it-- earning a grunt from him.

"fuck-- ha- how d-does it feel? Seeing your best friend taking your virginity" He snickered, the fucking is so sloppy-- you hear the sound of your pussy slapping against his pelvis-- causing clap sounds.

"'ts so fuckin- hot- ngh-- dicking you down"

The gushing of your blood and juices mixed together as he fucks it back in-- you can feel your climax on its edge, ready to release. You babble nonsense while you cry against the crook of his neck. Sticky body against each other while he plants kisses over your face.

"cum--! Cumming-!" You screamed out, tightening your legs wrapped around his hips as Caleb continued to drill his cock inside of you relentlessly-- stretching your walls so good as his cock fills every part of it.

You bit down his neck and cried, releasing your high as it squirts against his cock and pelvis. Your pussy is definitely designed just to be a cocksleeve for his fat gritty cock.

"hah-...cum for me, pretty girl"

Poor you, your mind is occupied of Caleb's fat cock. It amuses him that you're a blabbering mess-- just letting out words like "too much, hurts, Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, cumming-, cum, Caleb" and he loves you for that. Because it means he dicking you down so good-- it made you feel like you're in cloud 9.

Caleb grunts as he felt your hot juices against his cock-- squirting endlessly as it drips down like a waterfall. He can feel your hot breathe against the crook of his neck while you sob, but he doesn't stopped there.

"d-dont be passing out-- h-hah..on me" He muttered, pulling out his whole cock out as he slams it back in-- he continues his rhythm as his fast pace remains unchanged. Fucking you like a dog in heat and like there's no tomorrow.

"no more-! Ngh-! Caleb--!"

He continued drilling his fat cock inside while your mind goes hazy as you feel like passing out. Caleb's breathing unsteadies, feeling his throbbing cock twitching inside of you as he pump it in and out-- he can feel his climax building up to his tip. His thumb pushed down his bulge against your stomach as he continues fucking you-- feeling his tip hit against the walls of your stomach.

The walls of your throbbing pussy tightened around his fat cock-- preparing for another release. He felt it too, causing him to let out a hoarse grunt as he continued to rut inside. "Fuck..fuck fuck-- I-I'm cumming, pretty girl"

"w-where-" Before he could finish his sentence you replied quick.

"I-inside!"

And with that, Caleb lets out a soft whimper-- shooting loads and loads of his thick hot cum inside your tight pussy, painting the walls white as he fucks it even more inside of your womb. Following, you release your high, squirting as it drips down out of your pussy--oozing along with his cum.

Caleb hugs you against him as his body trembles still shooting more loads inside your aching pussy as it tightens around his fat cock. You hugged him back, feeling you clench around him as your mind went blank--too cockdrunk to say anything as you let him be.

Let him give you a creamy creampie on your first sex.

He collapsed over your body, face against the crook of your neck as you felt his hot breathe against your skin. You squirmed as you felt his hot cum leaking out of your tight entrance--dripping down to your legs and to the covers of the bed.

Caleb looks over you as he caress your cheek, thumb brushing your eye as you closed your eyes--melting through his warmth while you softly sigh.

But oh...he's not done yet.

"Let's....hit it from the back. Want to see your ass clap, pretty girl.."

Don't worry, you'd get used to it. After all, that's what friends do.

This isn't proofread, sorry if there are mistakes T_T

masterlist

[tusswrites]

The Pursuit Of Love (c.sc)

“Because stupid, you’re my best friend. You don’t slow dance with best friends."

PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x fem! Reader

WORD COUNT: 21k

GENRE: angst, fluff, crack, childhood best friends to lovers, romcom, idiots in love

RATING: 18+ MDNI

WARNING: it gets angsty at some parts, the reader is high-key delusional and possesses probably one brain cell, mentions of depression, mentions of school bullying, profanity, over usage of hyphens and dots my forever allies , complete abuse of art jargon since the author refused to research for lack of time(pardon in advance), mentions of sexual acts, MDNI

SYNOPSIS : a heart’s relentless quest for love, fueled by the perfect visions of romance etched into the world around you, woven through the bittersweet tapestry of rejections, heartbreaks, and long-buried secrets. along the way, you uncover that perhaps the love you've been chasing has been quietly waiting, right beneath your nose all this time.

CREDITS: a big big shoutout to my darling eunha @svtiddiess who was with me every step of the way, cheering me on, reading through what once started out as just a thought, devolved to whatever this is and just being the best person overall, this fic wouldn't have happened had it not been for her .. so insanely grateful for you my little bugger ; bennie @miniseokminnies for the pretty banner, chee-chee darling @nothoughtsjustfic, and lovely asteria @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping me with the fic! You were both like the angel and devil on my shoulder, encouraging and critiquing me at the perfect times when I needed it best.

A .N. : this is part of the 'lonely hearts cafe' collab by @camandemstudios. check out the other works !

masterlist here. please comment or reblog with thoughts if you enjoyed it ♥️

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I

In a small town, away from the suburbs and nestled among gossiping aunts and children who ran around it with war cries, protecting the honor of their dwelling place, masked in the attire they wore for the games they had in mind, dwelled the Chois. Barricaded by a fence that had once been put up, your family lived just across from them.

You cannot imagine a moment when you were not joined to Cheol at the hip. Your grandfathers were best friends, and your mothers were best friends, leading to you and Cheol becoming best friends. It was dictated by the law of science after all. They joke that your mothers were resigned to having their children be best friends, to continue the tradition that they conceived at the same time, a joke your father very much likes not to take part in, thank you very much. You’ll find him bringing up the nine-month age gap between you and Cheol at every intervention. The little town you both grew up in had its fair share of weird quirks and eccentric people, as most towns do. One outlandish custom that ran in your town was the law of intermarriage between its townsfolk. You see, the prom king marries the prom queen, the gardener marries the florist, the town mayor marries the best baker in Myeongdong, and the town doctor marries the town nurse. For as long as you can remember, the quaint town of Myeongdong was shrouded with devotion and harmony among the people. Naturally, you hunger for love too. 

Which is why, one Christmas day, you wake up excited, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, decked out in your Christmas pajamas, on stealthy feet hoping to catch Santa putting the presents in your gigantic stockings at least this time. Instead, you are greeted by the sight of your father kissing your mother. Disgust should have made you crawl back, hoping to burn that image to the ground, but that day at five years old, you crave such love. A love where your parents are so disgustingly in love, that they failed to notice the kerosene in Eomma’s hand steadily pouring out from the bottle, onto the fireplace furnace, and causing the flames to be bigger than they could be contained.

 But that’s a story for another day!

What matters is that, on that day, you made a firm oath: one day, you would find a love like theirs.  ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ II

“Close your eyes, no peeking, I better not see a - Hannie, stop peeking!” you shout, stomping your foot on the ground to drive your point across to your mischievous best friend. Your best friend just giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. Doesn’t he know this is super important?

“Y/N-iee” Jeonghan draws out the last vowel, completely tired of all your shenanigans by now. “Can we stop this already? I do not want to be a prince anymore.I wanna play tag”

"Just give me one second Jeonghan, it will be over after a second.”

“Alright, that’s one second.” “What! No, it isn’t. A second is over only when the grandfather clock dings. Appa said so”

“That’s an hour you silly goose. Your Appa lied to you” Jeonghan argues, sticking out his tongue. “Hey- Don’t call me silly!” you pout, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol pipes up, ever the peacemaker, raising his hands. “We’re closing our eyes now, okay? No peeking, Hannie.” He gives Jeonghan a look, who rolls his eyes but obediently covers his face with his hands.

Appa’s were a sore topic ever since Hannie’s father woke up one day to buy granolas and never came back. Cheol had to maintain decorum within the cardboard box the three of you were currently sitting in, the one you got with the new refrigerator your parents bought recently. The two princes, Hannie and Cheol, fought for your hand in marriage. A story made completely up by you, dragging your poor best friends who wanted nothing to do with fairy tales and just wanted to play tag. Now they were forced into this game of having to close their eyes and get kissed by you? While you decide who your future husband will be? At five years old? Barnacles!

“What are we even doing?” Jeonghan mumbles under his breath. “I just wanna run around”

“This is important!” you huff, hands on your hips. “How else am I supposed to know who my future husband is?”

Seungcheol peeks through his fingers and grins. “Isn’t five a little too young to get married, Y/N-ie?”

“Nu-uh! My Eomma said people find love at all ages!” you insist. “And you two are princes in the castle!” You gesture dramatically at the castle. It’s now a castle, complete with crayon scribbles and stickers to prove it.

“But we’re not princes!” Jeonghan groans. “I just wanna play tag!”

“You’ll play tag later!” you declare with all the authority a five-year-old can muster. “First, you have to close your eyes so I can choose who to kiss!”

“Y/N-ie I have a better idea” Hannie calls out, never one to be a slave to all your demands, unlike Cheol, your best friend who complied with everything you said.

“Why don’t you close your eyes, and whoever kisses you becomes your true love?”

‘Yeah okay.” you agreed simply. And there you sat, promptly closed eyes, eagerly waiting for the one kiss that seals your future husband.

You feel it, the slight brush, the aggressive push, the faint smell of Kool-Aid hitting your nose, all at once. It happened within a matter of milliseconds. And before you could so much as think, it was all over. You opened your eyes promptly, not heeding the instruction to wait a bit, and there you see it at five. Clear as the sun. Yoon Jeonghan, your first kiss right in front of you. 

You have it in your heart that you will marry him one day. 

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Tragedy strikes on the day you find out that Yoon Jeonghan is leaving this town with his mother and baby sister. “But you can’t leave! We have to marry each other.” This was an emergency meeting held at Cheol’s house, in the dining room, your coven for emergencies for the “Triple Devils’, a name dubbed on you three by his hyung.

“I have to go Y/N. Eomma said it's best for us if we leave this town and start in in Daegu. She said there is a fountain of chocolate milk there and I have to see that. When I come back to marry you, I will take you there Y/N.”

And so you and Cheol bid farewell to Jeonghan, waving until the last trace of his hand was completely out of sight. As soon as he was gone, your tender heart shattered, and you sobbed in the arms of Choi Seungcheol. Your ‘true love’ had left, and all you could do was mourn the loss, comforted only by Cheol. He stood there, holding you as close as his little arms could manage, gently stroking your back and cooing soothing words, trying to calm you down.

At the tender age of five, you had your first kiss, found love, and experienced heartbreak, and your comrade-in-arms was none other than Choi Seungcheol. ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ III

You were bigger (not by Dad’s standards) and wiser (not by the big red letters on your test papers). You were going to come through and find love. At eight, you had a strategy-invite the whole class. If you had a plan to entice Kwan Daniel and get him to notice you and put an end to your restless heart around him, then that’s between you and God. If your parents agreed to your wishes, although begrudgingly, to have a giant bounce house on top of a five-layered cake, then that’s none of your business too. 

So there you sat in a pristine Chanel dress—a gift from Halmeoni herself, your quirky grandmother from the town up north—poised and ready for the onslaught of guests who would soon flood this rented venue. Today, you would propose to Kwan Daniel.

The clock struck three; the clock struck four, the sun slowly lost its yellow vigor, casting an orange hue, reminding you quietly that the day was soon to set.

And when all the minutes unraveled into dusk, when the grandest birthday party your town had ever seen was reduced to scattered decorations, an untouched cake, and silence,save for the murmurs of your worried parents; you came to a gut-wrenching realization.

No one was coming.

Ignoring your parents’ concerned looks of pity, you upturn the table you were slumped against and dive headlong into the arms of Choi Seungcheol,the only other friend who had attended the party, who once again looks a little unprepared for the way you tackle him in a hug. He now has longer arms and wraps them around you, squeezing your back and soothing the agonizing wails erupting from your throat.

Heartbroken at eight years old.

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IV

There is a hierarchy that is followed in middle school- one that consists of you sitting and dining with the ‘classic weirdo’ from middle school’ Lee Hyungwon.

Kids at school avoided him, choosing to run away if he dared to make an appearance or come close to talking to him. He was a loner, but a loner that enjoyed his own presence. He didn’t mind the hushed whispers, the open disdain on his face, his tattered clothes, his rat’s nest hair, or the stinky smell that came from near him. He had no problem eating blue cheese, the odor of which will unfortunately be ingrained in your brain forever. But you, you needed him. On days like this, only he could save you. “Dude I told you Julian can be nasty about things like this,” he says, plucking the banana peel from your head.

Lee Julian, Hyungwon’s stepbrother, and the school bully, had thrown you into the trash once again. It seemed like fate had it out for you. You’d read enough Wattpad to know how this worked. ‘The boys who bully you are secretly the ones who love you,’ you had declared confidently to Hyungwon, who was still fussing over the odd pieces of dirt stuck to your clothes.

“Here”, he reaches into his cargo pants, the bulgy pocket deflating at the retrieval of an expensive bottle of cologne.

“Hyungwon, why do you have an expensive bottle of cologne in your pocket, but you never use it?”

“The same way you have the option to call Seungcheol to stop Lee Julian  from bullying  but you never do it anyway.” He deadpans.

He’s got a point there.

At the start of middle school, you and Seungcheol agreed that this time, at least, you’d separate and make new friends. You were tired of being stuck together, suffocated by the assumption that you two were a couple. You wanted more—more friends, and secretly, you wanted to find love. With Cheol always by your side, that would never happen. Everyone thought you two were a thing, and honestly, that was disgusting to you.

Except, you didn’t consider how unpopular you would be in middle school and how popular Cheol would be. While you resided at the bottom of the middle school food chain, he reigned supreme in school- a local celebrity in his own rights.

Cheol knew about the last time Julian dumped you into the trash. You heard this when the news of Cheol’s parents meeting their principal over the infamous incident of Julian being hung on the door by a wedgie spread like wildfire. But you had threatened Cheol, insisting he leave Julian alone. ‘It’s all in the name of love. He’ll come around and see me one day,’ you told him, ignoring your best friend’s accusations that you were ‘crazy’.

As Cheol's best friend, you didn’t want more attention to yourself. You were fine with the fame you would eventually get, being Julien’s girlfriend and all that. This way you get a head start on the marriage plans you have in sight. You need to ask Julien about where he wants to have his honeymoon. Your Halmeoni has told you that Bali is best enjoyed during winter.

It didn’t look like this new setup was any difficult on Cheol, who seemed to do just fine with his new clique. On the days that Hyungwon skipped school, Cheol would come in and sit next to you, hating the sight of you lonely when you were scarfing down your cheeseburger. ‘Cheol go away. I will be fine.”

“Shut up Y/N”

Well, you can’t always be the boss.

But then Cheol’s visits to the lunch table dwindled with the arrival of a girl latched onto his arm- Saerom Burner, his new girlfriend. An absolute doll face, and an absolute bitch to you. For no reason at all.

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ “Y/N, why is the necklace Halmeoni gave you broken?” Your mother stood in the doorway of your room, completely ignoring your warnings of ‘knock before you enter’ privacy. She held a string of beads in her hand, looking at you with concern.

Well, oops. You hadn’t meant for your mom to find out just yet.

Your mom had better things to worry about right now, though, especially seeing your hasty attempts to rub away the tear stains on your face. She quickly wrapped you in a tight hug, her movements careful not to wrinkle her perfectly ironed outfit. No questions asked, she just pulled you in close.

“Sh-she’s just so mean,” you managed to stutter out, still wiping at your face.

“Who is, little chica?”

“S-Saerom B-Burner.”

“Burner? You mean Jieun’s daughter, Saerom Burner?”

You nodded quietly, watching your mom carefully. Her immediate questions made it seem like she already knew something.

“Do you know her mom?” You were sitting up now, hands on your knees, eager to hear any tidbit of information your mom might have about this situation. Your parents were never shy about gossiping about the townsfolk in front of you—although they tended to forget you were just fourteen and probably didn’t need to know the ins and outs of every drama in Myeongdong.

“You know your dad is a handsome stud don’t you?” Your mom gave a little smirk. Your dad was balding faster than a speeding bullet, but back in the day, he was a heartthrob. At least according to the proof in the many prom king photos that lined the mantelpiece, all of which your dad loved to reminisce over.

“Well, back then, your father and Jieun Burner were the couple of this town—Prom King and Queen, the perfect pair. That was until I moved here. Your dad fell for me, and we became the new hot couple. But the town never forgot. They gave your dad—and mostly me—hell for messing up their perfect little plan. They called me the city witch who bewitched your father. I learned to live as an outsider, hated by a town that’s supposed to be so warm and welcoming. Your dad always told me to ignore their stares, but it was easy for him to say. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would’ve left. Jieun still hasn’t let go of that grudge against me.”

Your mom’s voice faltered, as though this memory still stung after all these years.

“I think she might have—”

“Wait a minute!” You interrupted, your eyes lighting up as everything suddenly clicked. You shot up from your spot on the bed, excitement bubbling in your chest. “So, Appa dated Jieun Burner?”

Your mom hesitated, then sighed. “Yes. And before the town could convince your Appa to marry Jieun, I was already pregnant with you. They didn’t have a choice but to marry us.”

“Wait, you were pregnant with me? Was I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Your mom’s voice was stern, though there was a soft edge to it. “You’ll always be our darling child. Always.”

You quickly held up your hands in mock surrender. “No, Ma, I’m not upset. I just want to know.”

She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable but eventually confirmed what you’d pieced together.

“So, that’s why Saerom Burner is mad at me!” Your glee was so obvious it might’ve been a little disturbing for your mom to watch, but you couldn’t help yourself. “She’s not mad at me. She’s mad at you! The whole town probably thought you and Appa cheated on her mom, but I was born before that. Your marriage was kept a secret so no one knew! I have to tell Saerom about this. Oh, Ma, this makes so much sense now! I must tell Saerom about this. I must ma”

You bounced on your feet, practically bursting with excitement.

“No, you foolish child,” your mom called after you, her voice heavy with concern. “You don’t understand how malicious Jieun can be when she wants to be.”

But your mother’s warning fell on deaf ears as you dashed into your closet, grabbed your camouflage jacket to match your new mismatched ensemble, and rushed out the door to the café where you knew Cheol was meeting Saerom Burner.

Your mother sighed, crossing her heart as she sat down on your unmade bed. “Bless that silly child’s heart,” she muttered to herself, hoping you wouldn’t stir up too much trouble.

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“Saerom” you shriek out. You had run a mile a minute, wanting to clear up all the confusion you could before it got any further. Running in the cold with no ear muffs had knocked some sense into you. You had to clear everything up before this misunderstanding spiraled any further. You could feel the sharp sting of realization hit you as you ran, remembering how Saerom had gotten the whole class to skip your birthday party back in elementary school. Now it made sense—her mom must have poisoned her against you, and you were determined to fix it.

“Y/N, what are you doing here,?’ Cheol looks concerned, navigating the perimeter of the cafe shop, rushing to you and immediately placing his warm palms on your cheeks. You look flushed, with the exertion you placed on your body and the cold biting at your skin. 

His touch was bringing some warmth, giving you that momentary relief from the cold that had seeped into your bones. You closed your eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of his hands against your flushed skin. 

Oh right, you were here for a different purpose. “Saerom!” You called out again, more urgently this time. Saerom was sitting at a table with her friends, and as soon as she spotted you, the look of disdain that crossed her face was unmistakable. You figured you’d interrupted some sort of date, but when you scanned the table, you realized there were three of her friends with her.

Weird idea for a date, you mused, before shaking your head. This was no time for distractions.

“Saerom, my mom was married to Appa before I was pregnant. Appa didn’t cheat on your mom- “Y/N where the hell are you going with this? Cheol had placed his full palm around your wrist, locking you in before you took any more steps toward Saerom, who looked baffled at the information coming out of your mouth. You shrug his hand away, ignoring the tight grip he had, and continue to further your advances, not reading the room despite all that education Cheol has bestowed on you.

“Saerom,” you continued, undeterred. “Your mom must have told you that my parents—”

Saerom Burner, thoroughly and utterly disgusted by your strange propositions and your ungraceful manner at which you whirred into the room with so much less of a courteous gesture to enter the room, sent you one last disgusted look before leaving the scene, hand in hand with her two best friends side by side.

Cheol’s palm landed more firmly around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Y/N, let’s go. Come with me.”

“No wait I-:”

“I said, let’s go.” The tone in his voice left no room for argument, not that you had any, this was the first time Cheol had ever raised his voice at you, he was always the calm soul to play along with all your whims and goofs.

And just like that, your one chance to reconcile with Saerom Burner or anyone at all in high school, was gone. Freshman year had barely started, and you’d already managed to make a complete mess of it.

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V

Not to be dismayed, you reminded yourself that this was your senior year of high school—the final stretch. The year when everything should come together, even if it didn't always feel like it was. You could sense the eagerness of your teachers, waiting for you to finally graduate and leave school behind. If only they knew how much you were dreading that moment.

