#not mad just a little confused I think you'd have better reach if you just did it urself honestly

[camellcat]

for that other anon, if they haven’t read it yet i recommend body language by explosionshark on ao3

I hope you see this other anon, bc I've a been sent a message for you. makes me feel a bit like a carrier pigeon or some such. you lot trading little letters through my inbox. smut, no less. it's not even my thing but y'know it looks really good! I read a little bit of it I think you shall like it fuffy anon. fuffy girlies in general. if my opinions matters at all. for I am only the messenger, of course

[sparklingchim]

lwh oc distracting jungkook while he’s working out or boxing 😋😗😉

word count: 1.1k

warnings: jelly n possessive koo 😋, spit !!, blowjob, titty fuck, dirty talk, boob-obsessed jk obv, cum play, cum eating, the initial necklace makes a comback !

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"20 minutes ago, you said you'd be done in five minutes."

Your huffed complaint barely reaches Jungkook's ears as he continues to throw punches at the heavy bag in front of him.

You're sitting cross-legged next to him, pulling at his shorts to pull his attention towards you.

"Just five more minutes, baby." He casts a quick glance at you before focusing on his training again.

"I'm boored."

Your fingers trail to his drawstrings. You pull at them without Jungkook noticing. His black Calvin's peek out and your inital idea to just annoy him morphs into something more impish.

Your fingertips slowly brush over the front of his joggers.

Jungkook’s little grunts from above come to a halt when he peers down at you, brows pulled together in confusion. He tilts his head to the side when you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile.

“Baby.” Jungkook’s chest rises with every heavy breath, his skin shimmering with sweat. “What are you doing?”

“Relax for a bit, Koo,” you say softly. Hand cupping him through the fabric. “This is only making you angrier.” Batting your eyelashes you ask, “What’s got you so mad, hm?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, eyes closed as you squeeze him.

You can’t shake the feeling that Jungkook is still holding onto some tension from last night’s Christmas gathering. While having dinner with friends and hitting up a bar, you couldn’t ignore Jungkook’s upset pout on his face, the lingering glances with his doe eyes and his subtly possessive hands always reaching for you.

And all that just because he was jealous of Taehyung. It’s been ages since you last saw Taehyung, your former high school boyfriend, and there was a lot to catch up on. Jungkook pretended it didn’t bother him, but his façade crumbled easily – just like now, with his tense jaw and clenched hands in white wraps, still staunchly denying any reason for his anger.

“I’m a much better distraction than punching a stupid bag, don’t you think?” You pull his joggers and briefs down in one motion and crawl on your knees in front of him. Your mouth closes around his tip and Jungkook shudders.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You sure no one will come here?” you ask, stroking his cock with your hand.

“It’s been closed for hours.” Jungkook gathers your hair in his fist. “I wouldn’t let anyone see you like this. But we can go to the office if you don’t feel comfortable here.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter around his cock. You take him deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his hard dick. Your eyes sting with tears when his tip reaches the back of your throat. Jungkook curses, holding your head in that position.

“So cute,” he mutters. His thumb brushes over the little tear in the corner of your eye. He moves his hips back a little before he pushes his cock further down your throat again. “Damn, baby. Taking my cock so well.”

You heave for air once he’s all the way out, hands unconsciously squeezing his muscular thighs. Jungkook strokes his cock in leisurely movements. You dip your head and gently suck on his balls. His head falls back, plush mouth parted to utter soft moans.

You feel Jungkook tugging on your pullover. “Lemme see your tits,” he urges.

Your tongue sweeps from his balls across his cock till you give him a little kiss on the tip. A lovestruck smile settles on his face, growing even bigger when he sees your naked tits.

He bends forward to squeeze the supple flesh in his hands, rolling them around in his palms. His tongue pokes his cheek, a hungry look creeping into his eyes.

“Wanna fuck them,” he says.

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, raising a little on your knees.

Jungkook spits down on his cock, rubbing it all over himself. He teases your puckered nipples with his tip, pulling a couple whines from you. You let a droplet of spit trail down on the valley between your tits and he catches it with his cock, rubbing spreading the bit of lubrication on your skin.

You press your boobs against his cock. A shaky breath slips Jungkook’s mouth and moves his hips in needy motions.

“Fuck, I love fucking your tits,” he rasps. His eyes travel over the dainty necklace around your throat, a sparkly J moving along his thrusts. “All mine.” He cups your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“You always want me, right? Always gonna be mine.”

“Uh-huh. Always.”

“Good girl.”

Your tummy tingles and you smile up at him.

Jungkook lubricates his cock with more saliva “Tits are so soft,” he whispers. “Gonna cum all over them.” His grunts turn louder as he gets closer to cumming.

He looks so pretty above you with his chiselled chest glistening, cheeks tinted in a rosy colour and his doe eyes looking down at you with lust and adoration.

“’m so close.” His hips stagger and you feel his cum shooting over your chest. Jungkook slows down, watching his cum paint over your boobs with drowsy eyes. “Fuck,” he moans, palming his cock and squeezing out the last bits.

“Feeling better now?” you ask, blinking up at him.

“So much better.” He runs the tip of his cock over his cum, smearing it across your tits. Gathering a bit of cum on his cock, he holds it in front of your mouth. You lick the cum off his tip and swallow it.

“Next time when we’re hanging out with Taehyung you don’t have to get jealous,” you tell Jungkook as you stand up.

His gaze is fixed on your cum-covered boobs before he casts his eyes up, an offended frown contorting his face.

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“No?” You raise your brows. “Your hands just naturally were all over me when I talked to Tae?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

You giggle. “Stop being silly.” You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tip toes. “You’re the only one I want,” you whisper and give him a soft kiss.

“I know.” Jungkook’s fingers skim over your back. “Just need to hear it more often.” He plants another sweet kiss on your lips.

Jungkook’s phone starts ringing.

“Time to pick up Nabi!” you exclaim, eyes sparkling.

Jungkook grins, pulling up his sweatpants and briefs.

“Lemme get some tissues for you first.”

“You think Nabi was a bit mean to Namjoon again?” you ask.

“Oh, she loves annoying him.”

[buckgasms]

Bucky with a reader who reads smutty books?

She's perfected a straight face reading technique for when she's sat in public reading filth. Bucky thinks she reads innocent shit like fairy tales or soemthing so he buys her books like that (she loves his effort but finds them so boring that they live perminantley on the shelf in their living room).

One day she leaves the book open in the living room while she pops to the toilet and he picks it up to see what all the fuss is about. She comes back to him blushing like mad on the sofa reading the smuttiest smut of all smut and looking up at her like 😳 "this your sorta thing huh?" And while he isn't jealous that she reads that he finds it strange that she hid it from him. He asks her to show him what she finds so hot about it and they get to baby making ;)

-🐰

Hey 🐰! Hope you've been ok?

Yes I like this very much. I'm picturing a sort of Avengers Bucky boyfriend because we know what happens when Daddy finds Princess' smutty book 🫣

I imagine the confusion starts because all the covers have various fairytale-esque pictures. You'd just need to look a bit closer to realise they were slightly off!

When he asks why you didn't mention it, you just ramble about how you didn't want to be weird and if he thought it was too kinky or whatever you were happy to just keep it to yourself.

He just tuts, flipping through the pages and reads the bit you just were. I'm imagining it's a red riding hood book where the big bad wolf is eating her, but just in a very different way.

"Wow. He's really working on her there huh? And you keep a straight face when you're reading this stuff?"

You giggle and nod but he keeps flicking through and you sense that perhaps he's a little miffed about something. So you crawl over and climb into his lap, throwing the book to one side.

"Are you mad about my book Bucky?" You say softly, running your hands over his chest and rolling your hips gently.

He grunts a little and can't resist holding on to your hips and squeezing gently at your waist.

"No" he pouts, "just wish you woulda told me you like that stuff... Coulda been doing...." He peters off but you can't let that slide.

"Wait, could have been doing what Bucky? You wanna be my big bad wolf?" You grip his face and lean down to kiss him, not missing the way his hips push upwards, enjoying the way his fingers stroke down your neck and move to grip your waist.

"I dunno, what is it you want me to do?"

You sit back on his lap and grab the book, flicking through as he massages little circles on your hips.

"Well I guess in this one... He chases her a little, and rips her dress off.... Oh and there's a bit where he pins her down and yknow...licks at her..."

You look up from the book and see Bucky staring at you with a devilish look in his eyes.

"Well then little red, you better get running..."

You giggle but he pulls you in closer and whispers in your ear, "or I'll fuck ya right here..." Before scraping his teeth across your soft skin.

You squeal as you leap from his lap and pelt down the corridor to the lift that will take you to your floor. You see him coming round the corner as you make it, slamming on the 'close door' button as he approaches, a big grin on his face.

You sigh as the doors slide shut and then you have the agonising wait to reach your floor. It's only a few floors down, but you wonder how long it will take him to catch up.

Before you have much time then doors slide open and the corridor is eerily quiet. You can't hear any sound other than the low hum of the lift.

You tentatively step out and make to run to your shared apartment with Bucky. You get a few steps to the door when you feel a metal hand grip your mouth and a strong arm wrap around your waist, holding you tight.

"Gotcha..."

📚

He ripped your dress to pieces and pinned you down on the floor, barely making it into the apartment before he was dragging your heat to his face and devouring you. All you could do was cling to the rug as he sucked, nibbled and licked at your sensitive folds.

He carries his prize to the bedroom and puts you on your knees, ass in the air and places your book in front of you.

"Read it. Out loud..."

You flush furiously as you hear his zipper being pulled down and the mattress dip as he settles behind you.

As you begin to read his cock is dragged along your pussy, teasing you and torturing you as you struggle to read.

"Buckkky..." You whine as he presses his leaking tip just a little inside, but he stops and lands so swats onto your ass.

"Come on babygirl, I wanna know what happens. I'm pretty invested in the plotline now yknow..."

You pant and moan but manage to keep reading, describing how the wolf/man fucks the heroine, claiming her body as his, biting and bruising her delicate body. His big cock stretching her wide, hitting parts that no one has been able to before.

The book falls from your grip as he pounds into you. It was a bit of a head rush to have your incredibly hot boyfriend enacting smut and you let out a long, happy moan as he pulls you upwards, spearing his cock deeper, hitting more sensitive places with unrelenting lust.

"Oh my god Bucky.... Please, can I come please?"

He growls in your ear and uses his metal hand to grip your throat, squeezing slightly making your eyes roll. You cling onto the cool metal for dear life, as you crash into your peak, screaming out for him.

You both fall forward, Bucky managing to prop himself up to avoid squishing you, but as your walls continue to flutter around him, he can't hold himself any longer and falls down on top of you.

You giggle and wiggle until you have him resting on your chest, fingers running through his hair as he presses kisses to your soft skin.

📚

Omg imagine if this happened 🫣 also I may need to go back to writing ABO stuff because 🤤

[thedensworld]

Fortune Teller Confession | C.HS

Pairing: BandMemberHansol! x reader (ft. Best friend Soonyoung)

Genre: fluff, angst, friend to lover au!

Summary: No confession—no gig success. His logic-driven mind convinces him that it’s a harmless choice to make a confession over a fortune teller words, not realizing the emotional weight it carries.

Hansol watched as you walked out of the classroom, a little too quickly for his liking. You didn’t glance back, didn’t slow down, and didn’t even pause when Soonyoung called your name with a hopeful grin. Next to him, Soonyoung's face twisted into a pout.

“Again?” Soonyoung muttered, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “She didn’t even look at me.” He sighed like it was a personal betrayal.

Hansol frowned, his gaze lingering on the door you’d just left through. It wasn’t like you to avoid them — at least, not for this long. He tried to think back to the last time he’d had a proper conversation with you.

Five days ago?

A week?

It felt longer. Your schedule had been packed lately, full of classes, projects, and other commitments. But even when you were busy, you'd at least send a nod or a small wave. Lately, though, it felt like you were actively avoiding them.

Soonyoung tilted his head toward Hansol as they started walking down the corridor toward the campus cafeteria. “Tell me honestly,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “did you do something to her?”

Hansol shot him a confused look. “Why do you think it was me?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Soonyoung shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because it’s definitely not me. I would never make her mad.”

“Oh, right, because you’re a saint,” Hansol muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Not a saint, but I know how to keep my friends happy,” Soonyoung quipped, tapping his temple like he had it all figured out. “You, on the other hand, are... well…” He paused for dramatic effect, giving Hansol a once-over. “...an obnoxious person. So you wouldn’t even realize if you hurt somebody’s feelings.”

Hansol stopped walking. “That’s way too much to say to a friend,” he said, his brows pulling together in disbelief.

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” Soonyoung raised his hands in surrender, clearly not looking for a fight. He patted Hansol on the back. “But, you know, I’m just saying — think about it.”

Hansol didn’t respond, but the words lingered like an itch in the back of his mind. Had he done something? If he had, wouldn’t you have told him?

They reached the cafeteria and got in line to order food. As they waited, the familiar noise of clattering trays, snippets of conversations, and the faint hum of a pop song filled the air.

Soonyoung glanced at Hansol while tapping his fingers against the counter. “How’s the gig prep going?” he asked. “You nervous?”

Hansol glanced up at him. “of course,” he admitted. “I feel like if I’m nervous, it means I’m doing something right.”

“Hmm, I guess that’s true,” Soonyoung said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Sometimes, being a little nervous is good. Like when I apologized to my sister.”

Hansol raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “You actually apologized to her? You?” he asked, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Soonyoung said, waving him off as if it wasn’t a big deal. He grabbed his food tray from the counter. “It was tough, but I’m glad I did it.”

Hansol tilted his head, still grinning. “Did something change between you two?”

Soonyoung nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of rice before answering. “Yeah, things are better now. I stopped getting ‘the glare’ every time I walked past her room.” He swallowed, then leaned in slightly, as if letting Hansol in on a secret. “I’m telling you, it’s because I listened to the fortune teller.”