School has never been your strong suit. Academia was hard for you—English grammar confused you, math made your brain ache, and you could never quite remember formulae. You scraped by with summer school to make up for what you couldn’t grasp during the regular school year, with Cheol always by your side, patiently guiding you through the labyrinth of equations and essays.

Unlike the teachers who shook their heads and called you ‘too slow’ , Cheol was a pretty patient teacher. He took his time before every test day, to come home and help you prepare for the quizzes, otherwise you were sure to fail.

This was your final year in school, if you can’t find love you must at least find something you are good at.

So you try hard.

You try your hand at running for student president but with terrible grades such as yours, you have no option but to give up in the first leg. You were not the sharpest tool in the shed, and that was alright by your parent's standards. As long as you were ‘trying your best’, which again, you weren't. 

Then, you tried volleyball. But it wasn’t your sport. Instead of passing the ball, you kept instinctively catching it in your hands—totally not the point. You tried soccer next, but an unfortunate incident where you accidentally tripped Haewon during a game ended your hopes there. The glee club seemed like the perfect fit until the music teacher begged you not to sing. And dance? Well, you got kicked out after a week, not from lack of enthusiasm, but from knocking into people and causing chaos during every practice. You might’ve been bad at sports and singing and dancing, but you weren’t one to give up.

There was one thing you were sure of, though: art. You may not have been the best at academics or extracurriculars, but you had a knack for art. When you picked up a pencil or paintbrush, everything else faded away. Your creativity was your escape, and even if it wasn’t something that made you the most popular kid in school, it was something that grounded you.

But beyond your art, your greatest strength was your spirit. No matter how many times you failed, you always got back up, even if it was awkward and clumsy. Your resilience was something no one could take away from you, and you were grateful for it. Little did you know, someone else was incredibly proud of your determination too.

Choi Seungcheol, the captain of the football team, has never been prouder than when his biggest cheerleader shows up decked out in clown clothes, mismatched socks, and a megaphone hanging around their neck, carrying the biggest banners ever seen at a school soccer game—his most dedicated trooper- you.

Everyone is confused as to how Cheol and you are best friends, the logic always seemed puzzling,

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“Did you see the way he smiled at me?”

“No, but I saw a grimace in your direction.” “Cheollie! He was totally smiling at me. Okay, let’s do this scene by scene. When I asked him out for the Prom dance, he said yes. He’s too shy; he’s not going to tell me directly! You have to read it from his face! There was genuine excitement on his face.Real excitement, Cheol!”

“Y/N, the only expression I saw on his face was relief. When you left. “

“What are you a mind reader these days?”

“Not so much a mind reader as someone who listens with their ears and can recognize contempt when it’s practically blaring from someone’s eyes.

“Okay, you are very cranky today. What’s wrong? Are you gassy? I know we all need to let a - “Y/N, I am begging you, do not finish that sentence, I am trying to eat these twisters!”

“Cheol, these are bad for you! It’s going to cause you more issues than what you-” “I am leaving Y/N.”

“Wait, no! Don’t leave me alone here.” 

“Y/N, this is a girl's locker room. You texted me our safeword, and I ran here expecting the worst. Not to fangirl over your delusions.”

“They are not delusions, Cheollie. He’s just playing hard to get. It’s obvious!”

“Y/N, I am leaving, I am late for practice. Coach Johnson is going to make me do extra laps today. I’d love to stay and chat but I have to leave right now.”

‘Wait, before you leave.”

‘Y/N, you better have a bloody good reason as to why you are holding me back.”

“Just unhook my bra. This new one has too many hooks, and I can’t reach back to get them all. I hurt my hand Cheollie.”

“Y/N, are you for real? Just ask some girl love”

You look down at the ground, a deep flush on your face. “Oh no, I don't like that face! Y/N what did you do?”

‘Look, it was a mistake, alright? “

“Uh Huh. I believe you. Out with it”

“Coach had us pick partners again. As usual, I was the last one picked. I got paired with Saerom, and she was not happy about it. You know how she is.”

“Wait, how did you get paired with Saerom? No offense, but after last time? I didn’t think she’d be caught dead near you.”

“You’d think that, right? Yeah well, she came late. I saw her giving head to Cameron by the bleachers, it seems to me she lost track of time.”

“Y/N, you can’t just say that out aloud.” Cheol was sputtering, embarrassed at your uncouth mouth, blabbering shit for no reason at all. “Yeah well, by the time she came, I was on the bench, and she got paired up with me. We had to do stretches together, and you know my body is not that flexible. I accidentally kicked her right in the eye, she screamed bloody murder, Coach had to call off practice because now Saerom Burner has a black eye. And they are all mad at me and no one wants to talk to me. So will you please unhook my bra? “That is a lot of information to take in one go! But also not surprised coming from your mouth. Turn around. Let me help you”

“Yes, but close your eyes, please, I don’t want you to be the first man to see my boobs. It’s sacred peaks for my first time.”

“I am going to pretend you did not just say that.”

“Can you close your eyes, please Cheollie?” “Y/N, realistically, how can I help you with my eyes closed.”

“You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Aren’t you supposed to be educated enough to do all this blindly?”

“Correction, I have an ex. An ex that seems to hate you very much by now. And no, I did not practice the art of unhooking bras with zero vision. Now will you please turn around? You are landing me in hot waters”

“Fine, but don’t be turned on by seeing my naked back, I can’t give you a ‘Saerom special.’”

“Y/N, please. Stop talking. For the love of all that is good in this world, stop talking.”

“Fine. Wait, you did it! You genius! Now, can you scratch my shoulder too? The straps are driving me crazy.”

For the sake of his sanity, Cheol does as commanded, unperturbed by your weird demands. “I knew it! Knew Cheol was cheating on me with this chick. I feel so sick!” You hear a sickly voice call out and a small part of you is frightened at the shrillness of it. 

“Saerom what are you-”

“Save it Cheol. All you men bleed the same blood, chasing behind any living thing with legs”

“Saerom, wai-” you begin. And before you can so much as explain, Saerom struts out of the locker room, looking a little silly with that weird patch in her eye.

“Please don’t go behind her.” Cheol has a tight hold against your hip, preventing you from running behind her and ruining things again. 

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You knew this wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of Saerom’s hatred. She’d forever be mad at you, probably for swooping in and stealing her boyfriend, or for somehow being the reason they broke up, although that happened well before she saw him unhook your bra. Cheol had refused to give you any explanation then , insisting it was "none of your business" despite your constant nagging.

“It really is none of your business, Aegi,” your mother had sharply chided when you tried to pry information from Cheol’s mother. So, you let it go.

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Maybe Byun Michael had openly rejected you, turning down your invitation to prom without hesitation. No worries. You still had time to ask someone else. You figured they were just too shy to ask you first anyway.

Inspired by To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, you had a plan.

Up in the treehouse, you worked diligently, letters neatly stacked, paperweights keeping them from flying away.

“What are you doing up here?”

You shrieked, nearly toppling over in your rush to cover the evidence.

“Cheol! You’re not supposed to be here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your flimsy excuse. “Last I checked, this is my treehouse too.”

You huffed, still trying to block his view. “How’d you even climb up here?”

“The same way you did. Up those rickety stairs.” He smirked. “Now, scoot. Let me see what you’re being so secretive about.”

Reluctantly, you moved aside, revealing a pile of carefully written letters, waiting to be tucked into envelopes and sent to every boy you had ever crushed on.

“Y/N, love… what is this?”

You stayed quiet, hoping your eyes could explain for you.

Cheol picked up a letter, flipping through it. His disbelief grew with every word.

“You wrote love letters? For what?”

“I wanted to send them to Jungwoo, Nick, and Max. Hoping they’d, you know… see my invitation and ask me to prom.”

He blinked. “So you… what, wrote two-page essays? Front and back?”

“Shit’s romantic,” you countered.

“Says who?”

“Lara Jean”

He let out a low hum, dripping with sarcasm. “Mhmm.”

You decided to ignore him.

“What are you doing, Cheol?”

He smirked, mischief sparking in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know the combination to Nick’s locker, would you? Let me help you send this to him.”

“Cheol—”

“Now, move. I’ll be inserting this letter into the purple envelope titled ‘Nick, My Love.’”

You stared at your best friend in awe. He caught your silence and turned to stare right back.

“Quit drooling, perv. Get back to work.”

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“Hey there, sexy.”

You cringed at the sleazy voice slithering into your ear, too close for comfort.

“What do you want, JJ?” you muttered, rubbing your ears as if you could erase the sound of his voice.

“I heard you’re looking for a prom date,” he said, grinning. “Your letter to Jungwoo was found in the dumpster. Figures if he can’t take you, I can. There’s a price though”

Your stomach twisted. “And what, may I ask, is the price?”

His smirk deepened.

“Flash me.”

Your blood ran cold.

Without a word, you turned and walked away, disgusted and dejected. Now you knew exactly where your third letter had ended up, after the first two were sent back to you with rejection. 

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The eve of prom week, you stared longingly at the dress you had picked out at sixteen. This was supposed to be the night—the night you’d be wooed, twirled under sparkling lights, and dance until your feet ached. But with no date, the magic had faded.

You sighed, sinking deeper into your bed.

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“Psst. I know you can hear me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good. Can you also see that I’ve been trying to ignore you?”

Jin, your annoyingly nosy neighbor—home from college for reasons unknown—leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed. “What are you doing here moping when you should be at prom?”

You stiffened. He must have noticed because his voice softened as he stepped closer, squeezing your shoulder lightly.

“Why are you even back? It’s not summer yet.”you complained at his sudden unwelcome appearance in your room. 

“Got kicked out.”

Your head snapped up. “You are a straight-A student.”

He gave you a humorless smile. “Well, this straight-A student is also very depressed and very nosy. So, tell me—why is my chatterbox neighbor, who wouldn’t shut up about prom, still in her pajamas when she should be having the night of her life? Making babies or something.”

You groaned. “That was disgusting.”

“Potato, patootie. Now, spill.”

You inhaled sharply before mumbling under your breath, “No one asked me out.”

Jin blinked. “Seriously, speak a little softer, the ghost of Myeongdong shivered at the timber of your voice. ”, he states sarcastically.

“No one asked me out for prom,” you repeated, louder this time.

“So what? Since when do you wait for other people to ask you?”

“Yeah, well… the ones I asked rejected me.”

Jin let out a low whistle. “Even Seungcheol? Now that’s a shocker.”

“I didn’t ask Cheol,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “He already has a date.”

Silence. Then—“Wait. You’re telling me 'The Seungcheol' asked someone else out before asking you?”

"Why does your tone sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like a pipsqueak?"

"Is this your way of trying to avoid the subject? By hurling knives at me? This poor soul who became an outcast? Is someone a little mad their diaper buddy has a date and they don't?"

“No, that’s not—” You fidget, hoping to dodge whatever conclusion he was about to reach.

Jin wasn’t having it. “Unbelievable. Alright, how about this—I’ll take you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“One condition.” He pointed a finger at you. “You go out and have fun. If no one dances with you, you dance by yourself. But you’re going to have a good time. You won’t get another night like this.”

You stared at him, squinting hard, trying to detect a trap. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just some good ol’ friendly behavior.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Liar. Jin never does favors for free. You have an ulterior motive.” Then, a thought struck you. “Oh my God—you're hoping to see your ex, aren’t you? Miss Ronalds?”

Jin immediately turned pink.

“I KNEW IT! I got played again by a conniving little—”

“Hey, hey, no need to throw hands. Let’s all calm down.”

“Calm down? You literally used me as a ploy to get back with your ex! How do you stoop that low?”

Jin scratched the back of his head. “Okay, in hindsight, this looks bad—”

“It is bad!”

“But,” he interjected, “hear me out. I will drive you to prom. I will escort you to the dance floor. I will sit there the whole night like a damn chaperone. No advances toward Maggie. None at all. Cross my heart.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t believe you.”

“Look, I—see?”

And then, in one swoop, he pulled off his hoodie.

You shrieked, covering your eyes. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Relax, drama queen. I just took my hoodie off. No one is going to dance with me wearing just this.” He smirked, showing you his baby pink tee. “Here’s a deal—I take you to prom, and you treat me to a seafood boil tomorrow. There’s this new place I’ve been eyeing, but my parents cut me off for dropping out of uni.”

You gawked. “So you ask a high schooler? Wow.”

“Correction—a loaded high schooler.” He grinned. “Besides, a deal is a deal.”

You sighed. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, about to go get dressed.”

He’s got you there.

"Also Y/N?"

"What now?"

"You are paying for gas."

You couldn’t believe it. Your eternal pursuit of love, on a night that was supposed to be magical, was now reduced to paying your annoying neighbor gas money just so he could talk to your art teacher—who just so happened to be his ex.

So much for that bucket list.

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So maybe you don’t get asked out for Prom, but that’s okay. You’re still here, you show up and that’s all that matters for now. 

Or things could go a little differently. 

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You hadn’t seen Cheol all night, but true to his word, Jin remained on his best behavior. No sneaking off to find his ex, no sleazy antics,just snapping embarrassing pictures of you mid-bite while you stuffed your face with appetizers.

Halfway through a fast song, a hurried “There you are!” breaks through the noise.

You barely have time to turn before you’re met with the sight of a breathless Seungcheol, his hands gripping your shoulders as if you were seconds from vanishing into thin air.

“Where were you?!” he demands, shaking you slightly as if the answer will fall out of you.

You scoff. “Where was I? Where were you? I’ve been looking for you for the past hour!”

“I was at your house! Trying to pick you up for prom!”

You blink. “Why were you trying to pick me up? Don’t you have a date? Where’s Yunjin?”

Cheol shrugs, unbothered. “I canceled on her.”

Your jaw drops. “You what?”

“She’s going out with JJ anyway.”

Your horror intensifies. “And you let that happen?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He wooed her with those movie lines copied from your letter.”

You gasp. “What?! And you didn’t tell her that??!”

“It's not my fault she fell for it.” He shrugs again. “Besides, why does it matter? We get to be each other’s date now.”

Before you can protest, he grabs your wrist, pulling you onto the dance floor—cracker still half-eaten in your mouth. You barely register the moment before the upbeat track fades, replaced by the slow, familiar melody of All of Me.

Uh-oh.

“This is awkward,” you state, chewing hastily.

Cheol tilts his head, a pout forming. “Why is it awkward?”

“Because, stupid, how can I slow dance with you? You’re my best friend. Best friends don’t slow dance together.”

He rolls his eyes. “Throw your stubborn beliefs out the window and just dance.”

Before you can react, his hands find your waist, pulling you in close. Then—without any warning—he dips you.

You gasp, clutching onto him for dear life, heart racing.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?!” you ask breathlessly, still in shock.

A smirk tugs at his lips, a dimple appearing. “You’re not the only one who attempted a dance major.”

You narrow your eyes before reaching up and poking his dimple.

Cheol laughs, swaying with you gently. “I got kicked out, though.” You supply. 

He snorts. “I can tell. Also… can you tell I stuffed cotton in my shoes?”

You blink. “Wait. That’s the soft, pudgy thing I’ve been stepping on?”

“Yes. And thank God for that.”

This time, when he dips you again, your hands instinctively go around his neck. You’re still a little scared but fully reassured that he won’t let you fall. As if to reward you for your full trust, he leans a little and pecks your forehead.

“What was that for?” 

Cheol shrugs, his grip on your waist steady as he sways you both to the rhythm. "Felt like it," he says simply, a teasing glint in his eye.

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VI

Two semesters into college, you called your parents to inform them that you were quitting. There was no way you could make it through another day, not with the constant stress pressing down on you. Every class felt like a foreign language, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t grasp the material as effortlessly as everyone else seemed to. It was exhausting, frustrating, and, worst of all, demoralizing.

To compensate for your sudden lack of education, you threw yourself into the workforce, picking up not one but two daytime jobs.

Your first attempt was at a front desk at a restaurant,‘Meogeulle’ but that didn’t last long. Your tendency to chat up customers and “waste company time,” as your boss put it, quickly earned you a demotion. Instead of greeting guests with a bright smile, you were sent to the back, where your words wouldn’t slow down business.

And so, you became a dishwasher.

But if your boss thought exile to the kitchen would dull your spirit, he was sorely mistaken. You became the jolliest dishwasher ‘Meogeulle’ had ever seen. You hummed through every shift, cheerfully tackling the greasiest plates, and scrubbed even the dirtiest surfaces with the enthusiasm of someone discovering hidden treasure. Your energy was infectious, and before long, the entire kitchen staff had grown fond of you.

Old Ralph, the head chef, took a particular liking to you. He often snuck you free meals, much to your delight—and Cheol’s. The two of you practically survived on those meals, stretching your modest incomes to cover rent in a far-too-luxurious apartment complex that neither of you had any business affording.

Looking back, maybe telling your parents that you could fend for yourself hadn’t been your brightest idea. But somehow, you made it work. The dimes you earned, the laughter shared over steaming bowls of ramen topped with every extra ingredient you could get your hands on—it was enough. More than enough.

You were happy. Content with your life and your job.

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VII

“Cheollie, be honest. Does this make me look fat?”

“Oh no, babe. You look fantastic as always!”

“Cheol, you haven’t even looked up for one second. How can you tell?”

He sighs. “Y/N, this is the fifth dress you’ve tried on. How different can this one really be?”

“What if I’m naked?”

“Then you’re naked.”

“Arrgh! You are so frustrating, Cheol!”

Finally, he shuts his laptop with an exaggerated sigh and looks up at you. “Fine. Hit me. Show me what you got. Parade around. Let’s make you the princess of the evening, okay?”

This was your seventh date in two months. Ever since your discovery of Tinder, you had been speed-running through men like it was a game.

So maybe you didn’t have the best track record with relationships—or dates in general—but your Halmeoni always told you to try men of every flavor.

“The one,” she’d say, “is either right around the corner or has been under your nose all this time.”

Cheol watches with an amused grin as you do a slow spin in front of the mirror, arms crossed. “Well?” you demand, hands on your hips.

He tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “I think,”

You hold your breath.

“I think you look like someone who’s about to make another poor life decision.”

You gasp and throw a pillow at him. “Cheol!”

He cackles, dodging with ease. “What? Am I wrong?”

“You don’t know that!” You huff, turning back to the mirror. “This one’s different.”

Cheol raises an eyebrow. “You said that about the guy who tried to split the bill when he invited you to dinner.”

You glare at him through the reflection. “It’s called equality, Cheol.”

He snorts. “It’s called being broke.”

You roll your eyes but bite back a smile. “Whatever. I’m going, and you’re going to hype me up properly before I leave.”

He sighs dramatically before pushing himself off the bed. “Fine.”

He opens your chaotic wardrobe and starts fine-tuning it with the precision of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. After a few moments of rummaging, his hand stops on a sundress—something he’d picked out for you last summer when you decided to take an impromptu vacation.

“Aha!”

Stepping behind you, he rests his chin on your shoulder, placing the floral dress over your current outfit, meeting your gaze in the mirror. “You look stunning.”

You blink. His tone is… sincere.

Before you can say anything, he flicks your forehead. “Now go, little Casanova. Go ruin another man’s life.”

Laughing, you shove him away. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he calls after you as you rush into the washroom to run and change.

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Cheol sinks onto the bed with a sigh, tossing aside his laptop, ready to mourn the night away. He knows fully well that no studying is going to happen tonight—not after he gave you the blessing to go on this date and even picked out a dress for you.

Every time you go on a date, a little part of his heart sinks, hoping that just once, you’d turn around and see him, instead of all the men you were speed dating.

“What do they have that I don’t, Y/N? Why won’t you just look at me?”The thought lingers as he watches your peaceful face. When all he’s met with is the quiet sound of your snores, he runs a gentle hand over your face, brushing the baby bangs from your eyes. It’s then that he realizes—he’s talking to a sleeping form, rambling out his feelings after long hours at the library. He must be losing it.

But just as his woeful flashback drags him deeper into his stupor, he feels the sting of a powerful flick to his forehead.

“Ow,” he winces, clutching his forehead and pouting at you. You’re standing there,dressed in the outfit he picked out back in a record two minutes. “Why are you lookin at me like that?”

You don’t say anything, just fluttering your eyelashes and dramatically kneeling on the floor, clasping your arms together as though begging.

He jumps up in alarm. “No. What are you doing? Get up. Why are you on the floor? Get back up.”

With surprising strength, he pulls you up, not liking the image of you kneeling before him. “Stop looking at me like that, tell me what you want” he mutters, his voice a little unsteady, nerves prickling.

“Please, Cheol. Take me to McDonald’s.”

“What? Your date is supposed to take you there, Y/N.”

“I know, but he’s new to the city, and he doesn’t have a car yet. Please, Cheol, just this one time. I’ll owe you.”

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And so, there sits Cheol in the car, at the parking lot of Mcdonald's, his hand tapping uncontrollably against the steering wheel as his thoughts race. 