Two weeks ago, Soonyoung had dragged Hansol to the hottest fortune teller near the campus gate. It wasn’t entirely random — their friend Jun had given the place a glowing five-star review, swearing that he got a girlfriend after following every bit of advice the fortune teller had given him.

“Bro, five stars,” Jun had said, eyes wide with conviction. “I did exactly what she said, and boom — I’m dating Yejin now.”

That was all the motivation Soonyoung needed. As the self-proclaimed “saddest single person in the world,” he decided it was finally time to seek help from the mystical forces of fate. Whether it was for entertainment or genuine desperation, Hansol wasn’t sure. But somehow, Soonyoung managed to drag him along.

The fortune teller’s place was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of incense. Strings of beads framed the doorway, and the glow of warm, golden light made everything feel surreal. The fortune teller, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a silk scarf tied around her head, welcomed them like she had been expecting them all day.

Soonyoung, full of energy, sat forward like a student ready to ace an exam. Hansol, on the other hand, leaned back, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with mild amusement.

After a short reading, the fortune teller told Soonyoung, “Your relationship with your sister is the mirror of your relationship with women.”

That got Soonyoung’s attention. He sat up straighter, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

“You must mend that relationship,” she continued, eyes never leaving his. “If you do, the reflection will change, and so will your luck.”

She handed him three steps to repair the bond with his sister, each one oddly specific. Hansol didn’t remember all of them, but one was definitely “buy her something without expecting anything in return.”

Now, two weeks later, Soonyoung was beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“As you know,” Soonyoung said, eyes glinting with excitement as he jabbed his chopsticks toward Hansol, “Mina from the Broadcasting major actually replied to my DM. No one ever does that.”

Hansol glanced up from his tray, raising a brow in surprise. “No way.”

“Yes way!” Soonyoung grinned, pointing at himself. “I’m telling you, man, the fortune teller knows her stuff.”

Hansol couldn’t hold back his laughter, shaking his head as a small chuckle slipped out. “That’s actually amazing, bro. I’m happy for you.”

“Right? Right?” Soonyoung beamed, clearly riding the high of his "success." But then his eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on Hansol. “Wait. What about you?”

Hansol blinked, confused. “What about me?”

“You,” Soonyoung said, eyes sharp with suspicion. “Have you done that yet?”

Right after Soonyoung’s session ended, the fortune teller had stopped them just as they were about to leave. Her gaze had locked on Hansol like she could see straight through him.

“Wait,” she had said, tilting her head as if something invisible had just come into focus. “You have something unresolved too.”

Hansol had paused mid-step, frowning as he glanced at her. “Me?”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “There’s a blockage in your energy,” she said, her voice calm but certain. “It’s tied to your music career.”

That had caught his attention.

“Soon, you will stand in front of a large crowd of people,” she continued, her hands hovering over her cards. “But something will go wrong — a technical malfunction, perhaps.” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “If you want to avoid it, you must remove the blockage.”

Hansol raised an eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

The fortune teller’s lips curled into a small smile. “Confess,” she said simply. “You must confess your feelings to the person you like.”

Soonyoung’s gasp was so loud it could have shattered glass. His head whipped toward Hansol, eyes wide with unfiltered shock and excitement. “YOU LIKE SOMEONE?!” he whisper-shouted, like it was the biggest secret in the world.

Hansol shot him a glare, his face twisting in disbelief. “I don’t.”

“Then why is she telling you to confess?” Soonyoung said, practically bouncing in place. He squinted at Hansol, leaning in with all the intensity of a detective interrogating a suspect. “Who is it? Who do you like?”

Hansol waved him off, already walking toward the door. “I don’t like anyone,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “She’s just making stuff up.”

“Pffft,” Soonyoung scoffed, trotting after him. “Fortune tellers don’t just ‘make stuff up.'" He jabbed at Hansol’s side with his elbow. “Come on, just admit it. You’ve been holding out on me this whole time, huh? I told you everything, Hansol. My crushes, my heartbreaks, the time I accidentally liked my crush’s old selfie from 2018 at 3 a.m. — I shared it all.”

“Yeah, and I’m still trying to forget that story,” Hansol shot back, his lips twitching with a grin.

“Don’t deflect,” Soonyoung said, eyes narrowing in fake seriousness. “If you like someone, you have to tell me. That’s the bro code.”

“I. Don’t. Like. Anyone,” Hansol said, emphasizing every word with a jab of his finger. “The fortune teller’s wrong.”

“Mm-hmm,” Soonyoung hummed, still unconvinced. He tilted his head, giving Hansol a knowing look. “You’re being awfully defensive for someone with nothing to hide.”

Hansol clicked his tongue, exasperated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial.” Soonyoung smirked, stuffing a spoonful of rice into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Hansol.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clatter of trays and the murmur of students around them. Hansol chewed slowly, gaze fixed on the table. His mind wandered back to the fortune teller’s words.

"Confess if you want to open the blockage."

It was silly. Ridiculous, even. He didn’t like anyone. There was no one in his life that made his heart race or made him feel unsteady. No one.

“But she did say your performance would be affected,” Soonyoung pointed out, his voice serious for once.

Hansol let out a long, heavy sigh, his fingers drumming against the table. His logical mind told him the fortune teller’s words were nonsense — just vague predictions designed to mess with people’s heads. But somewhere, tucked in a quiet corner of his mind, a small voice whispered that maybe he shouldn’t ignore it. Not when the band had poured weeks of effort into preparing for the gig.

“Do you really think my energy is that important to the band?” Hansol muttered, tilting his head back against the chair. “There’s five of us. It’s not like I’m carrying the whole thing on my back.”

Soonyoung squinted, deep in thought. “That’s an interesting point,” he admitted. “But you’re the leader.” He stabbed his spoon into his rice like it emphasized his point. “That’s probably why.”

Hansol groaned, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t want the performance to be disappointing,” he muttered, his fingers gripping at the strands like he could pull the stress right out of his head.

“Then just do what she said,” Soonyoung said with a shrug, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I told you, I don’t like anyone,” Hansol shot back, voice firm but tinged with doubt.

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a slow, knowing pout. He leaned forward, squinting at Hansol like he was inspecting him under a microscope. “You’re getting way too worked up for someone who doesn’t like anyone,” he said, pointing at Hansol with his chopsticks.

“I don’t,” Hansol repeated, but the way his eyes darted away made Soonyoung's grin grow wider.

“Uh-huh.” Soonyoung dragged out the sound, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hansol rubbed his temples, clearly done with the conversation. He’d argue, but he knew Soonyoung had a way of turning everything into a game he couldn’t win.

“Then just confess to anyone,” Soonyoung suggested, half-joking. “Boom, problem solved. No blockage, no bad energy, just vibes.” He snorted at his own ridiculous idea. “Actually, wait, that’s a terrible idea. Don’t do that.”

But Hansol froze. His eyes widened, and his hands slowly lowered from his hair. He stared at Soonyoung like he’d just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“That’s…” Hansol said, eyes narrowing as his face shifted from confusion to excitement. He pointed both hands at Soonyoung, grinning like a kid who just figured out how to cheat a board game. “That’s actually a fantastic idea!”