He’s usually a lot better at controlling his urges around you whenever you are consumed by your current hookup. But tonight, seeing you in a dress he gifted you, in a hairstyle he likes best on you, on a day that marks significant importance to him, he has the all-consuming urge to just get out of the car, pull you close, and keep you with him all for himself.

Joshua, his best friend from uni, had grown tired of hearing him constantly name-drop you. So, in a rare moment of frustration, Joshua had begged him—in fact , offered him money—to ask you out.

“She doesn’t like me like that,” Cheol had protested.

“And whose problem is that? Look, from what little I know about her, she sounds daft-.”

“Hey, careful there,” Cheol had growled.

Joshua didn’t back down. “See? Right there. You’re this possessive over a girl you say is just your best friend. She’s not going to know how you feel until you tell her, Cheol.”

Cheol shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t, Shua. You should see the way she looks at couples—always moping about her lack of a boyfriend. Yet, she never sees me.” He could feel his voice cracking as the weight of his emotions surged. He was close to tears, overwhelmed by everything that had been building up.

“Hey, don ’t cry, alright? She’ll come around,” Joshua had said, trying to console him. “Why don’t you just ask her? The worst she can say is no. Maybe try being open about your feelings, don’t beat around the bush. Lay it out for her, plain and simple.”

“Alright, I will,” Cheol had said, determination settling over him.

This was a conversation he had three months back. If Joshua saw him now, he would not be proud. But here he was, still sitting in the car, the weight of Joshua’s words fresh in his mind. He knew he had to do something—something bold, something decisive. But the nerves, the fear of rejection, they still had him frozen.

And now, watching you through the windshield as you make your way toward the restaurant , a small part of him wonders if it’s already too late.

Xxxxxxxxxx

‘Couprang” 

His world froze seeing the safeword text from you. All it took him was five seconds before he was out of the car and rushing into the restaurant trying to locate you.  Unimaginable red blinds his vision when you were crying softly, trying to reduce your tears to your napkin. 

“Y/N-ie?”

When he sees you look at him with your red rimmed eyes, he ignores all the questions in his mind and flies to bring you close to him, letting you cry once again on his shoulder.

Your date was a lucky man that Cheol didn't know his name. 

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VIII

Maybe your last failed date with a man who physically harassed you at McDonald's—because you refused to put out on the first date—had slowed your interest in dating for a while. Something about the constant chasing love, the rush, and the way everything kept slipping through your fingers every time you thought you’d finally attained it, had worn you out. Maybe friends were all you needed right now. Thank God for Cheol, your best friend, who was lying on your lap, his head resting there as you sleeplessly drifted away, drowning in the white noise of Singles Inferno.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a minute?”

“Me? I’ve always got a minute. You’re the one busy with college.”

Cheol sighed deeply. “How I wish I had a trust fund that could promise me a lifetime of staying away from calculus. Every day, I hate myself a little more for thinking I could do this.”

“You can do this, Cheollie. You’re so smart. I believe in you.” You give him a soft smile, your fingers gently brushing through his hair. “Besides, you're always welcome to take me up on my offer to stay with me whenever you need a break. Bet my future kids would love to have you as their uncle.”

When you’re met with silence, you glance down at him, wondering if he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t. Instead, he was staring intently at the leg of the sofa, his face lost in thought.

“Cheollie?” you prod again.

“Hmmm?”

“What were you going to tell me again?”

“Oh. Never mind. It can wait another day.”

“Fine by me,” you reply, settling back into the couch, feeling the weight of the quiet moment between you both.

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After the phone call with your grandma, you had your slow revelation moment.

“Where’s grandpa?” you asked, worry seeping into your voice.

“He’s just driven to the pharmacy to get my medications for this month,” grandma answered, the usual warmth in her tone.

“But I thought the doctor said he needed bed rest for at least another month, with his back injury?” you pressed, concern growing inside you.

“Hush, child,” she chuckled softly. “You know how the old man is. He doesn’t trust anyone else to get my medicine. He believes it’s his right as my husband. No matter how much I scold him, he insists he’ll be in and out in no time.”

The image of your elderly grandfather, frail from his injuries but still determined to fulfill a task so simple, so mundane in your eyes, made something inside you freeze. There was something incredibly beautiful about his unwavering devotion to your halmeoni—a love that had lasted decades, built on shared memories and routine, something he couldn’t entrust to anyone else, even in his weakened state.

That thought made you stop, your mind quieting as you sat there, blankly staring at the wall in front of you, long after the call ended. The longing in your chest grew, and the ache of wanting to find that kind of love—the kind that would last a lifetime—began to blossom. Your eyes drifted to the opened  drawer, where you caught sight of a small, old journal buried among other forgotten things. The little lock that once felt so important was still intact, and the key was nestled on your charm bracelet. With trembling hands, you unlocked the journal and flipped it open. The pages were yellowed with age, but your handwriting—clumsy and childish—was still legible. The words on the first page were familiar, words you hadn’t thought about in years.

"To Yn-ie from the future, I am so curious to find out who he is, your lover. Is he as funny and charming, and does he steal your breath away like we had imagined? Does he know your insecurity over being called dumb? Does he know your fear of being quizzed on the spot? Does he scold you for eating too much candy but sneak in your favorite Twizzlers? Does he entertain your idea of ten children and settling on a farm with Beth the cow and Rony the moose? Does he pick you up and carry you around the house, the way we secretly hoped? Does he sneak up on you and kiss you dizzy, ignoring the world around you? Is he making you smile? Oh, I am so curious, but I know you’ll be okay, because you have your lover by your side. Give him a kiss from little me."

You stopped reading, the block in your throat getting heavier by the second until you found yourself unable to swallow at all. The slow sinking feeling that maybe you’d die alone, with regrets on your mind, terrified you. Before you could calm yourself down, the tears began to cascade, streaming down your face as you bawled uncontrollably.

Cheol found you in the closet after a frantic five-minute search around the apartment, tears drying on your puffed-up cheeks. Quietly, without a single question, he placed you against his chest and rubbed your back, soothing your sadness away, rocking you side to side.

“I just don’t understand, Coupsie,” you whispered, calling him by the nickname you used as a child, “It’s so silly, it’s childish, I know.” You paused, a sharp breath catching in your throat. “I just want to feel butterflies, want to feel wanted, needed, in a way that’s not linked by blood. In a way someone other than the people who have to want me back. I am a good person, Coupsie, all I—” Your voice breaks, cutting your words short, but his steady back rubs comfort you, urging you to continue.“All I need is to just have someone for me. Someone to be my person. To love me. Someone like Mom has Dad, and you have Iseul. Someone for me, worthy of love." 

You look up at him, an see earnest doe eyes looking back at you, closed with sadness perhaps the echoing the one you have etched in your face.You are happy for Iseul, his new fling that gets to have a boyfriend who loves so passionately that he cares for everyone around him. 

“Right. Iseul.” He finally repeats after a shared minute of silence. 

“Is everything alright?” His voice was shaky, like he is hiding something from you.

“Nothing, everything is perfect!”

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IX

As the months passed, your once burning desire to get married slowly dwindled. The weight of adulthood was becoming heavier, and the pressure to figure things out seemed to increase by the day. You made the decision to find another job, anything to ease the growing strain. But somewhere between job hunting and adjusting to the grind, over a simple stroll to get a hot dog, you got distracted by a street musician. His saxophone echoed through the air, pulling a crowd around him. The way the notes flowed effortlessly from the instrument, the smooth cadence of his playing—it was mesmerizing and one odd conversation later, you found yourself becoming a street artist. 

To Choi Seungcheol's chagrin, of course.

He had warned you countless times about befriending strangers, especially the ones with shady jobs.

“Don’t be so snooty, Cheol,” you’d said when he expressed disapproval.

“I’m not being snooty! Haven’t your parents taught you anything about stranger danger?”

“Relax, Cheol. Not everyone catches the virus!” You waved your hand dismissively. “Besides, Brenda offered me a way to kill time during the long hours you spend at the library. I get to draw people’s faces, something I love doing, and no one’s going to file charges against me for staring long enough. Plus, the better I get at it, the higher the tips.”

“Aha. And why is it that I’ve never seen you bring any cash back here?”

You said nothing, your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Exactly. Stop letting people misuse your kindness, Y/N. Don’t let that be your weakness.”

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“Will you please stop twitching?” “You’re taking too long!” Mingyu whines from across your sketchpad. One more movement, and you're tempted to throw the entire paper at his face. You have no patience for a model who can’t sit still for more than five minutes.

“Are you done, Noona?”

“Mingyu, I haven’t even properly started because you keep moving too much and ruining the angle I have set in place. I am a sketch artist not a magician!”

“Fine,” he drawls. “But make sure you get my good side.”

“Mingyu, I promise I will. If you could just—” You stand up with great discomfort, your body stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, and walk over to him. You tie his arms together, fixing him in place. “There, sit like that for some time now.”

For the better part of an hour, you sketch his features, including the smile lines on his face and the creases by his eyes. Some men were crafted so beautifully, it almost made you jealous.

A small break to stretch your neck and shoulders has you catching sight of him again. You can’t miss it, his telltale knowing smirk—one that could lure you in and lead you into his deceptive ways, even if it was just child’s play. His hair, black and magnificent, was now trimmed short since the last time you saw him—over two decades ago. It had been too long, yet you couldn’t escape his mischievous glinting eyes that screamed at you: it was indeed Yoon Jeonghan himself.

Ignoring all common sense about traffic ingrained on you by Cheollie, you dive headfirst into the crowd, weaving through a thick mass of busybodies. It’s difficult to navigate, but you follow his luscious hair like a beacon.

“Jeonghan! Jeonghan!” you scream.

The man turns around. Without warning, he’s suddenly caught in an armful of a woman he’s never seen in his life—someone clinging to him, screaming, “Happy to see you again!”

“Who the hell are you?” He shoves you away from him, a valid reaction considering the situation. What person wouldn’t be confused at such an abrupt embrace?

You ignore all societal cues, clutching tightly to his arm and jumping up and down with excitement. In one firm grip, he pulls you along, and you gasp at the tightness of his hold as he leads you into a nearby bar, dim and quiet in the midday. His beady eyes flicker with irritation, narrowing as he glances at you.

"Lady," he says, voice strained, "I am one second away from calling the cops if you don’t—

“Hannie, it’s me! Y/N-ie, I am from Myeongdong, you me and Cheollie were best friends, remember?

Somewhere, a flicker of recognition started to show in his eyes, and you could see the slow struggle as he tried to piece everything together.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice tentative.

Excitement surged through you, and you couldn’t help but grin widely, your heart racing. “Yes! It’s me, Y/N-ie! From Myeongdong!

I’m sorry… I know I’m supposed to remember, but I… only remember bits and parts. The only thing I remember is the town and Daddu?” His words stung,knowing he remembered Cheol more than you but you tried to hide the hurt. You three were inseparable as kids, but even back then, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Cheol and Hannie’s families hung out more than yours ever did. It took you time to understand why your parents were never included in those cookouts, and while you had come to terms with it, it still hurt to realize that Hannie seemed to remember Cheol—the one he called ‘Daddu’—more than you.

“Is Daddu around? Do you know where he is? Maybe I can get in touch with him?” He asked, hopeful.

Pushing the jealousy down, you nodded eagerly, eager to make him feel welcome. You grabbed his hand, guiding him out the door.

“Yes, yes, follow me. Daddu—I mean, Cheollie and I are roommates now. He’s probably home, unless he’s busy kissing Iseul, which… let me tell you, Hannie, I love them both to death, but watching them make out is, like, a very disgusting sight to see. I had to establish the red sock on the doorknob after the last time I caught them on the carpet Hannie. The carpet! Who does it on the carpet? "Like animals, they are going back to caveman times, I think . Well anyway like I—". You stop mid-sentence when he halts, suddenly still.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Jeonghan is staring at you in horror, his eyes wide as he watches the woman who just jumped on him in the middle of a crowd, declaring herself his past best friend and promising to take him to see his old best friend. A woman who speaks a mile a minute. This is surely one of the craziest days he's ever had.

"Why is there a tall man running over to us screaming ‘Noona,’ and why is he looking at you?" he asks, another burning question clouding his mind.

You glance over and see Mingyu sprinting toward you with urgency, and without hesitation, you pull Jeonghan’s arm, directing him to ‘ignore him’. 

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Cheol is taken aback when he opens the door. Instead of your face, there's a very beautiful man standing next to you.

“Hi, I’m Cheol. You must be—?”

“Daddu?” Jeonghan interrupts, his voice almost a whisper.

“Hannie?” Cheol responds, his surprise evident.

Maybe you shed a tear, watching the joyful reunion between two best friends who embraced each other like they hadn't seen one another in ages—and, in truth, they hadn’t. But of course, you know it's Cheol's right to embrace any happiness he finds, and you can’t help but be pulled into the moment.

 He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into the hug, sharing the warmth between you, Jeonghan, and him. For a moment, you feel Jeonghan stiffen, but just as quickly, he relaxes, his arm wrapping around you as he squeezes you tightly. A bit of your heart warms at the gesture.

"I can’t believe it! The Triple Devils have reunited! Where did you find him, Y/N?" Cheol exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

Jeonghan gulps, looking at you, unsure if he should recount the chaos of his day with the crazy woman. Instead, his eyes wander around, and he notices—

“Is this the sock you show to signal sexiling?”

Cheol looks mortified, narrowing his eyes at you. “You can’t just spring that on people, Y/N!Also I just got off the phone with Mingyu.You definitely can’t walk out on Mingyu in the middle of drawing a subject. It's your job!”

“It’s a side job!” you defend, shrugging casually.

“Still, Y/N! And Mingyu is my cousin, I owe him this!”

“Wait, is M-Mingyu the tall man who came charging at us, yelling ‘Noona,’ and you grabbed my hand and told me to run? I was going to call the cops on him!”

“Y/N,” Cheol calls out, exasperated.

“I’m sorry! I’ll call him, apologize, and reschedule a meeting tomorrow.”

“Do it now, Y/N.”

“B-b-but—”

“No excuses. Now.”

“Fine!” you huff, grabbing the phone Cheol pulls out of your pocket. You opt to text Mingyu instead.

“No, call him. Put him on speaker. I need to ensure you’re not distracted.”

“I’m enjoying this,” says a third voice from the corner.

Both you and Cheol turn to look at the silent accomplice, who’s standing there with a smug grin on his face. If you had any doubts before, you can firmly conclude now that indeed —that’s Jeonghan.

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How you ended up on a double date with Cheol, Iseul, and Jeonghan still baffles you. Iseul had made reservations with her best friend and boyfriend, who canceled at the last minute, giving you the perfect opportunity to try the new spot. Cheol, ever the orchestrator, invited Jeonghan as your date. A part of you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the universe is finally making things right. Perhaps Jeonghan’s return to your life isn’t just coincidence, but a reminder that the boy who once promised to be your husband and gave you your first kiss could one day come back into your life, not just as a memory, but as a lover in the present.

“I love your outfit, Y/N. Really brings out your eyes. Where did you get it from?” Iseul asks, placing a serving of pickled onions on Cheol’s plate.

“You do? Cheollie got it for me last Christmas. We have an ugly sweater competition every year, but last year, the doofus thought it’d be funny if he outsmarted me and got me this instead.”

“Remember when your mom scolded you for getting me that hideous jumper with the ‘dank memes’ slogan on it?” Cheol interjects, slapping his knee in the middle of a fit of laughter.

“You were always her favorite, and you knowingly took advantage of it.”

“Oh, yes, I did! Remember that time you broke the stairway to the treehouse and blamed it on me so you'd escape Eomma’s wrath?”

“And did she scold you?”

“No,” he says smugly.

As Cheol absentmindedly picks at his plate, you reach for the pickled onions he always complains about. "Oh, Cheollie," you tease, grinning as you scoop them off his plate and onto yours. “You know you hate these.”

“Show off! Hey, remember that time—?”

“Ready to order?” The waiter interrupts, and the sudden break in the banter catches you off guard.

Jeonghan watches with quiet amusement, faint memories sparking to life as he observes his childhood best friends laughing, reminiscing over their mischief. They’re so caught up in it that they forget Cheol’s date and you’re startled by the waiter’s interruption. For someone like you, who claims to want to find love, you sure are blind to the obvious kind.

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XI

Jeonghan’s breakup text arrives on a warm, sunny morning—when you least expect it. You’re in the middle of planning a trip to the florist, excited to pick out a bouquet of his favorite flowers, imagining the way his eyes would light up at the surprise.

The past few months had been nothing short of euphoric—nights spent poring over old photographs, watching as Jeonghan slowly reconnected with the life he had left behind in Myeongdong before adulthood burdened him with responsibilities: caring for his mother, his sister. One month of dating later you had asked him to be your boyfriend, something he had gladly accepted. 

And with Cheol talking about finally moving out, you had begun to picture a future with Jeonghan in your apartment. A future where he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your home. The next step in your fairytale.

Then, without warning, the fairytale shatters.

A cold, detached message: "I am breaking up with you."

No explanation. No foreshadowing. No emojis. Nothing.

Your hands tremble. The glass of milk slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp, deafening crash—shards scattering like the pieces of your heart.

The noise jolts Cheol and Iseul awake. They rush out of his room, still groggy, eyes wide with panic, scanning the space for an intruder, a break-in—anything but what it actually is.

"Are you okay?" Cheol is at your side in an instant, gripping your arms, searching your face for answers.

But you can’t move. Can’t speak. You just stand there, frozen, the weight of those four words crushing the breath out of you.

"Y/N," Cheol tries again, shaking you gently.

Then, softer—"Baby," Iseul calls out. Cheol turns at the sound of her voice, and that's when he sees it.

Your phone, still opened to the text messages, in her hands, the screen aglow with the message that just ended everything.

Five seconds. That’s all it takes before Cheol bolts for the door, barefoot, jacket forgotten, fists clenched, his voice a low growl as he mutters, "I’m going to kill him."

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Enraged, visions of red cloud Cheol’s periphery. He pays no heed to speed limits, no caution to the laws he’s about to break. None of it matters. Yoon Jeonghan is a dead man standing.

It almost feels like Jeonghan was expecting him—because the moment Cheol rings the bell, the door swings open.

There he is.

Draped in a silky bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, not a single trace of guilt on his face.

"Ah, Cheol," Jeonghan drawls, taking a slow sip. "Looks like you came to thank me."

"You better have an explanation for this," Cheol grits out, fists shaking, "or I swear to God, Jeonghan, you will—"

Jeonghan’s breakup text arrives on a warm, sunny morning—when you least expect it. You’re in the middle of planning a trip to the florist, excited to pick out a bouquet of his favorite flowers, imagining the way his eyes would light up at the surprise.

The past few months had been nothing short of euphoric—nights spent poring over old photographs, watching as Jeonghan slowly reconnected with the life he had left behind in Myeongdong before adulthood burdened him with responsibilities: caring for his mother, his sister.

And with Cheol talking about finally moving out, you had begun to picture a future with Jeonghan in your apartment. A future where he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your home. The next step in your fairytale.

Then, without warning, the fairytale shatters.

A cold, detached message: "I am breaking up with you."

No explanation. No foreshadowing. No emojis. Nothing.

Your hands tremble. The glass of milk slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp, deafening crash—shards scattering like the pieces of your heart.

The noise jolts Cheol and Iseul awake. They rush out of his room, still groggy, eyes wide with panic, scanning the space for an intruder, a break-in—anything but what it actually is.

"Are you okay?" Cheol is at your side in an instant, gripping your arms, searching your face for answers.

But you can’t move. Can’t speak. You just stand there, frozen, the weight of those four words crushing the breath out of you.

"Y/N," Cheol tries again, shaking you gently.

Then, softer—"Baby," Iseul calls out. Cheol turns at the sound of her voice, and that's when he sees it.

Your phone, still opened to the text messages, in her hands, the screen aglow with the message that just ended everything.

Five seconds. That’s all it takes before Cheol bolts for the door, barefoot, jacket forgotten, fists clenched, his voice a low growl as he mutters, "I’m going to kill him."

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Fury coursed through Cheol, his vision tinged with red as his anger flared. He pays no heed to speed limits, no caution to the laws he’s about to break. None of it matters. Yoon Jeonghan is a dead man standing.

It almost feels like Jeonghan was expecting him—because the moment Cheol rings the bell, the door swings open.

There he is.

Draped in a silky bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, not a single trace of guilt on his face.

"Ah, Cheol," Jeonghan drawls, taking a slow sip. "Looks like you came to thank me."

"You better have an explanation for this," Cheol grits out, fists shaking, "or I swear to God, Jeonghan, you will—"

"You will what?" Jeonghan interrupts smoothly. "Kill me? For breaking up with your girl?"

"She is not my—she’s—"

"Maybe not yet," Jeonghan smirks. "But we’ve all seen it, Daddu."

Cheol’s jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

"I don’t like that stupid smile on your face," he finally whispers, voice low, dangerous. "Take it off."