Soonyoung’s whole face scrunched in horror. “No, it’s not, bro!” He shoved his tray to the side, waving his hands like he could physically erase the idea from existence. “Take it back! Forget I said it!”

But it was too late. Hansol's mind was already racing, the gears turning at lightning speed. “All I have to do is confess to someone,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table with renewed energy. “It doesn’t matter who, right? I just have to confess and the performance will go smoothly.” His eyes gleamed with confidence. “That’s it. Easy.”

Soonyoung's eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route. “No, no, no! I shouldn’t have said that.” He shook his head, panic growing in his voice. “You’re taking it too literally, man.”

But Hansol wasn’t listening anymore. He was already planning. His foot tapped against the floor, and he rubbed his hands together like he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Okay, okay. Casual confession,” he muttered to himself, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “No pressure, no drama, just simple and clean. I can do that.”

Soonyoung watched in pure disbelief, his jaw hanging open. “This… this is not how logic works, Hansol.” He pointed both hands at him, eyes wide with warning. “This is going to backfire so badly, I can feel it.”

“Doubt me all you want,” Hansol said, grinning like a man on a mission. “But when that gig goes off without a hitch, you’ll be thanking me.”

Soonyoung dropped his head into his hands with a groan, his voice muffled by his palms. “I can already hear the disaster coming.”

*

“Hey, can we talk tomorrow?”

Hansol sat on one of the benches, his gaze fixed on his phone, scrolling mindlessly as he waited. The faint rustle of leaves above him was the only sound until he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path.

Lifting his head, he spotted you walking toward him, a smile already tugging at your lips despite the obvious weight of the stack of books in your arms. His eyes softened at the sight of you.

He stood up quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket, and walked over to meet you halfway. Without a word, he reached for the books, carefully taking the stack from your arms. His fingers brushed against yours for a second, a brief, unspoken connection neither of you acknowledged aloud.

"Where are you heading with all these books?” he asked, glancing down at the pile in his hands. “Planning to build a personal library or something?”

You sighed, stretching your now-free arms. “Just finished a group project, and somehow I got stuck being the one to return all the books. Alone.”

Hansol snorted, a low, amused sound as he glanced at you. “Classic group project logic,” he said, shifting the books in his grip to hold them more comfortably. “Here, I’ll help you return these, and then we can talk.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “You sure? I can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, already walking ahead. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a casual grin. “I’m not about to let you haul a whole library on your own.”

You followed him, your pace matching his, and together you made your way toward the campus library. The sun filtered through the trees, casting patches of golden light onto the path. The air was warm but breezy, carrying with it the distant hum of student chatter.

At the entrance of the library, Hansol paused, holding the door open for you with his shoulder as he balanced the books. You slipped past him with a quiet "thanks" before he followed you inside. The familiar scent of old paper and clean air-conditioning greeted you both.

Hansol stayed by your side as you approached the return desk, placing the stack of books on the counter with a relieved sigh, as if he’d carried them across continents. He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes following you as you handled the administration process.

“So,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “what did you want to talk about?”

His posture straightened, his fingers tapping idly against the countertop. “I’ll tell you once we’re done here,” he said, offering you a small, unreadable smile.

But his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

He knew he had to do it soon.

The fortune teller’s words echoed in his mind, as stupid as they were. “There’s a blockage in your energy. To clear it, you must confess to the one you like.” He could still hear Soonyoung’s gasp of betrayal beside him. “You like someone?” he'd whispered like it was the juiciest secret of the year.

Hansol shook his head, shoving the memory aside. He didn’t like anyone, but he did care about his band. If there was even a 1% chance that this superstition had some truth to it, he couldn’t risk it. They’d been working too hard for this gig to flop.

You returned from the counter, brushing off your hands. “All done.”

Hansol nodded, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. The two of you walked out of the library, sunlight filtering in through the tall glass windows of the campus hallway. Students passed by, some in pairs, others in groups, all caught up in their own conversations.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

It’s just Y/n.

No big deal.

He knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t make this complicated. You wouldn’t take it seriously. You were too practical for that.

“Hey,” he started, voice steady but a little quieter.

You glanced up at him. “Hm?”

He stopped walking. You took two steps ahead before noticing, turning to face him with a curious look.

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, fingers fidgeting with loose threads. His heart wasn’t racing, but his mind was unusually loud. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

But still, he felt his throat go dry.

“I like you,” he said.

It came out fast. Too fast. Not smooth at all. His eyes flicked up to you, watching for your reaction.

Your face froze. Wide eyes. Lips parted slightly, like you’d misheard him.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hansol cleared his throat, shifting his weight to one leg. “I like you,” he said again, slower, more controlled this time.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled in. You didn’t speak, and that silence was heavier than anything he’d prepared for. Why aren’t you saying anything?

“Okay,” he said quickly, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “So, before you freak out, it’s not, like… real.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing to the side. “It’s for the performance.”

Your eyes stayed on him, unblinking.

He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to explain. “Soonyoung and I went to see this fortune teller a couple weeks ago. She told me there’s this… ‘blockage’ or something that’ll mess up our gig unless I confess to the person I like.” He raised his eyebrows like it should be obvious. “But I don’t like anyone. So, I figured—” He tilted his head toward you, lips curling into a grin. “—I’ll just confess to you.”

You didn’t move.

“You’re my friend,” he added with a casual shrug, trying to sound as natural as possible. “I knew you’d get it. It’s not a big deal. Just, like, a technicality.”

More silence.

Hansol felt something twist in his chest, like the air pressure had shifted around him. He didn’t know why it felt weird, but it did. He’d expected a laugh from you, maybe a playful shove or a snarky comment. Something normal.

“Okay,” you said, your voice quieter than he’d ever heard it.

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded once, eyes flicking to the side like you didn’t want to look at him. “Yeah. Sure.”

Relief washed over him so fast it almost felt dizzying. His grin returned, this time more genuine. “See? I knew you’d get it.”

He glanced at his phone, eyes widening slightly. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got practice soon.” He took a step back, his mind already shifting to his next priority. “Thanks for this, Y/n. You’re a real one.”

He raised a hand in a wave as he turned to leave. “See you later!”

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t think to.

Why would he?

It had gone exactly as he’d expected — smooth, simple, and free of any awkwardness. You’d understood. You always understood him. It’s why he’d picked you in the first place.

As he walked, he felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His band would be fine. The gig would be a success. The "blockage" was gone, whatever that meant.

The sound of students chatting around him faded into background noise. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the upcoming setlist, the soundchecks, and which songs they should open with.

Should they start with something upbeat or something more atmospheric?

He scratched the side of his head, lips curling into a grin at the thought. They’d kill it. He knew they would.

But as he reached the next hallway, something tugged at him. Not physically, but like a small, sharp pull on his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see nothing at all.

But his eyes lingered on the empty hallway behind him.

You weren’t there.

You’d probably gone in the opposite direction, maybe heading to class or meeting up with friends. That was normal. Totally normal.

He turned forward again, walking faster this time.

So why did it feel like he’d forgotten something?

Why did it feel like he’d missed something important?