Jeonghan chuckles, tilting his head. "Seems like you’ve finally calmed down. Want to come in?"

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“Cheol, does she know?” Jeonghan asks, looking at him with knowing eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cheol replies, trying to brush it off.

“You know,” Jeonghan smirks, “you don’t make a good liar. Neither you nor Y/N. You’re too prim and proper to lie about the small things. Maybe you can fool Y/N for decades, but not me. I see right through you.”

Cheol sighs, not meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“You’re in love with Y/N,” Jeonghan continues. “It’s time to come clean. Stop holding back. Just tell her.”

Cheol shakes his head. “It’s not easy, Hannie.”

“It is,” Jeonghan insists. “It’s very easy, Daddu. This is Y/N, your best friend. There’s no malice in her. She’ll either say yes or no—that’s her call. But for the most part? She’s in love with you too. She just doesn’t know it yet. You have to be the one to break it to her.”

Cheol stumbles over his words. “I-I—”

Jeonghan cuts him off. “You know, Daddu, being in love with one girl and leading another one on? You’re breaking three hearts—yours, Y/N’s, and Iseul’s.”

“Iseul?”

“Yes. Your girlfriend. The one whose name you haven’t said once since you’ve been here. But you didn’t avoid Y/N’s name.”

Cheol freezes, his mind racing. "Iseul. I forgot she has an interview scheduled today at 9, and I have to drop her off—"

“Well, if you leave now, like actually fly down the elevator, you might have a shot. Go,” Jeonghan says, a slight grin on his face.

Cheol doesn’t waste another second, dashing off in a panic, muttering apologies under his breath, as if he were the one wronged in the situation.

Jeonghan watches him go, shaking his head. “The lovesick idiot,” he mutters to himself, amused by the chaos.

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You were stuck working the big pots tonight.

Meoguelle had a big party pull up to the restaurant, which meant twice the usual number of dishes to wash. So there you sat, hair tied up, sweat lining your forehead, a small trickle of tears mixing with the steam rising from the sink. Your hands were elbow-deep in a greasy, murky mixture—just the perfect way to end the night after your breakup fiasco.

"L/N F/N, is that you?"

Truthfully, you weren’t in the mood to socialize. Not with a stranger, not with a friend—no one. But after the fifth attempt at scrubbing stubborn gunk off a caked-up pot, you figured now was as good a time as any for a break.

You turned toward the voice, your brain scrambling to put a name to that oh-so-familiar face.

"Jun? Wen Junhui? Is that you?"

"In the flesh and blood," he said proudly, confirmed.

“It’s good to see you! What are you doing here?"

"I came to pay my compliments to the chef, which I’m assuming is—"

"Oh, no, that’s him out by the back door, filling his lungs with smoke. I’m just a mere dishwasher."

Jun blinked. "Oh. Is that why you’re c-crying?"

You let out a small, bitter laugh. "Huh? Oh. No. I, uh— I got dumped."

Jun’s brows furrowed. "Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. But honestly, I’m also really surprised. I never thought Se—Seungcheol would be the type to dump someone over text. Aren’t you two closer than that?"

"Seungcheol?" You frowned. "What? No. He’s my best friend. My roommate. We never dated. Why would you assume that Cheol was my boyfriend? I could never date him—"

"Could’ve fooled me."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Huh? What did I say?" Jun repeated, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting around guiltily, looking for anything—anything—to distract himself from this suddenly very awkward conversation.

"Look, I gotta scoot," he rushed out. "Please pass on my compliments to the chef. And Y/N? Talk to Cheol."

Your eyes narrowed. "Jun—"

"I know you were mad at me when I bailed on our date, but I also thought I was just a rebound for—"

"A rebound? Jun, you were the only guy I was seeing at that time."

He winced. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"What favor?" You scoffed. "Texting me for nights in a row only to bail out on a date?"

Jun’s eyes widened slightly. Then he took a step back. Then another. "Shit’s escalated so far. I gotta go—keep in touch?"

And before you could respond, he jogged out of the kitchen the same way he came in—leaving you behind, confused in more ways than one

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Your conversation with Cheol about your weird encounter with Jun goes in a different direction than you had honestly anticipated.

"I saw Jun at the restaurant today."

"Who's Jun?" Cheol calls out from the couch, eyes glued to a rerun of Single’s Inferno while you blend ingredients for dinner.

"Wen Junhui. The guy Shua introduced me to?"

Cheol perks up slightly. "Oh, the anime-looking hottie?"

You roll your eyes, walking over to the couch with both dinner plates in hand. "Yes, that one. When I told him my boyfriend broke up with me, he assumed it was you. How weird is that?"

There’s a brief pause.

"Why is that weird?"

You glance at him. His hand is clenched tightly around the remote, knuckles paling. Like he has something to explain.

"You and me," he continues casually. "You’re a girl. I’m a boy. A very handsome boy, might I add." He throws in a cheeky grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You scoff. "But Cheol, we’re best friends. We can’t date."

"Why not?" His response is immediate, almost defensive. The sharpness in his tone irks you.

"What are you even saying right now, Coupsie?" You frown. "I can never tell what’s going on in that head of yours. And you’re acting weird."

He exhales sharply. "Oh, good. So you’re not totally dumb after all."

Your blood runs cold."...What did you just say to me?"

Cheol's face falls. His panic is instant. "Y/N—shit—no. No, I didn’t mean that, I—please, don’t be mad, love." He rushes toward you as you push off the couch, hand covering your mouth in disbelief. "I was just— I don’t even know why I said that— Y/N,I am sorry  please, just look at me."

But you don’t.

You turn on your heel, marching straight to your room, fully intending to hole yourself in there for the rest of the night.

"No, no—" His grip catches your wrist just before you can slam the door. Before you know it, he’s pulling you back out, standing in the threshold of your room, looking like a man pleading for salvation.

"Please," he whispers, hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing away the tears threatening to spill. "Please, love, just listen to me. If you want to shut me out after, I won’t stop you. But please. Just hear me out."

You exhale shakily. "Fine. But one condition."

"Anything," he answers without hesitation.

"You need to tell me what went down at Jeonghan’s." Your voice is firm now. "Ever since you ran out of here that morning, you’ve been avoiding me. And don’t give me some crap excuse about being busy. I know your schedule by heart, Cheol. You have nothing coming up that’s remotely important."

Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.

Slowly, his hands shift, thumbs gliding up to smooth your furrowed brows. The back of his fingers ghost over your cheeks, his touch light, tracing over your features like he’s memorizing them.You don’t move away. His gaze locks onto yours, wide and searching his fingers running over. Your eyes. Your nose. Your lips.

"Ch-Cheol, what are you—"

"Shh." His breath is warm as he leans closer, lips parting, barely a sliver of space between you.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

And then—The doorbell rings.

Both of you jolt back, like the universe itself just yanked you out of whatever that moment was.

For a beat, neither of you speak. Your breathing is uneven, adrenaline rushing through you like you’ve just run a marathon.

Cheol is the first to break the silence. He looks down, almost ashamed. "It’s Iseul," he mutters. "She’s crashing here for the night."

 Iseul. His girlfriend.

"Right," you echo weakly, stepping back into your room and shutting the door behind you.

You lean against it, exhaling slowly, trying to steady your racing heart.

Even as you hear Cheol’s footsteps retreating, hear the front door opening, hear his soft voice greeting Iseul—you don’t move.

Instead, you replay the last few seconds over and over in your head.

Grateful the doorbell rang when it did.

Or were you grateful?

Weird.

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You never talk about that day.

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Two weeks after the almost kiss—Cheol moves out.

“We both knew we were delaying this,” he says, rolling his suitcase toward the door. “I got a new apartment closer to work. I’ll save on transportation.”

His voice is light, casual. But there’s something else beneath it. Something heavier.

“Besides,” he adds with a small smirk, “you can finally have that guest bedroom all to yourself. You know, in case you feel noble and want to take in another one of your homeless buddies for the night.”

It’s a weak joke. His dimple is in place, flashing his usual pearly whites, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“See you, love,” he says.

And as always, he steps forward to give you a forehead kiss—just like he’s done a thousand times before. A simple, familiar gesture.

But this time, you flinch.

Like his presence is suddenly too much.

“Oh.”

His voice is quiet. Almost hurt.

He hesitates, then pinches your cheek lightly—just for a second—before turning away and walking out of the apartment.

“Don’t be a stranger love”

And just like that, he’s gone.

And you—standing in the middle of your now too-big apartment, in a too-cold city—are left with nothing but the hollow ache in your chest.

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It’s been three months since the incident.

Three months since you last saw him.

Time has given you some clarity. Some distance. But on days like today—when the loneliness creeps in, when the silence in your apartment feels deafening—you sit and wonder.

What once was.

What could have been.And whether or not you made the right choice at all. To ignore what happened that night before and keep living it didn’t just happen. 

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“Noona?”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Mingyu, why are you here? Don’t you have a girlfriend to nail down?”

“First of all, hurtful. I don’t have a girlfriend. Secondly, I came here to thank you, Noona.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” he insists, huffing with a stubborn pout. “Your sketches are the reason I got to add something to my portfolio. The ones you drew of me, all the photos you took—you helped me put together a solid submission for ‘Hayfer’ magazine. It meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Gyu,” you say, shaking your head. “But again, like I said, it’s literally your face that did all the work. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you didn’t go around looking the way you do.”

“Are you saying I’m handsome? Is this Noona’s way of flirting with me? I can’t believe it,” he teases with a charming smile.

“Stop fishing for compliments. Don’t push your luck, loverboy.”

“Once again, to clarify—I am bitchless.” He places a hand on his chest in mock sincerity before grinning. “However, if you’re down to—”

A year ago, you’d have gasped in disbelief that a tall, dashing man with a heart-stopping smile would be openly flirting with you—more so, inviting you on a date. You probably would have jumped at the first opportunity, said yes, and sealed the deal. Maybe even called your grandparents and let all six of your cousins know.

But you’ve grown.

The childishness hasn’t completely dissipated, but a part of you knows that to a man like Mingyu, you’d be just another passing fling. So you shake your head, slowly, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

Guys like him will always have a second chance.

Not with you, though.

“That’s okay,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kinda knew you’d say no. Just wanted to dip my toes in.” Then, as if remembering something, he fishes out a card from his wallet and hands it to you. “Here—this is for you.”

“What is this, Gyu?” you ask, flipping the card between your fingers, reading the name printed on it.

Xu Minghao.

It rings a bell.

“Who is this? If this is another attempt to set me up with someone, I swear to God, Mingyu—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, laughing. “I would never set you up with someone else. I know who you belong with.”

Your stomach twists in questioning knots. Before you can respond, he continues.

“This is my friend from uni, Hao. He’s opening a new gallery downtown, and he wants to showcase underrated classics—graffiti artists, doodlers, glorified vandalizers apparently. He saw your sketches of me and was impressed. He asked if I could pass his number to you so he could call and discuss featuring your art in his gallery.”

Your heart stutters.

Xu Minghao.

Why does that name sound so familiar?

Mingyu smirks. “You might know him as The8.”

“Shut up. No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” He looks all too pleased with himself.

“You’re telling me ‘The8’ saw my sketches and wants to showcase my artwork?”

Mingyu barely gets to nod before you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his broad frame. He chuckles but holds you just as firmly, his warmth grounding you in this unreal moment.

For so long, you’ve grasped at mediocrity, believing—like your teachers always warned—you’d never amount to anything. School and college have failed you. Your lack of focus, your inability to stay interested in one job for too long, had always made you feel like you were wilting.

You knew you were lucky. The money from your grandparents has secured your future. But beyond that? You had nothing.At least, that’s what you thought.But this—this moment, this opportunity—someone actually wants to see more of your art.

You.

And for the first time in your life, it feels like you’re winning at something. Like you’re not a total disaster. And in the midst of your overwhelming joy, your thoughts drift—back to Cheol.

For so long, his victories had felt like your own.

When he won class valedictorian, you were the first to scream his name in the crowd, your voice hoarse from cheering too loudly. When he made football team captain, you stayed up late helping him tape up his bruised ankles, lecturing him about overexertion while he only grinned, too proud to care. When he got accepted into his dream university, you decorated his house with fairy lights and posters, making it feel like home before he even unpacked his bags. And when his first girlfriend asked him out, you teased him relentlessly, calling him a blushing mess, even as you secretly watched from the sidelines, unsure why your heart twisted at the sight.

For every milestone, every achievement, every moment of happiness—you were there.

And now, finally, when the universe decides to deal you a good hand, when something extraordinary happens for you, you find yourself alone in your joy. There is no Cheol grinning beside you, no knowing glance exchanged between you both, no shared celebration where he lifts you off the ground in a tight hug and says, See, love? I always knew you were meant for more. The realization strikes you like a gut punch.

For so long, his triumphs had been yours, but now, yours don’t seem to be his.

And the thought sobers you much quicker than you would have imagined.

Before Mingyu walks away completely, you ask him the burning question that has been eating away at your brain. “Gyu?”

“Yes Noona?”

“What did you mean when you said you knew I was meant for someone else anyway?”

“I think it’s up to you to figure that out Noona” he says with a wink and a smirk and leaves. 

The questions in your heart don't settle down.

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You are frantic, beyond yourself with worry, and the urge to heave out your organs into a trash can grows stronger by the second. A phone call with Minghao had confirmed that the gallery opening was tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Your mind spins. Were you supposed to create something in mere hours, something worthy enough to be displayed in a gallery? The only other paintings you had were hung up in your family house back home, and it would take hours to retrieve them—there was no way you’d make it in time. The stress manifests physically, your nails bitten down to the quick, your pinky finger bleeding as an unfortunate casualty of your nerves.

Your phone buzzes in your trembling hands.

Cheol: Congrats, Y/N. Look inside the study room.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the text, reading and re-reading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you blink enough times. What does he mean? Did Mingyu tell him about the gallery? It makes sense—they were cousins, after all, and Mingyu had always been terrible at keeping secrets.

But if Cheol knew, then… why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he come?

The thought makes your stomach twist. Was he still so awkward about that almost kiss that he decided to forgo two decades’ worth of friendship and reduce his congratulations to a text message? Was that really all you amounted to in his life?

You feel hurt. Disappointed. But also—relieved.

Relieved, because a tiny part of you has no idea how to face Choi Seungcheol after three months of radio silence. Your ex-best friend.

Shoving those thoughts aside, you take a deep breath and make your way to the study room.

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You are frantic, beyond yourself with worry, and the urge to heave out your organs into a trash can grows stronger by the second. A phone call with Minghao had confirmed that the gallery opening was tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Your mind spins. Were you supposed to create something in mere hours, something worthy enough to be displayed in a gallery? The only other paintings you had were hung up in your family house back home, and it would take hours to retrieve them—there was no way you’d make it in time. The stress manifests physically, your nails bitten down to the quick, your pinky finger bleeding as an unfortunate casualty of your nerves.

Your phone buzzes in your trembling hands.

Cheol: Congrats, Y/N. Look inside the study room.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the text, reading and re-reading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you blink enough times. What does he mean? Did Mingyu tell him about the gallery? It makes sense—they were cousins, after all, and Mingyu had always been terrible at keeping secrets.

But if Cheol knew, then… why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he come?

The thought makes your stomach twist. Was he still so awkward about that almost kiss that he decided to forgo two decades’ worth of friendship and reduce his congratulations to a text message? Was that really all you amounted to in his life?

You feel hurt. Disappointed. But also—relieved.

Relieved, because a tiny part of you has no idea how to face Choi Seungcheol after three months of radio silence. Your ex-best friend.

Shoving those thoughts aside, you take a deep breath and make your way to the study room.

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The study room had always been Cheol’s sanctuary.

On nights before exams, when he wasn’t holed up in the library, this was where he spent his time—books open, highlighters scattered, and an energy drink within reach. And since you were practically allergic to textbooks and anything resembling academic effort, you never once bothered to step foot inside. Apparently, he knew that.

Because when you finally open the door, stepping inside for the first time since he left, you are shocked at what you find.

The room is covered—inch to inch—in your artwork. Your heart lurches violently in your chest.

Every doodle, every absentminded scribble, every torn-out sketch that you had long forgotten was here. Pinned up on the walls, carefully arranged, like a private gallery curated for no one but himself. Your hands shake as you step forward. Some of these sketches were from years ago—random doodles of cartoons, silly little portraits of him, even rough, messy charcoal attempts at landscapes you had made out of boredom. You had discarded them without a second thought, but he had kept them all. Your throat tightens.

Then, your eyes land on the lone easel in the center of the room.

It’s covered by a large cloth, dust collecting on the edges. Something about it makes your pulse quicken, a thrumming sense of anticipation running through your veins. With trembling fingers, you grip the cloth and pull.

And your heart stops beating.

There, pinned on a massive canvas, are twenty-three years worth of tradition.

When Cheol turned six, he had demanded something special for his birthday—something unique, something made with your own two hands, your custom gift for him. 

You had been stumped then.

For days, you had scoured the house, pestered your parents for ideas, and even sulked on the couch in frustration. Eventually, you had stared so long at the framed wedding portrait above the fireplace that inspiration had struck.

With unpracticed, wobbly hands, you had drawn a simple stick figure doodle—of you and Cheol. Two little figures, standing side by side, holding hands, smiling wide enough to split their faces.

Cheol had loved it. He had squealed, hugged you tight, and thanked you over and over again, clutching the tiny drawing like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

And from that moment on, a tradition had begun.

Every year, on his birthday, you drew a new one.

At first, they remained simple, just stick figures with slightly better proportions. Then, slowly, they evolved—features becoming clearer, the lines steadier, expressions more detailed.

By the time you turned eighteen, they weren’t just doodles anymore. They were art.

And now, staring at the canvas before you, you realize—He never lost a single one.

All twenty-three drawings, pinned carefully in chronological order. Each crease, each faded line, each awkwardly drawn hand—it was all there.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps.All your life, you had thought of yourself as forgettable. A mediocre student. A directionless dreamer. A girl who hopped from one hobby to another, unsure if she’d ever be good at something.

Yet, here was proof that he had never once forgotten you.

Every drawing, no matter how childish or ridiculous, was a testament to the fact that Choi Seungcheol had cherished every piece of you. Your heart aches.

Is that why he had warned you never to touch this room? Had he planned to show you this someday? Had he sent Mingyu to deliver the gallery invitation because he knew you would come here and find this? But if that was true, then why wasn’t he here now?

Why wasn’t he here to help you carry this canvas—to celebrate with you, to tell you he was proud of you? Why was he gone?

A sob catches in your throat as you reach out, fingers tracing the lines of your own childhood artwork. The weight of twenty-three years presses down on your shoulders, heavy and bittersweet. As if sensing the despair you were feeling, you hear a doorbell ring and your heart leaps with joy. Maybe he had come after all. 

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He hadn’t. Mingyu had sent Soonyoung and Jihoon, apparently, to pick up your artwork and drive it to the gallery for tomorrow. Serves you right for getting your hopes up after all.

“Where’s Cheol?” you finally ask, just as they’re about to bid their farewells at the threshold. You knew they all knew each other, being friends from university days. All these boys had hounded your shared apartment at night for drinking sessions back in the day.

“Oh, haven’t you heard—Che—”

“Soonyoung!” Jihoon warns, cutting him off before Soonyoung can continue. Soonyoung now looks guilty for almost blurting it out.

“No, what happened? What don’t I know? There’s something you’re not telling me, and I want in.” You sound frantic, anxiety bubbling in your chest.

“Relax, Y/N. Cheol’s alright. Mingyu sent us to pick this up and drop it off. Don’t shoot the messenger, okay? Now, if you don’t need us for anything else, we’re going to take our leave.” Jihoon gives you a quick, reassuring smile. “And Y/N? Congratulations.” He tips his head at you, then waves goodbye, leaving with Soonyoung.

But Soon still wears that guilty look, and your nerves start to spike.

You try calling him, texting him, but to no avail. Finally, you send a text to Mingyu, who assures you that Cheol is sleeping after a football match. You know it’s a lie, but it’s probably the best you’ll get. Cheol clearly doesn’t want you to know something, and he’s put up boundaries, and all you can do is respect that. Maybe he has a new girlfriend. Maybe he’s hiding that from you.

Whatever it is, you know the days of being his top priority are long gone. All you can do now is get ready for tomorrow. You’ve got a long day ahead, and no one—not even Cheol—can take that away from you.

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“So, you must be L/N Y/N, the one I’ve heard so much about,” Xu Minghao says, his voice smooth and confident. You try not to gasp at the sight of him, standing before you in the flesh. He’s dressed immaculately, a well-tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly, a tie adding a touch of refinement to his coat. His dark hair is styled just right, and his eyes—sharp, calculating, yet inviting—scan you carefully.