Hansol shook his head, hands stuffed back into his hoodie pocket. You’re overthinking it.

But his fingers fidgeted with the loose thread again, and his mind couldn’t seem to settle.

*

"Hey, you’re daydreaming."

Joshua’s voice snapped you back to reality, a light jab landing on your side. Your eyes flickered to him, your closest friend in the photography club, and then to the rest of the room. Everyone was staring at you.

Oh no.

The club leader tilted her head, clearly waiting for a response. "I asked if you’d be willing to report on The Gigs next week."

Heat rushed to your face. You nodded quickly, forcing a polite smile. "Ah, yeah, sure. I can do it."

Her eyes lingered on you for a second longer before she moved on, resuming the discussion. You sank lower in your chair, feeling Joshua stifle a laugh beside you. He didn’t say anything, but the amused glint in his eyes said it all.

When the meeting finally wrapped up, you were already halfway out the door when Joshua caught up to you. He grinned, pulling a small candy from his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing you his favorite coffee-flavored treat.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unwrapping it immediately and popping it into your mouth.

“You good?” he asked as you both stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting your face. "You were totally out of it back there."

You glanced at him, shrugging. "Just… had a lot on my mind."

Joshua nodded knowingly. "Don’t tell me it’s about that draft. Mine’s still stuck, too."

The two of you wandered down the pathway toward the nearby campus cafe. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, his breath forming little clouds of fog in the air.

The draft. Right.

The club had tasked every member with coming up with a new program idea to boost engagement and attract more students to join. Your idea was Cupid Pic — a playful service where students could request anonymous photos of their crushes, which would then be posted on the Student Daily Web. The twist? If two people happened to request photos of each other without knowing, they'd be notified of the "cupid match." It was fun, cheeky, and surprisingly wholesome.

You'd been so excited about it at first. So much so that you'd shared the idea with Soonyoung and Hansol one evening at Soonyoung’s apartment studio. The three of you had spent hours brainstorming catchy slogans and working out the logistics of how to involve the Broadcasting students for video teasers. You remembered how Hansol had thrown out ridiculous ideas like, “Make them wear angel wings while taking the photos,” which Soonyoung fully supported for the chaos alone.

Soonyoung had tapped out early, collapsing on the couch after too many shots of soju, muttering something about "the stars aligning." But you and Hansol had stayed up. Just the two of you. The warmth of the room, the faint hum of music, and the quiet conversation felt… different. Intimate, even.

Maybe that’s why it all spilled out of you.

You didn’t mean to dump your worries on him. But with Soonyoung snoring in the background and the soft glow of the desk lamp hitting Hansol’s face just right, you felt something unspoken loosen in your chest.

“I feel like I’m barely holding everything together,” you’d admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “Class, part-time shifts, the club, this stupid project… and now one of my friends reported me to the professor for missing too many classes. I mean, yeah, I missed a few, but I had valid reasons. She didn’t even ask me. She just… reported me.”

Your throat had felt tight saying it all out loud. You didn’t expect Hansol to say anything — maybe a simple, “That sucks, Y/n.” But he didn’t do that.

Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes soft with a kind of patience you’d never really seen from him before. Hansol, the logical one. Hansol, the sharp-tongued realist. But that night, he was… gentle.

“Sounds like you’ve been carrying too much,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, steady, like every word was placed carefully so it wouldn’t crack you open any further.

Your eyes stung a little, and you hated it. You hated how one kind sentence had more impact than all the self-reassurances you’d told yourself in the mirror.

“You’re doing fine,” he added. “Actually, you’re doing more than fine. You're managing all this at once — that's impressive. People don't get how hard that is.”

It wasn’t much. Just a few words. But in that moment, it felt like he’d seen you — really seen you — in a way no one else had.

He didn’t tell you to “just work harder” or “push through.” He didn’t tell you that you were overreacting. He just listened.

Somewhere between his words and the soft glow of that lamp, you felt something shift.

Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on you for a second too long.

Maybe it was the warmth in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

Or maybe it was just you, feeling too vulnerable, too raw, too desperate for someone to tell you it was okay to slow down.

But you knew it, clear as day.

That was the moment you realized — I think I like him.

It wasn’t immediate, like some storybook cliché where your heart suddenly skips and angels start singing. No, it was quiet, slow, like the weight of realization settling over your shoulders. Your chest felt heavier, and your head felt lighter, like you’d been dropped into unfamiliar territory.

You'd stayed up with him a little longer, letting the conversation drift to other things, but that moment stayed with you. Even when you went home that night, it replayed in your head over and over. His voice. His gaze. His words.

By the next day, you realized it was easier to avoid him than to face what you’d discovered.

If you didn’t see him, you wouldn’t have to deal with the way your heart sped up around him.

If you didn’t talk to him, you wouldn’t have to remember how it felt to be seen so clearly.

If you didn’t stand too close, you wouldn’t have to hear the echo of his voice telling you that you were doing fine.

So, you avoided him. Not in any obvious way. Just small things. Picking a seat on the opposite side of the room. Leaving class a little earlier. Responding later to group chats. It was stupid. Childish, even. But it was safer.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like he likes me anyway.

But then, yesterday happened.

“I like you,” he’d said, just like that.

His words echoed in your mind like an annoying replay button that wouldn't turn off.

“I like you.”

At first, you’d frozen, your brain struggling to process it. And then, like a fool, you’d let yourself hope. Your heart had done that stupid leap it always did when you thought maybe, just maybe…

But it only lasted a second.

“But it’s not real. It’s for the band.”

He’d smiled, so casual, so unbothered, as if it was all part of some inside joke.

“You’re my friend. I knew you’d get it.”

You had nodded. Of course you nodded. What else were you supposed to do?

He’d walked away smiling. Light. Unburdened.

You stood there, your chest still heavy, like you'd swallowed all the words you wanted to say.

Stupid.

Idiot.

Asshole.

“Y/n?”

Joshua's voice cut through the spiral, and you blinked, realizing you’d been chewing on the coffee candy too hard. The bitterness had turned sharp in your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked, his brow raised in concern.

You uncurled your fingers from the crumpled candy wrapper in your pocket, feeling the imprint of it against your palm. Calm down, Y/N.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “Just thinking too much.”

Joshua gave you a long look, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you. But in the end, he shrugged it off. "Alright. Just don't overdo it. We still have drafts to finish, yeah?"

“Yeah,” you said, stuffing the wrapper into your pocket. "I’ll finish it.”

But as you walked with him toward the cafe, the taste of coffee lingered on your tongue, sharp and bitter.

Just like the feeling you’d been trying to forget.

*

The smell of grilled meat wafted through the apartment as Soonyoung shouted from the kitchen, "Open the door for me!" His voice was strained, probably from the concentration it took to flip the meat perfectly.

You had just finished changing into the borrowed sweater and sweatpants Soonyoung had tossed your way. It was one of his newer pieces — oversized, soft, and surprisingly comfortable. After folding your work clothes neatly on the chair, you headed to the front door, tugging the sleeves over your fingers.

When you pulled the door open, your heart did a sudden flip. Hansol stood there, framed by the dim hallway light. Black T-shirt snug on his frame, denim jacket casually draped over his shoulders, and those stupid cargo pants with "chill guy" printed boldly on the thigh. You'd teased him about them before.

His eyes scanned you briefly before his lips curled into a familiar, lopsided grin. "That sweater looks better on you than it does on him." His gaze lingered for a beat longer, and you recognized it — the sweater he'd given Soonyoung for his birthday this year.

"Everything looks good on me lately," you shot back, flipping your hair with mock confidence as you stepped aside to let him in.

Hansol let out a quiet snort, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Alright, superstar," he muttered, carrying in the bags of groceries Soonyoung had texted him to bring.

You followed him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Soonyoung waved his tongs in your direction. "Look who decided to show up after three weeks of radio silence!" He held up three fingers in front of your face like it was a major scandal.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his arm to move him aside. "I've been working, Soonyoung. Not everyone can live a life of leisure like you."

"Leisure?" He scoffed, flipping the meat with unnecessary force. "You act like I’m not hosting this Michelin-star-level barbecue for you guys. You should be grateful, Y/n."

You snorted but didn’t respond, letting the familiar warmth of their banter settle over you. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Hansol was sorting through the bags, pulling out soda cans and snacks like it was just another casual night. Soonyoung was fussing over his grill with too much enthusiasm, and the smell of searing meat filled the air.

But that “three weeks” comment echoed louder than you wanted it to. Three weeks since you’d hung out properly. Three weeks since Soonyoung had badgered you into late-night ramen runs. Three weeks since you’d willingly stayed in a room with Hansol for longer than ten minutes.

The realization must have hit him too because Hansol glanced at you from over his shoulder, eyes flickering with something like curiosity. His hands slowed as he set down a bottle of soda. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter this time. “We haven’t hung out in a while, huh?”

You shrugged, feigning indifference. “Guess not.”

Soonyoung glanced between the two of you like he was watching the first act of a drama. He wiggled his eyebrows, lips pursed in exaggerated interest. "Oooh, tension."

"Shut up," you and Hansol said at the same time.

"Okay, okay, geez." Soonyoung threw his hands up, grinning like a troublemaker who just set off a firecracker. "I’m just saying, tonight is reunion night for our little trio. So no work talk, no avoidance, no mysterious disappearances. We’re all staying until dawn."

"Bold of you to assume I’m not sneaking out at 2 a.m.," you muttered, grabbing a soda from the pile Hansol had unpacked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes at you. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”

Soonyoung wasn't exactly the sharpest in the group, but he had an annoying knack for reading the room. That was why you’d been trying so hard to act normal around Hansol tonight. Every glance Soonyoung threw your way felt like a spotlight, and you hated it. You shouldn’t have come. Stupid decision.

But after an hour, the unease started to wear off. The alcohol certainly helped with that. You’d had more drinks than usual — more than even Soonyoung, the self-proclaimed "party endurance king." At one point, he actually tried to stop you, waving his hands in front of your face like you were about to push a red button.

“Hey, hey, easy there, Y/n. That’s your third drink in, like, ten minutes,” he said, eyes squinting in concern. "Bad day or something?"

You only hummed in response, lifting the cup to your lips again.

“Desperation. I get it,” Soonyoung sighed, plopping down on the couch beside you. He tilted his head back dramatically. “We’ve all been there. Even Hansol and I went to a fortune teller.”

Hansol, who’d been scrolling on his phone, looked up, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Don’t lump me in with you like I went there on purpose.”

“Okay, but you got a reading too, didn’t you?” Soonyoung shot back, jabbing his thumb in Hansol's direction. His grin was all teeth, clearly proud of his "gotcha" moment.

Hansol rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

Soonyoung wasn’t done, though. He turned his attention to you, gesturing wildly like he was narrating a grand tale. “Yes, so we went to a fortune teller,” he repeated, leaning toward you like he was about to reveal a state secret.

“I know,” you muttered, taking another sip.

Soonyoung blinked, his head tilting to the side. “Huh? I never told you that. How do you know?”

Your eyes flickered toward Hansol, who had suddenly gone very still. You pointed at him, arm a little wobbly from the drinks. “He told me.”

The room went quiet for half a beat.

Soonyoung’s eyes darted between the two of you like he was watching a live plot twist unfold. His mouth parted in shock. “You guys… talked? Without me?”

He sounded more offended than curious, like you’d committed some great betrayal.

Hansol groaned, his head falling into his hands. "Oh my God, Soonyoung, it’s not that deep."

“It is that deep!” Soonyoung gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “How could you, Y/n? I thought I was the main character of your friendship arc!”

"You're the comic relief, Soonyoung," you deadpanned, reaching for the half-empty drink in front of you.

"Comic relief?!" He clutched his heart again, this time with more flair, like he'd been hit with a spear. "I am the glue that holds this trio together."

You snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, and for a moment, it actually felt normal again. Except for the weight pressing down on your chest every time Hansol glanced your way.

"Want to hear something funny?" Soonyoung grinned mischievously. "This guy has to make a confession if he wants his gig to succeed, and he says he doesn’t like anyone!"

He burst into laughter, clearly enjoying Hansol’s discomfort. Hansol groaned, slouching in his chair. "Go ahead, laugh. My life is a comedy," he retorted sarcastically.

"So, Romeo," Soonyoung teased, raising his eyebrows, "your gig is in three days. Have you done it yet?"

Hansol stayed silent, his eyes wandering to you. You were busy pouring yourself another shot of soju, trying to drown out the chaos around you. The weight in your chest was growing heavier with every passing minute, but you tried to focus on anything other than the situation at hand.

"So, Y/n," Soonyoung continued, turning his attention to you, "what do you think? Should he just confess to anyone to make his performance successful, or should he ignore the fortune teller's advice?"

The question hit you like a brick, and a lump immediately formed in your throat. You didn’t know how to answer.

"But I think he won’t do it," Soonyoung added with a sly smile. "Why? Because this guy is all logic. He’s a T," Soonyoung said, referencing Hansol’s MBTI type — Thinking, not Feeling.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the mounting frustration in your chest, but you found yourself muttering under your breath, "Confession is not a game. You shouldn’t play with it."

Soonyoung, to his credit, nodded in agreement. "Yes, exactly. Here here!"

You continued, your voice quieter now, a little heavier. "You think it’s easy to just confess to someone for the sake of success? That’s selfish." You could feel the anger simmering beneath your words. "But I guess, people can be like that. They don’t think about others' feelings."

The moment your words left your mouth, you glanced up at Hansol, only to find his gaze fixed on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain tension in the air now, thick and uncomfortable. For the first time, you realized he was actually paying attention to what you were saying.

In that moment, everything felt overwhelming. You had spent the evening carefully balancing your emotions, trying not to let the bitterness and disappointment leak out, but it was becoming impossible. Soonyoung's teasing and Hansol's casual confession — the one that had hurt more than you wanted to admit — were circling in your mind, making it harder to breathe.

Soonyoung froze mid-action, his hand suspended in the air with the shot glass still waiting to meet his lips. The atmosphere shifted, and he squinted at you, his tone playful but with a hint of confusion. "What's up with you tonight? You're a bit... deep?"