You inhale a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hadn’t been prepared for how to interact with a man so stunning, let alone one you’ve admired from afar. It seems he understands the sudden shift in your demeanor, offering you a small, reassuring smile to let you gather your thoughts. In the past, you would’ve slapped your hand to your forehead at your sudden shyness, but with him, it feels different—something about his presence seems to elicit butterflies in your stomach. You nod slowly, trying to regain composure.

“Ah, well then, shall we?” He gestures to the canvas paper, where a new cloth is draped over it. It’s just two hours away from the gallery’s opening, a small exhibit showcasing the works of budding artists—people like you, who’ve never had the opportunity to display their artwork to the public. It might not be a grand affair, but it means everything to you.

He steps forward, his eyes scanning each of the drawings. They’re neatly arranged, pinned chronologically, and you notice the way his eyes soften as he takes them in. "This is all your doing?" he asks, genuinely impressed.

“Well, yes and no," you respond, a little shy. "I drew these, but um… I did it for my bes–" You cut yourself off, correcting your words. "For a friend," you finish. "Apparently, he collected all of them and had them stored up like this. I had no idea until yesterday."

Minghao’s eyes widen as he examines your work. "Well, he should. Look at the detailing on some of this. I can’t believe you’ve never been to art school. Look at the precision with which you drew his eyes. He must be a stunner, this 'friend' of yours." He wags his finger in disbelief, and you can tell he’s not convinced that the situation is as simple as it seems.

“What did you do on your 16th birthday?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you.

“How can you tell that?” you ask, confused, but your eyes instinctively flicker to Cheol, who’s standing a little further off. He does look a bit annoyed, his brow furrowed at you, but you can't quite remember why. Maybe you’d finished his favorite juice or something.

“Wait, are these pinned?” Minghao asks, bending down to get a closer look.

“Yeah, they are. I told you, my friend had all these pinned to a canvas.”

"Hmm." Minghao hums thoughtfully. “So, does that mean—” Before you can ask him what he means, he pulls the pin from one of the drawings, the second-to-last sketch you’d done of him. He takes the paper in his hands, examining it carefully.

“Oh, what’s this?” You stand on your tiptoes, trying to get a better look at what’s written behind the sketch. You hadn’t even realized there was anything written on the back—your contribution had only been the drawings, not the words.

You recognize those scribbles anywhere: the familiar curves of his handwriting.

“Age 26. The year I cried the hardest when you went on that date with Jeonghan. The night I crossed out your name from my heart when I realized you would never look at me like that.”

Your heart stops in your chest. What? You blink rapidly, disoriented, as the words on the back of the picture send a sharp, unsettling ripple through your thoughts

Urgently, you tug down another picture, your hands trembling as you uncover another heart-wrenching note, written in the same familiar handwriting.

“My 19th birthday. As per my demand, you drew this picture based on the photo we both took together at the beach. When you laid your head on mine, my heart stopped still, Y/N. Don’t know if you could tell that over your loud snores, but I sat still for all six minutes, scared that if I moved for one second, the moment would burst.”

The words feel like a punch to your chest, and before you can even process what you’ve just read, your eyes begin to sting, your breath faltering as tears stream silently down your face. You reach to unpin yet another drawing, your hands shaking from the weight of it all.

“Year 9. The year I dared to hope. We both sat in the garden, planning our future lives, our kids, and our dogs and cats. You asked me why I didn’t name my future wife when you had decided Bogum would be your future husband. I was too scared to show you that I left that blank open to fill it with your name.”

The realization hits like a wave, pulling you under with a force you can’t fight.For every year of his life with you, he had written down his feelings for you in that stage of life. How could you not have seen it? How could you have missed everything he was giving you, how he had loved you, from the very start?

Desperately, you unpin yet another drawing.

“Year 24. When you got bored and asked me if you could draw on me, I gave you my hands and pretended to fall asleep. But I couldn’t. My thudding heart would not let me rest because the feel of your hands on my skin, drawing on me, grazing my hands, made me yearn. For you.”

A sob catches in your throat, and you clutch the drawing to your chest as if it can somehow absorb all the emotions you’re trying to hold inside. But the dam is breaking. The weight of his unspoken love, of everything you never saw, is crashing over you like an unstoppable force.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice cracking with a mixture of pain and longing. You look to Minghao, who stands quietly beside you, watching you with deep concern etched into his features. “I—I need to go. I need to see him. I need to tell him…”

You trail off, your mind spinning, your heart thrumming with the urgency of it all. How had you been so blind? How could you have let all of this slip through your fingers for so long?

Minghao’s gaze softens, his expression serious, but his voice is gentle when he speaks. “You have my word. But before you leave, tell me, Y/N, what would you title this?”

You blink, still reeling, but the question lingers in your mind. What could you even call this? This painful, beautiful mess of emotions, tangled, raw truth that had been hiding in front of you all this time You take one final, steadying breath as you turn to the artwork, your gaze falling on the scattered drawings before you.

And then it comes to you—the answer so simple, yet so profoundly fitting for everything you’ve just uncovered.

You meet Minghao’s eyes, your voice quiet but steady.

“The Pursuit of Love.” 

It’s perfect. A pursuit that has no end, a love that’s been waiting for you all along.”

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥

“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Why isn’t he picking up?” you mutter to yourself, panic rising in your chest as you hold your phone, dialing Cheol’s number again. Your fingers are trembling. Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You had hailed a cab and rushed straight to Cheol’s apartment, but there was no sign of him. No one was home, and the door remained stubbornly closed. You tried calling both Cheol and Mingyu, but neither responded. Your worry started to morph into something much darker, and you knew something was wrong.

Without giving it a second thought, you dialed the one person who might know what’s going on—Jeonghan.

"Y/N?" His voice comes through the phone, calm but confused.

“Where is Cheol?” you ask, your voice breaking as sobs catch in your throat. The bad feeling you’d been fighting all morning is growing rapidly, an overwhelming sense of dread that something had happened to Cheol, something he was keeping from you, something his friends were also hiding from you.

"Y/N—" Jeonghan begins, his voice soft, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. But you're too far gone, too scared, and you can't bear to listen.

"Please, Jeonghan, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much." You can barely hold back the tears now, your voice shaking.

There’s a long pause on the other end before Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice filled with quiet concern. “Cheol’s at the hospital.”

You freeze, your heart stopping for a moment as the words sink in.

♡

♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥

“Choi Seungcheol?”

“Room 317, ma’am. Down the corner and to the left—MISS, NO RUNNING IN THE HALLWAY!” The nurse’s warning falls on deaf ears as you rush past her, your heart pounding harder with every step.

You don't care about the rules right now. All you care about is seeing Cheol.

You turn the corner, practically flying down the hallway, your breath coming in short bursts as you approach the door. And then you see him.

Cheol, lying in the hospital bed, looking pale, with a slightly annoyed Mingyu sitting next to him. You come to a halt in the doorway, chest tight with the realization that he’s hurt.

“Y/N?” Cheol’s voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen in surprise as he sees you standing there, tears streaming down your face.

“Love, please don’t cry,” Cheol says, his voice soft and comforting. He lifts a hand, wincing slightly, but you’re already at his side, leaning over to wrap your arms around him, your sobs muffled against his hospital gown. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your voice shaking with anger and relief. “Damn right, you’re sorry, Choi. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I knew you had your art gallery today,” he says, his voice apologetic. He gestures vaguely at his bandaged body. “Sorry I couldn’t come with my ruptured appendix and all.” He tries to make light of it, but his sheepish smile only makes your heart ache more. “But I wanted to be there for you so badly, Y/N. I’m really sorry.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as tears still slip down your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for a surgery you didn’t cause.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks at you, and you can't help but smile despite yourself, the weight in your chest easing just a little.

You look at him again, really look at him—his tired eyes, the way his face looks a little drawn, the exhaustion evident in every line. He might be joking around, but you can see that he’s been through a lot.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, Y/N,” he says, almost like he can read your mind. He’s always known how to ease your worries, even when it’s not about him.

“I will always worry about you, Cheol. Always.”

A beat of silence stretches between you both, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. Then, you hear the door creak open and Mingyu’s voice drifting away as he leaves to give you both some privacy.

“Y/N—” Cheol starts, but you beat him to it.

“Cheol—” you both speak at the same time, then laugh awkwardly.

“Please let me? I’m the coward who didn’t have the guts to tell it to your face all these years, choosing instead to pour my heart out into bits of paper.”

“And I’m the dumb idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of me all this time, choosing to chase other men, when all I had ever wanted was under my nose. I named the artwork, you know. ‘The Pursuit of Love.’” You blink, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words. “Aching for a love that was always right there, and all I had to do was just accept that. It’s you, Cheol. I—”

“I love you,” he blurts out quickly, cutting you off. He looks sheepish as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry. I kinda had to say it before you did,” he says with a small, sheepish smile, dodging your playful hits on his uninjured shoulder.

“OW! Don’t hit the injured man!” He laughs, though it’s slightly strained.

“You are such a dork. And for the record, your shoulder seems fine. It can handle one or two beatings.”

There’s another awkward silence, one that feels comfortable despite the tension. You both sit there for a moment, not knowing quite how to move forward, but both knowing something has shifted.

“Come here?” He silently calls out, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He pats the space beside him on the bed, his eyes searching yours.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you,” you murmur, hesitant.

“Relax, you won’t. I should be good to go by tonight,” he lies, his voice trying to convince both you and himself. But you can tell that he’s not quite as okay as he wants you to think. Still, you slide down onto the edge of the bed, cautiously scooting closer until there’s a small space between you, enough to give him space .

Very slowly, you slide your hands up to his chest, travelling upward till you rest on his face. Curiously he leans a little forward, angling himself in a way that makes it easier for you to continue your ministrations across his body. His patience wears out after nearly ten seconds because he quickly cups your face and smashes his lips to your face, his naturally dominant self taking over, you gasping into his mouth with a sudden yelp. Urged on by your little mewls, his tongue takes over inhaling your every whimper and moan you were trying to speak out. All too soon,you give up, fully submitting to let him do whatever he wants with you, as he devours you wholly, in ways that make your brain turn into mush.

His hands descend down onto your fisted palms, that were clutching on the bed sheet, slowly unlocking them from their tight grip and instead slowly rubbing your knuckles in gradual touches. Not wanting to be upped by him, your hands quickly perch onto his hair grabbing a fistful of hair, eliciting a low grunt from his mouth, making you smirk in victory.

When you pull a little harder, Cheol understandingly pulls away, knowing your need for space, giving you a sliver of space to finally breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours.

You see his doe eyes watching your every move, like he couldn’t believe you were right there. But you also notice the slight lethargy in his gaze, a subtle sign that he could really use some rest. You know the nurses will come in any second, and you’re sure they’ll give you an earful about staying too long, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him just yet.

With a gentle hand on his chest—one he immediately grasps—you push him back down into the pillows, surprised when he falls back with the sudden shove.

“No,” he murmurs petulantly, his grip tightening as he tugs you down with him.

“Coupsie, there’s no space—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a small pout.

“I don’t care. We’ll make space,” he mutters, sticking his lower lip out like a child. His fingers wave at you, a silent plea for you to come closer.

You have no choice but to follow, falling into his arms as he pulls you in. His hands are warm and steady as he gently guides you into position, placing your head on his tricep like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You settle there, the softness of his arm the perfect pillow, as his chest rises and falls in rhythm with your own breaths.

“So,” Cheol starts, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as he looks down at you. “Was this kiss better than last time?”

You blink in disbelief, pulling back just slightly to stare at him, utterly confused. “Last time? Dude, this was my first kiss! Are you high?”

Cheol’s goofy smile only deepens, like he knew a hidden secret

“Remember when you were five and got us to play prince and princess?” he teases, the grin still plastered across his face.

“Yeah, when I had my first kiss and—wait, that was you?” The memory hits you like a ton of bricks, slowly coming back as Cheol continues to look at you, enjoying your turmoil.

“Aha,” he replies, smugly satisfied that he has finally cracked your mind open with that one detail.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, now almost feeling betrayed by your past self. “All my life, I believed Jeonghan was my first kiss, and he’d be my forever-first kiss!”

Cheol’s expression falters slightly, his eyes dropping as a soft sadness creeps into his voice. “This might sound stupid, but I wanted you to come to me. You had all these ideas about love, these superstitions about it—that it had to be your first kiss, or the guy who teased you, or the one who asked you to prom. You believed in love the way fate sets it up, like a fairy tale. And I wanted you to fall for me, not because it was meant to be, but because you wanted it to be.”

His words hit you hard, and you can feel the weight of everything he’s said. He continues, voice low and steady. “That day, a long time ago, I begged Jeonghan to let me kiss you. I wanted you to open your eyes and see me. But you opened them too soon, and all you saw was Jeonghan. All you pined for was him, after that kiss you thought you shared with him. Which, now, you know, was me all along.”

You hold your breath, the sudden clarity overwhelming you. He goes on, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “You had it in your head that he was going to be your husband after just one kiss. But I- I wanted you to see me. The things I’ve done for you. How I’ve always been there, showing you that it was me, loving you all these years. It took over two decades for you to finally see it. But you did, even if it came at the cost of me lying here, in this hospital bed, after surgery.”

Cheol chuckles bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s why Jeonghan’s been up my ass all this time. He knew from day one that I loved you, and he didn’t want to get in the way of it. Though it was a dick move to break up with you over a text,” he adds with a small wince.

You’re speechless, unable to find the right words to express how overwhelmed you feel, how everything suddenly makes sense. “I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“Say you love me,” Cheol jokes, his voice playful again, but there’s a vulnerability.

“I do love you, Cheol,” you confess, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. I can finally see it now. I can finally piece it all together. You were always there for me. The birthday where no one showed up, and a few years later, when you found out what Sally’s mom did, so you broke up with her. You punched Julian for me, ditched your date to be with me, and even broke up with Iseul after you almost kissed me—yes, Mingyu told me. All this time, everything you did was to show me you loved me.”

You’re rendered speechless by the look in his eyes, the deep love and warmth that radiates from him. This is the man who has watched you fall for so many others and stayed loyal to you. 

Cheol doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes glistening as they stay fixed on you. “Say it again” he softly demands

“Coupsie,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing those words for so long that I- I can’t believe you said them. Please, say it again.”

“I love you, Cheol,” you say, your voice a little steadier now.

Cheol’s face crumples at the sound of your words, and before you know it, tears are streaming down his face. He sniffles, clearly overwhelmed, and you see the moment his dam breaks. His tears flow freely, and he lets go of everything he’s been holding in for so long.

“Again,” he pleads, his voice trembling.

“Cheol, what—” you begin, but he interrupts.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you, feeling the weight of Cheol’s tears against your chest. This time, it’s your turn to hold him tight. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, letting him cry freely into you.

It feels strangely comforting to be the one providing the solace for him, after all the years he’s been the one to offer his shoulder for your tears. The roles have reversed, and yet it feels so natural, so right. You let him pour out all his emotions, feeling the quiet tremors in his body as he lets go of everything he’s held in for so long.

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ 

One day, long ago, sitting high on the roof of your house overlooking the town you grew up in, you wrote a few words in your journal to your future self about who you wished your future lover would be.

When you get back home, you can write to your younger self, letting her know that the man you love is none other than Choi Seungcheol. He surpasses all the expectations set by your aching heart.

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ 

A.N: I am gonna sleep now.. i'll wake up and fix the tags and edits out the space. this fic killed me

tagging : @skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee

teaser interactions @bobathi @sailorsoons

[gallusrostromegalus]

Random question, could you give some ideas on Irish names your family may have in the 1950-60s? I got a character with an Irish grandpa with 9 brothers and sisters (3 brothers and 6 sisters) and I only got the oldest sister name (soairse) and his name (Caine). I guess I could just name the rest some form of jack and Margret since those seem to be popular, but I wanted to see if there were some “interesting” names you found in your family tree that maybe one of the siblings got named after some ancestor?

Firstly for the sake of clarity: I'm American, not Irish. All of my ancestors for the last 4-5 generations have lived here, and while I like learning about the language/music/culture, I am absolutely not an expert. I HIGHLY recommend getting a sensitivity reader, I'm sure someone in the comments can wave at you if they're willing to take on the job.

Second, Triple-check the spelling, pronunciation, meaning and provenance of any names you do choose, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TRUST ANY BABY NAME WEBSITES, they're basically all AI slop at best. The best written-down lists and meanings are actually on Wikipedia.

Third: If you want to learn more Irish names, you can look up the names of like, any Irish musician or artist. I think spotify still has Genre Playlists, if you look up "Irish Folk" you'll get a shitload of names of Real Irish people- and hey, if Hirohiko Akari can name all his characters after 80's pop bands, you can make a subtle ref to modern musicians. Also you'll get a bunch of fun music! --- So while I was writing this, I somewhat departed from the intent of this response, and am putting the last point under a cut because the post got long. And weird.

So there is a thing in Irish-american families, and I think it's true in the British isles still where there are "Family Names", where the same set of first names is recycled over and over and over across generations. My dad's family has exactly three male names that they rotate through over the generations: Roy, Emmet and Jack*. In that order, where the son takes the father's first name as his middle name. My great-grandfather was Roy Jack Surname, my grandfather was Emmet Roy Surname, and my dad is Jack Emmet. My sister and I were AFAB, so the names skipped us and my male cousin in my generation is now Roy Jack. In the event that there are more than three living men with the same surname in the family, that's when they start reaching for the Given Names Of In-Laws We Like and might introduce a new name into the lineup.

*Names changed for privacy above and hereafter, but you get the idea.

So if any of your characters are descendants of that grandpa? They may share a first or middle name with one of his siblings. in fact, they may share the SAME first and middle name with a living relative, and be called "Junior" or "Young Firstname" to distinguish them from the relative they were named after.

My mom's family is from England and has a similar tradition: any new girl born into that family gets a name that is based on the name of one of her living female relatives, usually by sharing the same first letter or syllable. Elanor after Eloise, Vivian after Virginia, and also Jenny after Virgnia via 'Ginny' and every variation of Margret ever, which there are way more of than you'd think.

I cannot recommend doing what they did with Male names though: Name literally every boy Bob* for like five generations, and distinguish individuals by middle name (Bob-Howard and Bob-Benjamin) surname (Bob-Jones and Bob-Bailey) or Honorific (Captain Bob, Dr. Bob, Bob Jr.) when yelling out the kitchen window.

Most families have to good sense to not have the same name repeated in a generation, even if it has a shitload of nicknames. A mother and daughter might both be Margrets (with different nicknames), but two sisters or cousins wouldn't be.

If you've got in-laws you like, but their surname didn't carry over to their kids, you can also just use their surname as a first name! "Regan" is a first and last name, as are Riley and Bailey. This works out in some cases but not in others:

I have a pretty rare surname- last time I checked, there's only 14 people with it worldwide. It's similar to two other VERY COMMON Irish Surnames, but spelled different and from a different region. It's also Very Definitely A Surname- nobody would see my surname alone and think its a firstname.

Since I don't want to bandy it about, we'll pretend that it's "Breathnach", which has a similar vibe.

My Iowa family is Enormous and all descended from my Great-Aunt Lilyanne, Emmet-Roy's sister. Being a good catholic girl, Lillyanne took her husband's surname when she married, and most of her descendants still have that surname, and none have Breathnach.

After the last of my grandfathers grandchildren were born my Iowa family was sad- all but one of Emmet-Roy's grandchildren was female, and my male cousin has his father's surname. Assuming that we would all marry and take our spouses names, the Iowa family despaired that that the Breathnach name would die out!

So one of my second cousins decided that she would Carry On The Family Name, by giving it to the son she was carrying as a Firstname.

Yeah.

Being "Breathnach Surname" is bad enough, but this was compounded by the fact that the Iowa family's surname is Thomas.

YEAH.

My poor cousin Beathnach Thomas, who always has to re-do his paperwork because NOBODY ever puts the names in the correct boxes, who had his first name printed on every jersey he ever had because the uniform place went "that can't be right!", who cant buy his own beer because he's had so many drivers licenses confiscated because liquor store owners and bartenders think his ID is a fake, who has to not only spell his name to everyone he meets, but explain it too.

Then I made it worse.

I ran into cousin Beathnach in Bozeman, Montana quite by accident a few years ago, and while catching up, I mentioned that I was married.

"You know, it's a real hassle, but I'm kind of glad I've got the name I do. I'd heard you sister changed her name, and now with you married- I'd be sad to think we were running out of Breathnachs, you know?" he laughed.

I had to explain.

I married the most wonderful man in the world, who has an extremely common first and last name. Which was kind of a problem, because he shares it with some truly rotten people that always come up during background checks and he has have to explain he's not THAT asshole. It also sounds like and is only a letter or two off a lot of other very common names so his mail is constantly sent awry.

My husband will shortly abandon his too-common-for-comfort surname and become the newest Breathnach, taking the total to 15 (the paperwork takes a while).

...So the name lives on through us anyway, and poor cousin Breathnach Thomas went through all that for no reason. He got very quiet, got up from the table and walked outside to the veranda of the restaurant we were in to stare into the picturesque scenery for a while.

"Well, it's not like people change their first names..." he sighed, when he returned to the table.

"...You know how my sister changed her name? She only changed her first name. She's still a Breathnach." I explained quietly.

I've never seen a man look so haunted.

"I know lots of people who've changed their first names, actually. Mostly for transgender reasons, but a bunch because they just didn't like the one they were given." I added, because if he's going to get his world turned over, it's best to flip it all at once.

His brow furrowed at the ponderous speed of a continental collision, approaching the idea with caution. "...I'll have to think about it."

It's been about a year, but since then, I'll get a text from him every few weeks, auditioning a new given name. I do my best to be fair- I give him the meanings of those names, how they're likely to be misconstrued (some are tolerable annoyances, some pose a safety risk), and if he'd be sharing that name with anybody notable or troublesome. The first few were clearly based on Breathnach, but he began to branch out, and the trend of names has indicated that the idea of Naming Himself is causing my cousin to examine himself, and come to some Realizations (TM).

I realize I have gotten completely off-topic from your actual ask, but I urge you to really get into the nuance of nomencalture, because a name can tell a fascinating story.

[goldfades]

idk if sb alr requested this but hayes being an absolute mamas boy

does not let his dada touch mama at all

here's one more for yall!

Maisie’s house was bustling—full of laughter, chatter, and the occasional sound of a football game playing in the background. Everyone was enjoying themselves, catching up, snacking on appetizers.

Everyone except Hayes.

Hayes was plastered to your side, tiny arms wrapped around your neck like a little koala. He had no interest in the conversation, in his cousins, in anything except keeping full body contact with you at all times.

And the second anyone tried to talk to you?

Oh, Hayes had a problem with that.

"Y/N, oh my god, you have to try this dip—" Maisie started, only to be immediately interrupted.

"No!" Hayes huffed, tucking his face into your shoulder like he was shielding you from her.

Maisie blinked. "Excuse me?"

You sighed, rubbing Hayes’ back. "Baby, Aunt Maisie’s just talking to Mommy."

Hayes lifted his head, giving Maisie a hard stare before turning back to you with wide, innocent eyes. "Mama."

Maisie snorted. "Oh, okay. I see how it is."

Joe was already grinning from his spot on the couch, shaking his head as he took in the scene.

Then Jamie walked in. "Hey, Y/N, can you pass me that—"

"NO!"

Jamie froze, looking between you and your tiny, overly possessive child.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, confused.

"Hayes," Joe called out from across the room, barely holding back his amusement. "You do know Mommy is allowed to talk to other people, right?"

Hayes frowned at him before turning back to you, his little hands gripping your shirt tighter like you were about to be ripped away from him.

"Ma-ma," he whined, clearly done with all these distractions.

You sighed, kissing the top of his head. "I’m not going anywhere, baby."

That seemed to satisfy him—until Dan’s wife, Lily, sat beside you and smiled.

"Y/N, have you seen that show on Netflix? I was just—"

"No!"

Joe burst out laughing as Hayes physically turned your face away from Lily’s direction, effectively cutting off the conversation.

Lily raised a brow. "Are you serious?"

Joe wiped at his eyes. "He’s so serious right now."

Maisie shook her head, grinning. "God, I hope this never ends. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks."

But you were starting to get a little worried.

You tilted your head down at your son, who was nestled so firmly into you, it was like he was fused to your skin.

"Baby," you murmured gently. "Why don���t you go play with your cousins?"

Hayes shook his head violently, gripping you tighter. "No. Mama."

Joe, who had made his way over, crouched in front of you two. "Okay, buddy, I think it’s time to share."

Hayes glared at him.

Joe chuckled. "Okay, damn."

"You are in so much trouble," Maisie teased. "The minute she tries to leave for a girls' night? Disaster."

Lily nodded. "The first day of preschool? Catastrophe."

Jamie smirked. "Oh, and when he finds out you guys go on date nights without him?"

Joe winced. "Alright, enough."

But you were already imagining it, the meltdowns, the clinginess, the tantrums.

Still, as you rubbed slow circles into Hayes’ back, listening to his little content sighs, you couldn’t help but smile.

"Guess I’ve got another man in my life, huh?" you teased, glancing at Joe.

Joe groaned, shaking his head. "I don’t stand a chance."

And from the way Hayes smirked smugly into your neck, you knew Joe was right.

[sillysiluriforme]

Planes pass by overhead in a milky tea green sky direction Charle de gaul airport.

She hasn’t been grounded for this long in 4 years now, not since the hospital. She tries to think about Zoey and her grubby little hands. The way she looks up at her. Her babbling.

It’s all futile, her third sex-on-the beach has rendered her brain mushy and uncooperative. She used to hate being drunk. She still does, so it’s particularly perplexing she finds herself inebriated so often.

A pair of perfect manicured fingernails grazes her shoulder.

“Audreeeeeey…” comes Emilie’s pitch perfect practiced whine.

“I’m talking to you !” She ends her sentence on a higher note, indicating playfulness. Her bronze skin, dusted with crystals of pool droplets, sparkles in the light of the terrace- curtsy of her fresh perfect tan.

She furrows her brows through Audrey’s sunglasses. The green of her eyes is exacerbated, almost comical. Like the warning label on a bottle of helium.

“Whaddidyasay ?” The slurred words slither out of her mouth like drool. Why do people even drink ?

She puffs up her cheek and readjusts her hold on the sleeping toddler in her arms clover- Chloe. Chloe, after her mother in law- not that she’d ever met her- Some gold digging cover girl with a strong stomach and very little shame, from what she gathered.

Maybe that’s what her Andre wants for her at the end of the day. A well-to-do husband, some kids, a big house and as little shame as possible… he’s boring like that.

“ Here I was getting sentimental and you just ignore me, how could you be so cruel ?”

Chloe doesn’t stir in her arms, somehow, despite the brat normally sleeping as sleep as light as a feather. The mass of perfect honey colored curls go up and down as she photogenically lays her restful little head on Emilie’s chest. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose.

Audrey, working at half the speed she usually would, languidly blinks at her. No point in playing her verbal games. Emilie always wins.

She sighs with all the gusto of a mistress of the silver screen and repeats herself.

“I was saying I used to wish I had met you younger.”

“…” the congealed remains of her mostly-fruit-juice-cocktails have seeped into the crevices of her synapses, the coughing machine chugs along. “Why ?” She says flatly, without too much interest.

“I didn’t know you actually had curly hair till the day we all moved out, did I ever tell you that ?”

Audrey goes to push her sunglasses up her forehead almost pokes herself in the eye.

“What did you think I was doing when I woke up earlier than you everyday?”

The perfect hand lurches like a snake to grasp her arm, like otherwise she’d run off and miss hearing her out. “You’re missing the point.” Audrey’s eyes roll in their sockets from the snake to the grass-green eyes.

“You wouldn’t let me in, ever, not of your own will.” Her mouth curves down and her brows curve up. “It… hurt me.” Her voice wobbles in a controlled manner not unlike a prop laminated metal sheet. “My first friend- my best friend, trapping me at arm’s length… so during lectures I’d try to imagine you,”

“And me…” and there’s something she manages to catch for an instant. Something soft and fidgety held in her gaze. “As schoolgirls- sometimes even younger, already friends, shared secrets and make believe memories.”

And with a sharp snap it’s gone, cold and still forever. Emilie’s gaze rises past Audrey, as it often does when she goes on a tangent. Her fingers tangle in the little girl’s curls.

“I missed you, you know. It’s not the same without you here. Im so happy you’re home now.” Glossy pink lips plucker into a heart shaped smile. The perfect snake coils through perfect yellow swirls to unearth Chloe’s sun kissed forehead before planting her lips on the unmarked surface. The glittering pink stain stands alone like a flagpole in no man’s land.

Audrey’s foot catches the leg of her deckchair and narrowly misses eating shit on the sharp white tiles when she stands up. Emilie still reaches out like it’d help in any way.

“I want another glass.”

[ktownshizzle]

Nerd & Nerdier | Chapter 1

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, You might 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: None

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 15, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: I am quite nervous about this series if imma be really honest bec this the first time I am doing a BTS-SVT crossover fic, but basically Yoongi and Wonwoo are ruining my life so I need to cope, please be kind I literally do not know what I’m doing. All I know is I have written out a good chunk of this series and I promise it’ll be fun. :) Thanks Jae @angellekookie for being my first test subject. I hope you all enjoy!~

TAGLIST IS OPEN | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. That’s what you told yourself when you signed the lease, all bright-eyed optimism and naive faith in your ability to coexist peacefully with two quiet, low-maintenance roommates.

You were wrong.

Because Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo weren’t just introverts. They were weaponized introverts.

The kind that moved through life with an air of effortless detachment, as if emotions were things that happened to other people, not them. The kind that could sit in the same room in absolute silence for hours without any need to acknowledge each other’s existence. The kind that, despite their best efforts, were also painfully awkward. 

But that’s okay. In fact that’s part of their charm.

You think they’re both cool, if slightly nerdy. Yoongi was a music producer and Wonwoo was a game developer. They both have a penchant for photography, their cameras holding space in a special shelf in your living room. Yoongi liked cooking, Wonwoo liked reading. Both of them are passable singers, but you’ve heard them rap (under their breaths) to Epik High whenever you played their old songs, and both got flow, not gonna lie.

While Yoongi had the energy of a cat who tolerated your presence at best, Wonwoo had the aura of a ghost who wasn’t sure if he was haunting you or just existing in the same space by accident.

And despite your awkward first interactions, Yoongi eventually warmed up to you in the way one might warm up to a stray cat that kept showing up at their doorstep—begrudgingly, but with an unspoken fondness. Wonwoo, on the other hand, started making these tiny, barely noticeable gestures of consideration, like leaving the light on if you were out late or subtly pushing your favorite snacks to the front of the pantry because you were too short to reach them from the back.

And you, completely oblivious to the trouble brewing beneath the surface, assumed that was that. Roomies being roomies. 

What you didn’t realize was that somewhere between stolen bites of Yoongi’s late-night ramen while listening to his records and the post-work gaming sessions you have with Wonwoo while sharing popcorn, both boys had started to notice you in a way that was definitely not roommate-friendly and vice versa.

Roll the tape…

(01)

You weren’t even thinking when you snuck into the kitchen that night, mind set on one thing and one thing only: honey butter chips.

It wasn’t your fault that you finished your bag (Calbee puts some kind of crack in there, you swear), but you know someone else might still have a bag or two on the top shelf, if only you could rea—

“Tryna steal hyung’s stash again?”

You jumped, turning to see Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his glasses slightly askew and his hair falling over his eyes. The loose shirt he wore hung off his shoulders just right, and it suddenly struck you how broad those shoulders actually were.

“Fuck,” you whispered, heart still racing. “You scared me.”

As he walked over, you couldn’t help but notice how quietly he moved, almost like he was gliding. And when he reached past you to grab the snacks with ease, you caught the faint scent of his shampoo, something clean and subtle that made you a little dizzy.

“How’d you know these were what I wanted?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer. “You always reach for them first at the store,” he said, like it was obvious.

And maybe it was. 

He casually opened the bag with one clean twist, the foil crinkling in the quiet kitchen before handing it to you. Without a word, he reached in and popped a chip into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Then he smiled—small, lopsided, and so effortlessly boyish that it caught you off guard. You’d never realized how cute his smile was until now.

As he walked away, you stood there, clutching the bag of snacks to your chest as Wonwoo headed back to his room, leaving you alone in the kitchen with a weird fluttering in your stomach.

(02)

One night, sleep evaded you completely. Maybe it was the weight of the day, or maybe it was the sudden pang of missing your family that you couldn’t shake.

The faint sound of music led you to Yoongi’s room. You hovered at his door, unsure, until—

“Come in,” his low voice called out.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of his monitor. Yoongi sat at his desk, sleeves pushed up, fingers tapping rhythmically against his keyboard. You tried not to stare, but there was something unfairly attractive about how effortlessly cool he looked, even half-asleep.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Mmhm,” you admitted with a hum. “Just… missing home, I guess.”

Yoongi’s expression softened just slightly, enough for you to notice. “Mm. That shit sneaks up on you,” he muttered.

“Can I stay?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Somehow, it felt weird taking up space in his bed. So you sat on the floor instead, hugging your knees.

After a beat he joined you on the rug and he played a track for you. The music was soft, layered, and it made something inside you ache in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Like a happy memory…”

Yoongi chuckled softly. “Yah, don’t go emo on me now.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension in your chest eased a little.

At some point, your head found its way to his shoulder, your exhaustion catching up with you. Yoongi froze for half a second before leaning his head gently against yours.

Neither of you said anything when you stirred a few hours after.

Neither of you needed to.

Roommate Rule #1: Don’t Fall for Your Roommate(s). (Too Late)

Things like that kept happening. Quiet moments. Moments that weren’t meant to mean anything but lingered far longer than they should have. Little details you started noticing about them, that maybe you shouldn’t have.

The way Yoongi’s sleeves were always rolled up, revealing strong forearms that you had no business looking at for that long. The way Wonwoo’s glasses would slide down his nose when he was focused, and how you found yourself wanting to reach over and push them back up for him.

You pushed those thoughts aside. Because they’re your roommates.

But something had already shifted. You just hadn’t realized how much.

Which led to the current situation:

Yoongi, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you laugh at something Wonwoo just said. 

Wonwoo, sipping his coffee with a smug little tilt of his lips, aware that his hyung was watching and he’s thriving off it.

And you, completely unaware that you were the unintentional catalyst for an impending nerd war aka the royal roomie rumble aka the most awkward month of your life.

Are you even ready?

;)

A/N: How are we feeling????? I'm really excited about this series. (I know I have a million WIPS but pleaseee... this one has been HAUNTING my dreams)

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[witherby]

Ok ok hear me out.. fluttermouse but she’s angry…? Like yk how dick was an anger tween/teen. Yeah that’s how fluttermouse is, lol

Idk why but every time I read something about a young happy reader, I just imagine them as an angry teenager, that likes to party.

- from urs truly🌊

I'm tryna think about what reasons Flittermouse would have to be genuinely angry, aside from puberty shenanigans. I'm thinking there'd be some conflict amongst the family for their bad habits.

Dick: Gaslighting

He's a really busy guy. You get it! You know this! That's not the part that upsets you! What does upset you is when you finally lock him down to make plans to hang out with your oldest brother and he forgets about it, and when you call him out on that, pretends that there were never any plans to begin with.

Dick doesn't forget things! His mind is a steel trap! If he was supposed to take you to the movies or do some bonding with at a trampoline park, he would've remembered that! Don't get mad at him for things you never confirmed with him, Flitty! You're being irrational, there's always next time!

Tim: Overanalyzation

He's the smartest of your brothers, which you admire! He's also the worst person to talk to about anything you're stressing about!

Can't seem to understand the material you're learning in a class? Tim's gonna tell you that it was never your strong suit anyway. You're better off bribing the teacher for an A and focusing your efforts elsewhere. It's not like you need that skill, either; you're a Wayne, and money will get you the skills you don't have.

Crushing on a boy or girl that doesn't seem to know you exist? Tim's gonna tell you that your current emotional state reflects in poor taste and you'll get over this crush in a couple of months, so there's no sense dwelling on that person anyway.

He's not mean about your struggles, but he doesn't seem to understand that you can't just logic your way into moving on the way that he can.

Bruce + Hal: Time

Sometimes your dad just isn't around. He's Batman, of course his attention is divided between being a hero and being a father, but sometimes you just really fucking wish you could go knock on his door and ask for a hug, instead of crawling into his empty bed to snuggle a pillow instead. It's even worse with Hal, when a mission in space has him gone for months at a time and you miss him so terribly. They've missed a surprising amount of your achievements, moments you can't replicate or get back. At least they have the good graces to be just as upset about it as you are.

Damian: Interest

You love him a lot. You do! You love your whole family and you support their interests and jobs! They just don't necessarily support you back, including Damian.

If something doesn't interest him, he simply won't pay it any mind. When you take up roller skating, he tells you "that's nice" and then focuses instead on what he was currently doing. When you express a desire to try pottery, he puts in enough effort to tell you the best places to get supplies, then stops paying attention. When you deliberately get invested in a hobby he partakes in, he's 1000% down to talk your ear off about it, happy to partake in your shared love for that thing. It's very disheartening.

The only people you don't have significant issues with are Jason and Alfred. Alfred is always around, finding the time to be with you or give you a hug or listen to you vent your educational frustrations or take you somewhere if you ask him to. You try not to bother him too much, knowing his attention is similarly as divided as everyone else's, but he insists that you deserve to take up the same amount of time and space your family does, and will often seek you out himself if he knows you're trying to isolate.

And Jason doesn't let things fester, not like he used to before you came around, so if he senses you may be upset or discontent with him in any way, he's gonna make you talk it out with him and then do what he can to correct it. Some things can't be fixed, you both know that, but others can be improved upon. You don't like how lackadaisical he is with his injuries, so he puts a little extra padding in his armor and wears his helmet more than his half-mask. In turn, he doesn't like you going to Socialite events without any security, so you relent to keeping two guards around when one of your family members can't attend with you despite having the ability to protect yourself just fine.

All in all, your "angsty teen" years are pretty stressful, and do lead to a pretty big blow up at one point. It all works out eventually, though, because your family loves you just as much as you love them.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Flatbeds and Ice Cream

Summary: Tyler Owens x fe!Reader -> You have known Tyler for ten years and although your first meeting might not have been the most conventional, neither is the way you finally get together.

Disclaimer: Mostly lovable fluff, hint of angst (if any), mention of bull rider!Tyler, reader is a doctor, subtext of Tyler being an EMT, mention of cuts and bleeding. Reader patched Tyler up, Tyler patches Reader up. Soft kisses. Happy Valentines Day, people! Hope you enjoy this one ❤ Not Proof Read.

It was no secret that Tyler had been pining after you for years. Well, saying that. It was kind of a secret. From you, at least. 

But everyone else saw it. 

They saw it in the way he looked at you, in the way he spoke to you and how he was around you. He’d never taken anybody star gazing in the meadow he found when he was on his very first tour of Tornado Alley. He’d never sat up and waited for someone to get back from their date, even though he had no need to. And he’d never sat and listened to someone’s instructions when it came to being careful and having someone take care of him. 

For as long as you’d known Tyler, he’d always been reckless. Careful, but reckless nonetheless.

The first time you’d met him had been when he’d thrown himself in front of a bull to save your brother. 

They were on the circuit together. Whilst Tyler rode them, your brother looked after them. And they were good friends – your brother always talked about Tyler; how skilled he was, how charming he was with the girls and how smart he was, too, despite his head getting stomped on one too many times by a bull. 

Your first conversation with Tyler had been in the hospital. Your brother refused to leave his side. You couldn’t blame him. He’d saved his life. But that didn’t stop you from yelling at Tyler when you finally got introduced. Once you’d given your thanks and your brother had left the room for a moment, you yelled at him. 

“Go on. I can tell you’re dying to yell at me.”

You didn’t know whether to ask him how he knew or to just start yelling. “Believe me, I am more than grateful for you saving my brother but you are a complete idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Jumping in front of a bull like that?! You know you could have died, too?! You almost did! And what would have happened then? One casualty? Two? You know, that shared idiot of ours tells me a lot about you.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. He tells me you’re skilled at what you do.”

Tyler smiled, feeling pride in his chest. “Thanks-”

“He also says you’re smart. Too smart for just being a bull rider.”

“It’s a noble profession-”

“And it almost got you killed today. Not because you were riding, but because it decided it didn’t want to play anymore and started to fight back. More than just bucking a rider off. You’ve got a brain, Tyler. I suggest you use it before it’s too late.”

Tyler’s reaction stalled for a moment as you hiked your bag a little further up your shoulder before making your way towards the door. 

“Hey, hold on.” You paused by the door and looked back at Tyler. “Where do you think you get off with saying something like that to me?”

You sighed. “Tyler, as far as I’m aware, you and my brother are best friends.”

He nodded silently, waiting for an explanation. 

“That gives me full right to cuss him out and tell him the exact same thing if it was him in the hospital bed. And since you’re his best friend, it gives me full right to do the same with you.”

That same year, Tyler applied to college. 

Four years of education and years of chasing later, Tyler had his own rodeo team and every once in a while, you joined him. For the first few, your brother had joined him until he met a girl from Seattle in the middle of Tornado Alley. After that, he hung up his chasing hat and settled down with a comfortable job in her hometown. 

But you stayed on. 

“Don’t get hurt,” you called out over the radio as Dexter pulled into the side of the road and parked. 

“I promise.” Tyler’s voice rang back. 

And then they were off again. Like with every chase and every storm the Wrangler’s came across. Off roading, going seventy miles an hour across fields, in between wind turbines or wooden fences and wheat. By the time Tyler came back with the truck it was covered from top to bottom in dirt and wet grass. 