You sighed, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. You quickly gathered your things, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I think I should go. I’ll pick up my clothes tomorrow morning, is that okay?" you asked Soonyoung, your voice quieter than usual as you stood up from your seat.

Soonyoung blinked, looking at you with a mix of surprise and concern. "What? What's wrong with you?"

But you didn’t answer. You had already made up your mind to leave. The weight of the evening, mixed with the alcohol, had created a fog in your thoughts, and you just wanted to escape. You needed space to sort through your feelings, to put some distance between you and Hansol, who had somehow managed to worm his way into your heart even though you tried so hard to keep it at bay. The fact that he still had this effect on you, that you were still torn between anger and something softer, was suffocating.

You could feel your emotions stirring as you moved toward the door, the anger bubbling under the surface. How could he say all those things and then act like it didn’t matter? How could he confess without meaning it and expect everything to be fine? You had convinced yourself that leaving was the only way to avoid losing control of your feelings, to protect yourself from further hurt.

You closed the door. But then Hansol's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks. His grip was gentle, but firm. His touch, so simple and yet so familiar, sent a jolt of something through you. You weren’t sure if it was anger or longing, or a dangerous mix of both. You wanted to pull away, to push him out of your thoughts for good, but somehow, standing there with him felt like an emotional standoff. You could feel your heart racing, unsure of whether you should let the tears you were holding back spill or just walk away from it all.

"What do you mean?" Hansol asked, confusion and frustration lacing his voice.

"Let me go, I'm tired," you replied, your voice barely a whisper as you tried to pull away.

But Hansol wasn't having it. He turned your body to face him, his grip firm yet gentle. "Not until you explain. Were you referring to me?"

You stared at him, exasperated, as the words tumbled out, "What do you want to hear? That I wasn't?"

Hansol's gaze softened, but his frustration was palpable. "Yes, I was referring to you because I think Soonyoung's right. If you're as logical as you say you are, you shouldn't be doing whatever the fortune teller told you."

You scoffed, your voice bitter, "And you really think that confessing to your friend is going to fix everything?"

Hansol ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. "Y/n, I was desperate. You heard him — the fortune teller said my performance would flop if I didn't confess. I had no choice!"

"By confessing to your friend?" You spat, the hurt in your voice evident.

Hansol's eyes widened, his voice rising as the emotion spilled over. "Because you're my friend! I thought you'd understand! You always have!"

There was a tense silence between you both, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping under the burden of it all.

"So, it was easier for you to confess to your friend? To use them for your own benefit?" you asked, your tone sharp and cutting.

Hansol closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't expect it to turn out like this. I thought you'd understand, Y/n. You're my friend."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Because I'm your friend, you thought it would be easier to confess to me? Don't you think about the consequences, Hansol? Or is it all about your performance?"

His face twisted with frustration as he stepped closer. "It’s important to me, Y/n!"

You took a step back, feeling the sting of his words. "I never said your performance wasn’t important, but have you ever thought about the consequences? When you decided to confess to me, did you even consider my feelings?"

Before Hansol could respond, Soonyoung’s voice interrupted the charged silence. "You confessed to Y/n?" He stood in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and disbelief at the revelation.

The tension in the room hung thick, and you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. This was not how you imagined things would play out.

*

When Soonyoung heard you sob, his heart sank. He knew it then—he knew both he and Hansol had messed up. Without a word, he let you go, his hand stopping Hansol from following.

"Let her go," Soonyoung said, his voice unusually calm, but there was an underlying firmness. "She needs time."

"But—" Hansol protested, his voice full of urgency.

"No buts, man. You hurt her. Don’t you get it?" Soonyoung’s voice, surprisingly soft for someone who had just witnessed a betrayal, cut through the air. It was like the weight of everything had finally hit him—Hansol had confessed to you because of some ridiculous fortune teller's prediction, without considering the consequences.

Both of them sat in silence, the remnants of the food and drinks ignored, their minds consumed by your face—the betrayal in your eyes, the way your mouth gaped for breath, and the tears that welled up in your eyes.

Soonyoung broke the silence first. "You did it, huh?" His tone was more of a statement than a question. Hansol shook his head, clearly not ready to confront the reality of what he had done.

"You're the most oblivious guy I've ever known," Soonyoung continued, his frustration bubbling up. "How could you not see it? She likes you, Hansol."

Hansol turned his head toward Soonyoung, still confused. "What are you talking about?"

Soonyoung sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. "See? You don't even understand." He stood up, his movements mechanical as he began cleaning his apartment, as if the action would help him clear his mind.

"I'm going to sleep. Feel free to stay," he said quietly, before turning off the light and retreating to his room.

Hansol remained on the couch, the weight of Soonyoung's words sinking in, but his mind still swirling with disbelief. He had made a mistake—one that could cost him everything.

Hansol sat motionless on the couch, his eyes staring blankly at the empty room around him. Soonyoung's words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain—She likes you. The weight of it crushed him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sharp, raw vulnerability that he wasn’t used to.

He had always seen you as someone amazing—smart, driven, with a kindness that radiated in everything you did. You were the kind of person who had everything going for her, someone who seemed untouchable, like she existed in a world beyond his reach. He had always admired you from afar, but he never allowed himself to consider that you could have feelings for him.

You were... too good for him.

He had been convinced that someone like you would never be interested in someone like him. He was logical, maybe a little too blunt, a little too wrapped up in his own world. He couldn’t imagine you, with your warmth and grace, ever wanting to be with someone like him. So, he built up this wall in his mind, telling himself that he was better off staying in his lane, quietly admiring you from the sidelines. He didn't want to risk embarrassing himself by thinking he could ever be more than a friend to you.

But now, in the aftermath of his reckless confession, Hansol couldn't help but wonder—did you actually like him?

His chest tightened at the thought. The way you had reacted earlier—the way you had looked at him—did it mean something? Had you been feeling something for him this whole time? Or had he just completely misread everything, making a mess of it all with his desperate attempt to follow the fortune teller's advice?

He felt like an idiot. An utter fool. He had used you. He had confessed to you without considering your feelings, without thinking about the consequences. All because he was scared of failing in front of his band, of letting everyone down. But now, all he could think about was how much he had hurt you. How much he had probably ruined any chance of you ever seeing him as more than just a friend.

It was painful, this realization. He had always thought you were out of his league, that you would never be interested in someone like him, but now that the possibility had opened up, it felt like he had taken it and crushed it under his own foolishness.

He wanted to fix it, to undo everything he had done. But he wasn’t sure where to start. The damage felt irreparable. He had hurt you, and no matter how much he regretted it now, it didn’t change the fact that he had crossed a line.

"We can take a rest," Seungkwan, the vocalist, suggested, noticing Hansol had been staring at the wall for a little too long.

Hansol nodded absently, "Yeah. Sure..." He realized he hadn’t been in the right frame of mind since last night. His thoughts kept circling back to you, replaying the conversation, the hurt in your eyes, the words that had escaped his lips in a moment of desperation. How could he have been so careless? He had to stop thinking about it, but it was impossible.