As he stepped out of his truck, you took a long look at him. If anyone didn’t know how either of you were with each other, they could have mistaken it for you checking him out. Which you were. But for more reasons than that he just looked like a greek god in a cowboy rodeo heaven. 

You were checking to see if he was okay. 

“You’re bleeding.”

Tyler laughed, “What?”

Pressing a light finger to the cut on the side of his head, he winced and you showed him. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m bleeding.”

“How did you do it?”

Tyler thought about it for a moment as you both fell into the similar movements of you guiding him away from his truck to sit down on the floor of the van as you grabbed your medical kit. Meanwhile, the others started tidying the equipment up before they’d sit down with you and Tyler in the parking lot. 

“There was a gust and the truck door closed. It hit me but I didn’t think it hit that hard.”

He did. He felt it. But he didn’t know it was bleeding. 

Standing in between his legs, his fingers deftly fidgeting with the fabric of your trousers, your concentration remained on him and getting the cut cleaned and sealed. You moved his chin with your fingers and his head followed your movements. 

“This might sting.”

It did.

He didn’t hide it very well. 

“Sorry,” you apologised, blowing a little light air onto it to stop the momentary burning sensation. 

Meanwhile, across the lot, Boone was watching both of you. 

“Do you think they’ll ever do anything about it?”

Lily turned and looked in his direction. Tyler’s eyes were fixed on you as you took careful consideration with helping fix his cuts. 

“Don’t talk about it. I’ve been trying to get them together for years.”

“Man, Tyler is sooo in love with her.”

Lily looked over even though she didn’t need to, to know it was true. Tyler looked at you in a way Lily had never seen a man look at a woman before. There was more than just trust and respect there. There was also something more than just ‘love’. The word ‘love’ seemed too simple for the bond that you and Tyler had. 

Maybe ‘soulmates’ or ‘twin flames’ were better descriptions. 

She’d seen it between you both since day one of meeting you. She met Tyler maybe a year earlier and they were fast friends but something she picked up on, even before she came to know Tyler as her family, was that Tyler had someone. 

He had a connection with someone in his life, unlike any other. 

Of course, it wasn’t until she met you that she realised who that was with. The sole reason why no other romantic relationship – no matter how perfect the girl Lily seemed to find – did not work. 

She was never you. 

And it didn’t take long for confirmation from Tyler considering he couldn’t hide his feelings from his face whenever he looked at you. But he was convinced that you never felt the same because you were like that with everyone. 

And he was right. To an extent. 

When Lily got pelted with hail that hard it cut her skin, you patched her up. You made her swear to be careful and you patched her up. But you never looked at her like how you looked at Tyler. When Boone did a back-flip and landed wrong, you cussed him for being an idiot and helped patch him up. You never stood in between his legs or looked at him like how you looked at Tyler. 

It was all in the subtle differences with how you treated everyone else compared to Tyler. 

With Tyler, there was almost something more intimate about the whole thing. Because even when you stood in between Javi’s legs when his sunglasses scared his nose, there was nothing seemingly romantic about the ordeal. 

But you and Tyler…

That was something magical. 

“Do you think there’s anything we can do to, you know, push it along? They’re killin’ me.”

Lily laughed and Boone helped her up onto the back of the truck. “I’ve got a few ideas but so far they’ve not exactly gone to plan.”

“I say just leave them to it.” Dani said as she rounded the back of the truck. “Best to leave it to fate. When it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.”

“I agree. If we push them together too soon, it could backfire.”

“They’ve known each other over a decade.” Kate said, leaning onto the flatbed. “How much longer can it be?”

“We could always parent trap them?” Javi offered. 

But Lily shook her head. “I tried that but they just figured out a way to get out together.”

Kate looked at her. “So, when I saw them climbing out of the motel storage closet two months ago…that was because of you?”

“Guilty.”

They all looked back to the oblivious couple. 

“Maybe it’s just timing.”

Boone sighed. “If they don’t get together soon, we’ve gotta do something about it.”

As they watched the couple, they realised Boone was right. 

“Well, what’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

“You should be okay, now.”

Tyler smiled and went to touch his wound. “Thanks, Doc.”

You slapped his hand away and it instantly dropped. “Don’t touch it. And, you’re welcome.”

Tyler watched you for a moment or two. Something seemed off. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

You looked at him as you packed the rest of the supplies away, but it was only brief. To anyone else, making eye contact when saying a statement like that might actually mean you were ‘fine’. But Tyler didn’t believe it for a second. 

He’d known you too long. He knew all of your tells. 

“No, you’re not.”

For a moment, your guard dropped and your gaze shot to him. How the hell did he know? You already knew how. It was Tyler. He could read you like a book. When he actually read the secret book on you, you’d never know. All you knew was that you shouldn’t have been shocked that out of everyone, he was the one to notice. 

Better yet, he was the one to not ask his question again, but rather tell you the truth you didn’t want to admit to yourself. 

“What is it?”

You remained silent, packed up the rest of your things and stepped up and behind him into the van. And he followed suit. 

“Y/n, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Ty. I promise.”

Tyler clicked his tongue as he leaned against the small kitchen side. “There you go, breaking rule number two.”

“Rule number two?”

“Never lie.” Tyler told you. 

“Since when do we have rules?” 

“Uh, since you gave me a set of them ten years ago. This goes both ways, Sweetheart. If I have to live by them, so do you.”

“Well,” you had to think on your feet. “You broke rule number one. Don’t get hurt. Seems we’re even.”

You went to move past him, to run away from the conversation but slightly sticking his arm out, he stopped you. And, feeling his eyes on you, you looked at him. 

“Talk to me,” Tyler’s voice was quiet. Soft. Like he was trying not to startle you. “Please.”

If you looked at him any longer, you’d cave. Those green eyes of his always had some kind of magical power over you. So you shook your head and forced yourself to look away. 

“It’s nothing.” Then you stepped back a little. “I better go and check on the others.”

Tyler let you go, but he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Something was up and you were hurting. And he needed to find out why. 

Tyler’s eyes rarely left you over the next day and a half. You kept your eye on his wound, but when you cleaned it, that’s the only place you looked. You didn’t sneak a look at him like you usually did when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. You barely said two words to him. 

He’d asked Dani and Dexter if they knew anything about what had happened to you, but even they didn’t know. They knew you’d been quiet for the last couple of days, but other than that you seemed okay. 

It was as the sun started its descent in the sky that you got a knock on your motel door. Everyone had either gone for a nap or a shower, so you didn’t fully know who to expect. But once you opened your door, it was no surprise. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Tyler smiled. “Are you busy?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Why?”

“I’m gonna go for a drive, want to come with me?”

You were silent for a moment, trying to decide between saying ‘yes’ and ‘no’. On one hand, you’d love to join him. On the other, you knew within the first ten minutes of the drive, Tyler would know everything about what you weren’t telling him just by your silence. 

Tyler could see the contemplation washing over your face. “Let me rephrase? I’m going for a drive, and I want you to come with me.”

Looking into his eyes, you felt your internal battle melt away. 

“We need to talk.”

Internally, you sighed. You couldn’t avoid him forever. 

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“I’ll be by the truck.”

Two minutes later, you walked down the metal steps as you zipped up your jacket in the slow breeze that passed through the peaceful silence of the motel. Tyler stood by the passenger door, waiting to open it for you and close it behind you. 

Then he rounded the front before he pulled himself into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the lot and headed down the backroads. 

Usually, the radio would be playing on some kind of country station and the silence wouldn’t even be noticed between yourself and Tyler. But he wanted to talk. You both needed to talk. 

“Where are we headed?”

“Thought we could get some ice cream.” 

You smiled. Ever since Boone had mentioned it in the morning, you’d had a craving for it. 

After a few more minutes of silence, you plucked up the courage to ask. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Tyler looked at you, back at the road and back to you with a sigh. “Please remember we’re going for ice cream.”

“Okay.”

“And that I’m driving.”

You were getting a little worried. 

“Okay?”

“I called your brother.” You just stared at Tyler, waiting for him to continue. “He told me what happened.”

You searched Tyler’s face for any hint of a lie. He’d said that once before, just to get you to admit it outloud to him. He hadn’t called your brother and he hadn’t known what had happened. 

But this time he did. 

“Tyler…”

“Something was up with you and I knew you weren’t going to tell me. I wasn’t gonna take any chances.”

You sat back in your seat. “You could have just asked me.”

“Would you have told me?”

You were quiet. “Eventually.”

“Y/n,” Tyler sighed. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else.”

“It’s my job.”

He shook his head. “It’s more than that. You spend so much time making sure everyone else is okay, making sure we’re not hurt or dying or slipping off the edge of the world. You deserve not to get hurt, too.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Your voice seemed like something it never was. 

Small.

You didn’t know whether to look out of the window or at your hands. But Tyler brought your gaze back to him anyway by taking hold of your hand from where he sat. 

“I know I can’t change what happened, but I’m here if you wanna talk. Or scream. Or cry. Or bitch about it.” That part made you smile and he gave you a light smile in return. “For as long as you need.”

For the first time in a few weeks, you felt normal again for a moment. “Thanks.”

Looking at Tyler, his hand still firmly in yours, you watched as he looked from you, back to the road. 

Even when you were younger, you could have watched him forever trying to commit him to memory. Each line and curve of his face, the length of his lashes, the colour of his hair…all of it. You’d looked at the man for just over a decade. Maybe it was some innate fear of losing him, or maybe it was the fact that the first time you met him was when he charged in front of a bull and got flipped into the air like a rag-doll. 

But you wanted to make sure he was there. 

One thing that you were certain of was that, no matter what, you’d never forget his eyes. The way they bore into your soul unlike anything else. Tyler knew what you were thinking and feeling with one single gaze on your face. 

Nobody else could do that. 

Nobody. 

Just him. 

Just Tyler. 

Pulling into a semi empty parking lot, Tyler switched off the engine and looked over at you. Then you both made your way inside. Grabbing a basket, you and Tyler stocked up on different flavours of ice cream for both yourself and the others before heading towards the check out. 

Finally, once you’d come outside, there were barely any cars in the entire lot but the way the sun was setting, sending a golden hue over everything it touched, made it seem a lot more peaceful than just empty. 

“Wanna stay here for a while?”

“Here? Here here?”

Tyler smiled as he lifted the back of his flat bed down and hopped up into it. You tried to deny yourself of the fact that you checked him out as he did so. 

“Yes, here. Or have you got somewhere better to be?”

You could hear the smile in his voice. 

“What about the ice cream?”

Tyler gave a casual shrug before he lifted it up. “I’ve got a cooler. They’ll keep for a while.”

You looked around you. There was no hurry in getting back. Everyone would probably still be napping. 

“Okay then.”

As Tyler dropped the bag into the cooler, he walked over to you and gave you a hand up before you held onto his arm for stability. 

“You okay?”

“All good.”

As you sat down, Tyler went back to the cooler and pulled out your chosen flavour of the day, as well as his before handing you a clean spoon from the small side pocket of the cooler. 

Then he joined you. 

With the sun warm on your bodies, the pair of you sat on the edge of Tyler’s flatbed, your legs swinging free. 

“So, what did our shared idiot have to say? Is he and the girls okay?”

Tyler nodded. “Melenie’s on a girls weekend away for her friend’s bachelorette party, so he’s trying to keep the girls busy before they call their mom. He also said that Caroline has now decided she wants to become a vet instead of a princess equestrian horse ballet dancer.”

You smiled with a small laugh. 

“And Zoey has taken to teaching her dad how to cook a meal that does not include pasta or cheese.”

You looked at Tyler. “Is that why I got a text asking what a bechamel is?”

Tyler nodded with a small laugh. “She found a recipe for Lasagna to help him dip his toe in the water. She’s just like you, you know.”

“What? Bossy? Stubborn? Too smart for her own good?”

“Clever.” 

You looked at Tyler again. 

Then he shrugged. “Bossy, too. But clever.”

You smiled, taking the compliment, even if you did roll your eyes at his agreement of you being called ‘bossy’. 

A small chuckle escaped you. “She has been running rings around those two for years. I’m expecting Caroline will be doing the same soon enough.”

“Soon enough? She already does! You know, last time I went to see them she had your brother learning how to sow pink sequins onto tu-tu fabric.”

“But he doesn’t know how to use a needle. I’m pretty sure I banned him from using one when he was sixteen and tried to sow his socks back together. It ended up looking like he had webbed feet.”

Tyler laughed. “Well, he’s gotten better at least. I had to give him a helping hand, but by the end of the night she was doing pirouettes around the garden until she got dizzy.”

You smiled. You saw your brother, sister-in-law and nieces as often as you could. You had a facetime call with them at least once a week. Your niece Zoey had even taken to writing your letters since she was practicing to earn her pen license in school. 

The conversation flowed from there. From your nieces, to Tyler’s family, to the Wranglers, to work, to the prediction of a few more EF-1s and 2s in the area in the coming days and then back to ice cream. 

Until Dani called and asked you and Tyler to pick some food up on your way back from wherever you both were. 

“Come on, we better go.”

As you took Tyler’s tub back to the cooler along with your own, he hopped down to the ground and waited for you. And from there, after the initial awkward moment, Tyler reached to your hips before slowly lowering you down until your feet hit the concrete directly in front of him. 

For a moment, the world seemed to disappear around you. 

Feeling Tyler’s fingers against the waistband of your shorts holding you steady, you felt yourself lean forward. With your eyes trailing up from his chest where your hands had fallen from his shoulders, all the way up to where his eyes moved from the lower half of your face to meet your gaze, a question popped into your mind. Well, a few questions. 

Did he feel the same?

Was he…did he want to kiss you, too?

Before you could get your answers, however, Tyler’s phone rang out loud. And the moment seemed to roll away as you and Tyler realised what was happening and stepped away from each other. 

“It’s…it’s Dexter.”

You nodded and stepped away. “I’ll wait in the truck.”

As Tyler watched you walk away, looking back at him every once in a while, he cursed himself for leaving his phone on loud. 

Looking down at the contact, he swiped to answer and scuffed his boots on the concrete as he cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Ty. Uh, I’m picking up a reading.”

Sitting in the truck, you looked at your reflection. The heat you could feel on your cheeks was clearly writing across your face. You could only pray Tyler thought it was from the sun and not from the twister of butterflies inside of you. 

From the rearview mirror, you watched him scurry around, grabbing a pen and a scrap piece of paper to scribble something down. Then he hung up and rushed towards the driver’s seat. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Get your seatbelt on.” Tyler told you as he pulled his own on and started the truck up. 

“Ty, what’s going on-”

“Dexter’s picked up some cells. We’re twenty minutes away. Fifteen if we hurry.”

The noise of his engine seemed to get louder until it joined in with the sound of the incoming sirens. 

You could both see it in the distance, gathering more track as it got closer. First it ripped through a baseball park for the kids, then the field and park beside it before heading towards the markets in the town. 

“The shelters are all full!”

You looked around you, as did Tyler. “The bar! They’ll have a cellar!”

The wind continued to pick up around you both, everyone’s voice becoming silent in comparison to the chaos around you all. 

Then you saw one of the tents take flight. 

“Tyler!”

He couldn’t hear you. 

“Tyler!”

He heard you as you forced yourself closer, but before he could react, you pulled him down just before the tent swooped lower and took your both out. Rolling along the ground, the tent cover ripped away and went sailing through the air and down the street along with the metal stand. 

“Are you okay?”

Tyler was above you, checking you over. But you just nodded and your attention turned towards the end of the street. 

“We need to get inside.”

With Tyler’s help, you stood up and pulled yourself into the bar before he closed the door and directed you towards the cellar. As the door to the cellar closed behind you, a sharp pain came to the side of your head. 

“Come on, down here. We’ll be safe here.”

Tyler slotted you between the wall and himself, his arms wrapping around you securely. Every now and again, people let out small screams. More so when the tornado ripped through the town and battered against the cellar door. 

You gripped onto Tyler’s arm and clothes a little tighter, burying your head into his chest. Then you felt his arm reach from your back to your head, holding you against him, his cheek resting against the top of your head. 

Slowly, the wind disappeared and the battering of the door came to a stop. The only noises that could be heard in the cellar were people’s gasps and heavy breathing as they looked around as the swinging headlamp above them. 

“Do you think it’s over?”

“Maybe.” 

Tyler looked up and helped you up from where you stood. The stinging on your head seemed to get worse as you stood up and the blurry image of Tyler reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean square of fabric. 

You hissed.

“Sorry. Just keep pressure. You’re bleeding.”

For a moment you tried to look at it then realised you couldn’t. 

“I’ve got a med kit in my truck. Hopefully it’s still there.”

Eventually, you all got back outside. Boone, Dani and Kate appeared from across the street, a sea of people behind them. 

“Can you hold down the fort?” Tyler asked Lily. “I want to make sure Y/n’s okay.”

“Yeah, ‘course. We’ve got her med kit with us if you don’t have yours.”

Tyler nodded and thanked her before moving back to the sidewalk, his hand coming to your shoulder. “Come on, let's go and patch you up.”

Finding Tyler’s truck, he slotted the back of the flatbed down and lifted you onto the back. 

“I’m gonna grab my kit. It’s on the backseat.”

You just nodded, keeping the eye closest to the cut shut. Tyler disappeared for a moment but once he was back in front of you, he was a little less blurry. 

“Okay, let me take a look at this.”

“Are you okay?”

Tyler laughed a little as he examined your wound. “You’re the one bleeding here, Sweetheart. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Tyler chuckled. “Well,” he examined the wound further before reaching for the cotton swabs and cleaning solution. “It’s either me or another paramedic-”

“You.”

Tyler smiled. “Glad to know I’m a fan favourite.”

Then with a small warning, he started to clean the cut on your head. You hissed, lifting your hand to his other arm. 

“Sorry, I’ll be finished soon. I promise.” Tyler said as his thumb gently rubbed your cheek as it rested in his hand. 

“It’s okay. I trust you.”

Tyler smiled a little. “Am I still a fan favourite?”

The stinging settled and you moved back towards him and the cotton swab. “More than a favourite, but I might be biassed.”

You seemed to have shocked yourself but Tyler didn’t seem to react. Too much, at least. Maybe he hadn’t heard you. 

With little tape pieces, Tyler pinched your cut together before laying them across it. 

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

Tyler smiled, “I’m keeping my eye on you, but you should live.”

“Ah,” you smiled. “The three little words every woman wants to hear.” 

For a moment, it looked like Tyler was going to say something but then he turned back to his med bag. “We should probably head back. See if anyone needs our help.”

“You’re right.”

And you both did exactly that. 

The night sky had fully settled across the town by the time you and Tyler started helping out. And by the time you all got back to the motel, the moon was at its peak. Everyone headed for bed the moment you all got back. 

Except for you. 

Twenty minutes later, you stepped out of the shower for the second time that day, your hair wrapped in a towel as you got dressed into a spare set of clean clothes. 

Then there was a familiar knock on your door as you flipped your head over and pulled the towel from around your hair. 

“It’s open, Ty!”

“How did you know it was me?”

You gave him a tired smile. “I know your knock. Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to check on you.” He lifted his med bag from beside him. You nodded and he shut the door behind him before he walked across the carpet floor and sat beside you on your bed. 

With his fingers gently holding your head, he examined your wound. “How are you feeling?”

“The dizziness is gone and I can see you clearly again, so that’s something.”

Tyler smiled. 

“I am a doctor, Tyler. I do know what I’m doing.”

“I know.” Tyler nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to check up on you. You deserve to be taken care of, too.”

You smiled and gave him a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Well, it seems clean.”

“I did just have a shower.”

Tyler chuckled, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “Right. Well, you look okay. I mean, you always look okay. Beautiful, actually. But-”

“Ty.”

“What I mean is- it’s just that- your wound looks okay.” Tyler finally looked at you calmly again, his hand coming to your wound to let his thumb brush the wet strands of your hair away from it. 

“You always look beautiful.”

You felt yourself lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment until you heard his voice. Then your eyes met his. 

But no phone rang this time. 

No knock came to the door. 

Neither of you were trying to avoid the other. 

As his hand slipped through the strands of your hair, your hand reached out for his arm and you moved closer. Finally, his lips met yours in a tender kiss. It was soft then…searching. His hand that you’d reach for pulled you closer until he held you flush against him, your own hands reaching for his side as well as his jaw. 

With the kiss floating to an end, you felt Tyler’s nose nuzzle against yours, your eyes still closed as his forehead came to touch yours. 

Then you finally opened your eyes when you felt Tyler pull away for a moment. He was looking at you, that ridiculously endearing smile on his face as he looked at you and once again brushed the hair from your face. 

Then you felt yourself giggle. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing…just…I never thought this would happen.”

“Are you glad it did?” Tyler felt his heart trying to prepare itself for the worst. 

But you smiled. “I am…are you?”

Tyler felt a wave of relief wash over him. “If you only knew how long I’d been thinking about it…”

“Is that a yes?”

Tyler nodded. “That’s a yes.”

“So…if I asked you to kiss me again, would you say yes?”

“Yes.” Tyler leaned closer. “I’d say ‘yes’.”

Kissing you once again, your fate was tied with Tyler. A day where Tyler didn’t kiss you good morning, good night or just for no reason at all would never come into being. 

[bluesturngold]

google announced this at a developer conference back in november 2024 as one of two 'security focused' system apps they were gonna add to the android system

the reason they did it this way is because android is different from iOS in a way that has historically been troublesome: google makes android and a lot of key android system apps, but they don't make all android devices.

by installing apps that add new functionality via the google play store, they can add features without having to rely on the phone's manufacturer or a cell carrier pushing an update, which is useful given manufacturers and cell carriers have mixed track records with regards to updating in a timely manner (if they do at all).

the two new apps work with android phones running as far back as android version 9. given android is beta testing OS version 16 right now, this was the best method to make sure the feature made its way onto those old devices.

to my knowledge, i believe the app install should respect your play store install settings, so if you have everything set to manual updates it should show up in the queue of downloads... but also i could've sworn that's how my stuff was set, maybe i hit download all and wasn't paying attention, or maybe it did it in the background, idk. i totally understand why people think it's sketchy, especially since a lot of users don't realize android is full of system apps that only appear in the app list under settings when you enable viewing system applications, which is why this doesn't show up in the normal app drawer.

now that the rationale is out of the way, here's google's explanation of the setting the app is made to facilitate and how it does so:

Sensitive Content Warnings is an optional feature that blurs images that may contain nudity before viewing, and then prompts with a “speed bump” that contains help-finding resources and options, including to view the content. When the feature is enabled, and an image that may contain nudity is about to be sent or forwarded, it also provides a speed bump to remind users of the risks of sending nude imagery and preventing accidental shares. All of this happens on-device to protect your privacy and keep end-to-end encrypted message content private to only sender and recipient. Sensitive Content Warnings doesn’t allow Google access to the contents of your images, nor does Google know that nudity may have been detected. This feature is opt-in for adults, managed via Android Settings, and is opt-out for users under 18 years of age. Sensitive Content Warnings will be rolling out to Android 9+ devices including Android Go devices with Google Messages in the coming months. Source: https://security.googleblog.com/2024/10/5-new-protections-on-google-messages.html

i have a recent google pixel phone and use the google message app for texting, so the app was automatically installed on my phone.

after seeing this post and doing more research, i went ahead and uninstalled the app as i do not intend to use the feature it facilitates.

if the app re-installs itself later, which seems likely at some point, then i plan to find the setting for the feature it facilitates and make sure it's set to 'off' the way google says it should be for adult users. then, i'll use an internet traffic monitoring app like glasswire to turn off its internet access just to be safe.)

-

the other app google installed without telling you is called Android System Key Verified, and i am gonna go ahead and suggest you leave that one on your device just in case:

To help you avoid sophisticated messaging threats where an attacker tries to impersonate one of your contacts, we’re working to add a contact verifying feature to Android. This new feature will allow you to verify your contacts' public keys so you can confirm you’re communicating with the person you intend to message. We’re creating a unified system for public key verification across different apps, which you can verify through QR code scanning or number comparison.

i use RCS chats with end-to-end encryption via google messages, and while odds are very low someone's going to try and hit me with a contact spoofing attack pretending to be one of the few people i text, it's better to be safe than sorry imo. especially if other messaging apps decide to integrate the functionality later.

if you've read this far i have a question for you... sound off in the replies or tags... is anyone still out here sending nudes via text message in 2025?

i think it's been over a decade since i got texted a nude. everybody's on some kind of messaging app now i feel like

hey folks if you have an android phone: google shadow installed a "security app".

I had to go and delete it myself this morning.

[elodieunderglass]

Your jockeyposting has enthralled me (certified non-horse girl) and made me curious—how much familiarity do jockeys have with the horses they’re riding? Is it normal for a given horse to have a Long Term Jockey or are the jockeys like. Called up a week before and asked to race a horse they’ve never met? (& interested to hear any Killy lore related to this)

Thank you so much! (In reference to Killie the jockey OC and random posting about horse racing more generally.)

In general, racehorses never have a long-term or even a repeat jockey, and vice-versa! Jockeys usually aren’t familiar with the horses at all.

There are three main situations where they might be, though; if they’re retained, if they’re nepo babies generational and have a trainer in the family, or if they’re amateurs having fun. So with apologies for making a really long post, I’ve structured this as a writing reference.

Retained Jockeys

Killie’s a retained jockey for a stable (very unusual - not many jockeys are good enough, and not many stables have the resource to employ one) and he and Thunder share an especially eccentric owner who likes to watch them paired up.

And hey, if we were unbelievably ultra-rich people with no moral compass, “putting Killie and Thunder in a jar and shaking them together, briskly, to see what happens” would be a fairly legitimate hobby.

I’m not an expert or personally involved in the industry, so if you were thinking of doing some writing in the setting yourself, a starting point for a retained jockey’s life is this “day in the life” video, of champion flat jockey William Buick, TW for discussion of weight.

Generational

Jockeys may handle horses as family businesses. In real life, “racing dynasties” are influential. A very lucky jockey, retiring in middle age with piles of winnings, often wishes to become a trainer; especially prosperous ones buy a stable operation, move in their family, use their reputation and connections to get owners to send them horses, and start chucking their own children on the horses as a source of labour. The children grow up, stick around home, and naturally keep getting chucked on horses for their day job. Next thing you know, you have a lot of grandkids and horses around the place, so you might as well keep going with it. Everyone pretty much lives at Grandad’s stable together, and then you get cousins scuffling on the day job like this:

That’s how Killie grew up, as the result of several generations of jockeys becoming trainers producing jockeys. but moving to a retained post was both a) the only logical move if it’s offered, and b) an escape from his parents, who are astonishingly awful. and if you are that kind of nepo baby, like Killie, it makes so much sense to flee the country (move to the uk and constantly pretend you’ve just dropped your phone in a horse’s water bucket, glubglubglub, BYE MA.)

Press “keep reading” for the amateurs and then what everyone else is doing.

Generational steeplechase jockey Jonjo O’Neill Jr does a day in his life here. he knows the horses and is doing admin, management and stable work … at his family’s massive operation.

Amateurs

Finally, in the UK, you can ride as an amateur jockey - usually in types of lowkey local steeplechases, like “point to point” - and basically anyone can do this. horse racing is fun, but you need a license to do it with other people, and the license remains incompatible with owning a registered racehorse. So technically your best friend could share a horse with you, in all but paperwork, and they could be the trainer and you could be the amateur jockey, and you could wrangle your way into actual races with a horse that you knew. It wouldn’t work very well as a day job (the horse would only race like 2x a month, netting you like £300 a month out of your friend’s pocket, plus the absurd costs of transporting/entering everyone) but if you were writing a crazy story in which some good friends and their pet racehorse decide to make it rich, that’s how you could do it.

Everyone else

Everyone else (including generational jockeys whose grandfathers didn’t have the foresight to establish a proper dynasty) just scrabbles around.

Most races aren’t high-stakes! There are a lot of basic boring races every day. (though, if you ask jockeys, there is apparently never quite enough work.)

horses might live at the stable of their owner but more commonly their trainer (some owners are both).

Jockeys cannot own racehorses themselves.

In the UK racecourses are randomly scattered around the country, usually hours away from each other. They all usually have several races every day.

Jockeys in the UK are paid £157.90 for Flat jockeys and £214.63 for jumps riders per race. They get this flat rate for everyone, whether they’re experienced or not! Their expenses are fairly high, and as freelancers they have to cover them all. The real attraction pay-wise is that they get a “cut of the purse” (percentage of prize money) if they win first, second or third place in a race. It’s a small percentage that they have to share with their agent, but there are sometimes some super-big stakes, where you can earn your year’s wages all at once.

Of course, you need to be piloting a pretty good horse in a high-stakes race to have a shot at that.

jockeys are a rare professional athlete that work every day, and they want (but are never guaranteed to get) a few rides every day. This usually means travelling across the UK constantly every day.

Racehorses usually only race once a week or less. They definitely don’t “work” as often! Their schedules rarely match up to jockeys. Driving them around the place is also a huge pain.

Jockeys live all over, and most of them are known to spend several times more hours driving between jobs than they ever spend sitting on horses. They get up very early each day, often “riding out” (doing early morning horse exercise) for trainers before hitting the road, often driving for several hours between races. This has been flagged in many sports medicine papers as one of their many wellbeing risks.

At any rate, with hundreds of jockeys travelling randomly around the country, getting injured and suspended and with stats fluctuating constantly, trainers work through agents to book jockeys - often not getting the one they want.

There are also considerations like trainer suddenly deciding they want to get a different (better) rider instead, leading to the one they booked getting “jocked off”.

All of everyone’s stats, from horses to jockeys, are publicly available, and everyone can study them obsessively. Trainers will request jockeys who have attractive stats - that’s not just “winning” stats, but weight/strategy/experience that might match the horse (+ terrain + conditions, etc). In their turn, jockeys with better options may turn down an offer of a horse with terrible form (I.e. a big loser, or a dangerous animal, or one that looks incredibly dodgy in race videos.)

Often trainers try to get the same jockey for their horse, but in all this chaos it’s not always possible, and everyone has to constantly pursue their own best interests.

Particularly winning jockeys and particularly influential trainers may gradually come together in working relationships, and as a horse gradually emerges as a favourite and the stakes rise, you’ll start to see it working more often with the same people. For example, in the Grand National, the jockeys will probably know the horses.

In conclusion, it’s common for the first time the jockey touches the horse to be when they’re thrown on top of it, prior to the race.

They get around this by studying form (race statistics), watching videos of the horse, and of course speaking to the trainer about their desires/instructions/strategy.

OKAY that is the MOST information that I could possibly have given!! I don’t know why I know all this!!! Thanks!!

[starconstruction]

The Best "Friend"

Gahyun x Male Reader (Smut)

Pure indulgence piece, no real plot, no real description. Written entirely on a whim

No smut tags, nothing super gross, wanted to try this writing style.

Word Count:904

Not proof read.

You and Gahyun were "just friends" to everyone else in college. The kind of friends who bickered in class, engaging in lengthy arguments whenever time allowed.

You and Gahyun were also "just friends" to each other. The kind of friends who have one of them on the dining room chair, pants off as the other one gobbled their "friends" needy cock.

Gahyun was always so sloppy, licking up and down your length greedily. Her lips were divine, sucking the life out of you as you moaned.

Gahyun was always such a good "friend", kissing your balls as she stroked your shaft with an intense desire, wringing out your semen as you shot all over her fingers, she brought them to her mouth and licked them clean, like good "friends" do.

You and Gahyun were such great "friends", sitting down eating lunch, sharing a meal as you two smiled. Gossiping through your free periods, people jealous of the combined chemistry you two shared.

You and Gahyun were even greater "friends" when it was the weekend, you coming over to her home as she invited you upstairs. Gahyun gave you a meal, her panties laid discarded on the ground as your tongue writhed in her crotch, lapping up her slick as you feasted on her cunt. Her moans as you ate her meal, you liked to play with your food. Two fingers thrusting into her needy bottom lips as it greedy swallowed you. She came undone as you lapped up her sweet nectar.

You and Gahyun were model "friends", fingers intertwined as you laid against the school gate. Watching the students who played sports, enjoying your shared platonic company. The brisk winter air unbothering you two as your bodies pressed together. Others frequently talked about your friendship, suspecting a potential relationship. Given you two were practically conjoined at the hip.

You and Gahyun were model "friends", your fingers intertwined as you thrusted your cock into her warmth cavern, her bottom lips greedily drooling juice into the sheets. She always moaned loudly as you pounded her into no tomorrow. Rubbing her clit vigorously as she screamed "I love you!" You two were conjoined at the hip as your cream shot into her awaiting body.

You and Gahyun were always so good at comforting stress, rubbing her back as the coursework stacked up, an endless pile of paper that never seemed to cease. But you two always got through it, no matter how many tears came out.

You and Gahyun always had ways of dealing with each others stress, take right now for example. Rubbing her asscheeks as you gave light smacks, tonguing her asshole as she grinded on you. Stress melting away from the pleasure you gave her, an endless assault from her "friend" that never ceased. Her eyes pricked with many tears as she came her brains out, feeling way better than before.

You and Gahyun were the archetype all couples tried to reach, no matter how many times you two insisted you were just "friends", how you bought her flowers and chocolate for valentines. You just felt bad she had nobody to celebrate with! That's why.

You and Gahyun were the archetype all couples tried to reach, passionately making out on the couch as you fucked her slowly, melding together as you enjoyed each others embrace. You couldn't leave for too long, as your cock immediately slammed back. Desperate for her, just like you were desperate for her sweet sugary lip gloss, coating your lips with it as you pulled out. Coating her lips with a different kind of substance which was equally glossy.

You and Gahyun were great to reference if you needed to embrace the unknown, you two both going to a fitness class neither of you had seen before, stretching your bodies in new ways, coming out happy as you two shared another friendly moment.

You and Gahyun loved to embrace the unknown, her delicate asshole lubed up as you pressed slowly into her, taking a new level of stamina to not immediately cum inside her tight ass, almost painful for you as it rejected your throbbing length. Stretching her body in a new way, thrusting into her like a rabid animal as you used her for all your needs. You two came happy as you two shared another "friendly" moment.

Sometimes, you and Gahyun had moments that didn't have a public presence, like right now. As you sniffed her feet, full of salty sweat that pierced your nose. But friends help other friends, licking her soles as you diligently cleaned the hard day of work away, slobbering over her toes as you did what she requested. Leaving them shining in your hard work.

That's not to say your "friendship" was onesided, Gahyun was very good at helping you out. Her nipple in your mouth as you sucked your anxiety away, her lube covered hand stroking your cock as you enjoyed her sweet skin. Throbbing in her hand as you came over her.

You and Gahyun were perfect friends. Hugging each other as you two watched movies in the library, a sandwich of bodies with no filling.

You and Gahyun were perfect friends, her tits hugging your cock as you watched her needy eyes, desperately waiting for your thick load. A sandwich of flesh, this time with a filling. Her tongue flicked your mushroom tip, invoking a powerful shock wave as you got cum all over her tongue, lips, face and her hair.

You and Gahyun were sleeping in your bed, her body nestled comfortably in yours as you two embraced each other. Are you sure you were just friends?

[jaijeijayjei]

Why am I just now seeing this!

In the video Toks explains it was not the intention to make Mel ableist towards Viktor or manipulative towards Jayce, and that she sees her as a moral person who wants to do what’s best for others, even in difficult situations

Addendum:

Why am I posting this when I’ve said in the past that VA’s words are not absolute canon?

In this case, Toks is emphasizing that it was not the show’s intention to portray Mel this way. It’s reasonable to say that as her VA it’s unlikely that her perception of Mel (moral, caring, inclusive) would contradict what the writers wanted her character to convey. She states that she wasn’t aware of Mel being perceived as ableist and manipulative at all until this point.

In other cases, such as when Toks is explaining her thoughts on Jvk, she is sharing her own opinion on the show. She is not making a claim that her interpretation is what was intended by the writers.

Additionally, while I still stand by my statement that VA’s words are not objectively true just because they worked on the show, Toks’ interpretation of Mel resonates with me and I am glad that she shares my thoughts on her.

She addresses the fact that people are free to put together their arguments for why they disagree, and perhaps they could point out flaws in the writing or in the delivery, but she stresses that is not the intent behind Mel’s character.

This is important because many negative criticisms of Mel are written with the assumption that she was purposefully made to be a morally dubious character when that isn’t the case.

And so, I accept this as legitimate evidence that my interpretation of Mel is backed by canon.

Addendum to addendum:

I am a little disappointed this is my first time hearing about this interview, when the interview of Toks saying she likes Jvk and her posting fan art are brought up so often. I get that Jvk has a large fan base therefore more ppl who get excited over stuff like that. But I’m still dismayed because I think Mel is one of the most under appreciated and misunderstood characters on the show, and the fact that I didn’t come across this interview for months even as an avid Mel fan testifies to that.

[chosenofyffre]

^ This.

I'm one of those who needs engagement to stay motivated to share my writing. And these days I get a handful of kudos at best, and maybe a single comment every now and then. I stopped writing for a whole damn year because engagement was so dismal. I thought that since so many readers couldn't be bothered to give my fics a chance, let alone kudos or comment when they did read, I didn't feel like making the effort to post anything.

It honestly makes me so happy to get comments that I try to stay positive to keep people from being "scared" to comment. But it's not anything I do or don't do that causes this, it's fandom and its fic readers changing the way things work. We went from a fandom of support and cooperation and collaborative fun to some sort of competition to "consume" things that inevitably favors those who are already popular or get popular through having a lot of friends, and hurts those of us who, for reasons largely outside of our control, don't catch the eyes of most readers.

It fucking sucks to be one of the ones getting ignored. Even in the heydays of my old fandoms, I was never all that popular, but it was nowhere near this demoralizingly bad. And I don't know how to change it, or to get more readers to engage.

Anyway, I have nothing to lose so I'm just gonna link my AO3 accounts here.

My main with all my fandom fic: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrigal_nights

My origfic: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruit_holic

A shout out to all the writers out there who don’t make the rec lists or have all the buzz or get all the traffic and attention or kudos. Your work is still valuable and appreciated and loved, and without you and your fics, fandom would be so much poorer.

Keep on writing and creating and sharing your works. You have an audience who loves you.

[revelboo]

Finally managed to catch up with Everything is alright and damn, it sure is one hell of a ride! Poor reader really can't catch a breath Also, as someone who struggle with reading fics bc english isn't my first language and it ask way more focus, I really love your way of writing, makes it way easier to follow! I read a lot of your others texts to and I really love your writing, thank you so much for all of this!

Thank you! I tend to write in a stream of conscious style rather than proper sentence structures- basically I write how my brain thinks. Aside from tense and that physical descriptions and details aren’t really more than broad strokes, this is how I normally write.

Thank y’all for all the Valentine’s Day messages, I got a bit overwhelmed with them 🤣

Everything Is Alright Pt 133

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• You’d fallen asleep tangled in him at some point since he wasn’t willing to release your connection with his spark just yet. The fact that you trust him enough to rest in his arms while you’re so vulnerable aching sweetly in his spark. Monitoring you, sifting through your light and warmth again and again. Hunting. Until he finds what he’s looking for. So much tinier than Starscream’s new spark had been when he’d discovered it, just a pinpoint of light nestled within you. Remembers the frantic way you’d evaded him when he’d tried to fully bond you the first time, not even knowing you were sparked at the time, but still instinctively trying to protect Starscream’s new spark. Crooning shakily, he tucks you more firmly against his frame as he wraps himself more firmly around your light.

• Letting himself back into his habsuite, Megatron scowls. “You know I meant for you to talk it out, not frag in my berth,” he mutters, watching Soundwave shift slightly, tucking you more under him as you make a sleepy sound. That protective gesture making his spark ache as he pointedly doesn’t react and sits on the berth near the two of you. Venting when he realizes you’re sleeping, arms tucked against yourself as Soundwave’s grin tightens. “Did you spark our little mate?” Still feels so strange to call you his. To make that claim on a human. Never would have imagined he’d be in a situation like this. Wants to despise you for what you’d done to him even if it had been an accident, but can’t even manage that. He’d reached out to you, tried to save you.

• Our. Cupping the back of your head when you bury your face against his neck, he has to remind himself that he trusts Megatron. Always has. Had hung all his hopes for a better future on the shoulders of that angry gladiator. Sacrificed so much to follow him. But this is different. Has the overwhelming urge to tuck you inside his cassette compartment and just keep you there. Safe under his protection. “Yes,” he makes himself say. Doesn’t want to share you with Starscream or Megatron, not while you’re sparked with his young.

• “You’re not going to apologize for dragging me into this mess, are you, old friend?” Something about the way Soundwave is holding you is so intimate it makes his spark ache. What would he be like if you were sparked with his young? Would he allow either of the other two anywhere near you? “I’m not going to play carrier for your sparkling, too,” he adds, feeling so tired. And he doesn’t even know if you only passed the spark to him because you were in distress and scared for your sparkling, or if that’s going to happen every time. Has no idea what to expect since you’re organic.

• Rubbing his chin against the top of your head, Soundwave croons to you. Feeling guilty since he’d been pushing you and Megatron together, trying to bind you together for your safety. Still playing the long game, positioning pieces how he wants them. Manipulating. He’s always done what was necessary, but now he’s no longer sure if he’s doing what’s best for the cause, for his people, or just what he wants. A family. A different future. “Angry?” He asks, trying to ignore that faint whisper of unease at being so small. Aware of the warlord watching him, expression calculating before his optics narrow, shaking his head.

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