"The broadcasting students called—they wanted an interview tomorrow. Is that okay?" Mingyu, the bassist, asked as he walked over after picking up a phone call.

Hansol blinked, momentarily distracted. "Why didn’t they call me?" he muttered, then it hit him. He had been offline all day, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't reach you since this morning," Jihoon, the drummer, added. "You're usually glued to your phone."

Not since last night.

"Are you saying he’s addicted?" Jeonghan, the keyboardist, teased, throwing a playful jab at Jihoon. The drummer shot back with a grin, threatening to throw his stick at him, but Hansol wasn’t paying attention.

All he could hear was the ringing silence in his head, and all he could see was your face—hurt, confused, disappointed.

Everything felt distant, like he was trapped inside his own mind, while the world continued on around him. They were talking, joking, but Hansol couldn’t focus on anything except the ache in his chest, the question that loomed over him—How had things gotten so messed up?

"Hi, I'm Joshua," a photographer introduced himself before the interview began. He snapped photos of the group throughout the session, the pictures set to be featured on the university’s social media and in the monthly magazine.

Once the interview wrapped up, Joshua approached Hansol with a small smile.

"Hansol, right? Y/n's friend," he said, casually mentioning you.

Hansol raised an eyebrow. "Y/n’s friend?"

Joshua nodded. "Yeah, we’re in the same club. She was supposed to be the one in charge today, but she’s sick."

Hansol's concern deepened. "She’s sick?"

Joshua gave a shrug. "She mentioned something about going out in the rain, but honestly, I’m not sure. I’m just filling in for her."

Hansol’s mind raced as he processed the information. He headed straight to your apartment. When he arrived, your older brother, Seungcheol, answered the door.

"Seungcheol hyung, I heard Y/n is sick, so I brought porridge," Hansol said, holding up the warm container. Seungcheol stepped aside to let him in.

"She’s sick? She hasn’t come out of her room all day," Seungcheol said with a frown. "I need to head out for work. Can you make sure she’s alright while I’m gone?"

"Of course," Hansol replied, his tone filled with concern.

Seungcheol gave a small nod and left, trusting Hansol with the responsibility. Hansol walked down the hallway toward your room and gently knocked on the door. "Y/n?" he called softly, his heart beating faster than usual.

He turned the doorknob gently as he heard you humming softly from inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d stepped into your room, but something about being here now, knowing you might have feelings for him, made his heart race and his stomach flutter with nervous excitement.

"It’s me... I heard you’re sick," he said quietly, stepping inside. He watched as you tossed and turned on your bed, your face scrunched in discomfort.

"My head hurts," you muttered, sounding exhausted.

"You drank too much last night," Hansol remarked softly, his voice full of concern.

You let out a soft sigh before slowly sitting up on your bed. You blinked up at him, clearly still groggy. "What are you doing here?"

Hansol hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the coolness in your voice. Wasn’t this the same person he had been trying to make things right with?

"Did I do something stupid last night?" you continued, your voice tinged with confusion. "I don’t remember anything. I was too drunk."

What? Hansol’s heart sank. You didn’t remember? He could feel his stomach twist in unease. The whole night had been real for him. But you didn’t even recall it?

His words caught in his throat, his mind racing. He had to find a way to explain everything, but for now, all he could do was stand there, speechless.

*

You pushed him toward the door, your hands firm against his chest. It was too much — too much to be in the same room with him after everything that happened last night. Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat a painful reminder of the weight of it all.

"Y/n, wait—" Hansol tried, his voice laced with confusion, but you shook your head firmly.

"Just go, Hansol," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.

Damn your lying. There was no way you could forget what had happened last night. The alcohol might have given you the courage to say everything that had been festering in your heart, but it didn’t steal your memory. No, you remembered every single detail — from the heat of your words to the stunned look on his face.

You remembered it all. The sharp ache in your chest. The way your voice trembled as you laid it all bare. The way he stood there, silent, unable to say a word in return.

And now, you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Stupid for drinking too much. Stupid for letting it all out. Stupid for hoping, even for a second, that he’d understand.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. You leaned your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Stupid,” you muttered under your breath, wiping at your face harshly. “So, so stupid.”

But no matter how many times you cursed yourself, it didn’t stop the hurt from settling deeper into your chest.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet of your room just a few minutes later. You clenched your jaw, already feeling the annoyance bubble up in your chest.

Hansol, seriously?

You stomped toward the door, ready to tell him off. Your hand gripped the knob with more force than necessary, and you yanked it open with a glare.

"I told you to le—"

But it wasn’t Hansol.

It was Soonyoung. His eyes widened for a second, clearly taken aback by your sharp tone. He tilted his head, a lopsided grin slowly forming on his face.

"Wow, rough welcome," he teased, holding up a plastic bag in one hand. "This how you treat visitors now?"

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat. Guilt prickled at the back of your mind as you stepped aside to let him in. "Sorry... I thought you were someone else."

"Clearly," he muttered, walking in like he owned the place. His eyes scanned the room before settling on you. "Your brother told me you were sick when I called to check in. Figured I’d drop by and see if you’re still alive."

You sighed, running a hand down your face. "I'm fine. Just a little headache."

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow as he set the bag on your desk, pulling out a small container of soup and a bottle of sports drink. "Doesn't sound 'fine' to me. And you look worse than you sound."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you grumbled, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Hey, honesty is love," he said with a wink, cracking open the soup container. "Eat this before you start spiraling about whatever it is you're thinking too hard about."

Your eyes flicked to him, your walls momentarily crumbling under his casual warmth. He knows. Soonyoung wasn’t the most perceptive person, but when it came to his friends, he could read you like an open book.

"Not thinking about anything," you muttered, picking at the hem of your sweater.

He shot you a look as he handed you the soup. "You don't fool me, Y/n. You forget, I know you too well."

You hesitated for a second, your fingers curling around the warm container. The scent of the soup was comforting, but the knot in your chest was too tight to untangle just yet.

"You wanna tell me what happened, or should I guess?" he asked, leaning against your desk, arms crossed and eyes watching you with quiet patience.

Your fingers tightened around the container, the warmth seeping into your skin. Tell him? You could. You should. But the words felt heavy, and your throat burned from all the words you’d swallowed the night before.

Soonyoung’s eyes softened when you didn’t respond. "I heard about Hansol."

Your eyes snapped up to him. He didn’t look smug or teasing. He just... knew.

"Seungcheol hyung told me he was here earlier," he continued, eyes steady on you. "I figured something went down."

"Something always goes down," you muttered, trying to brush it off, but your voice cracked at the end. You sucked in a sharp breath, looking away. Not now. Don't fall apart now.

Soonyoung let out a quiet sigh and crouched in front of you, resting his hands on his knees. "Y/n."

The weight of his gaze pulled you in.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know."

And just like that, the dam broke. Your face crumpled, a shaky breath escaping your lips. Tears you thought you’d buried came spilling out, and you hated it — hated how easy it was for Soonyoung to crack you open.

"I hate him," you choked out, shoulders trembling. "I hate how he made me feel. I hate that he doesn't even know."

Soonyoung sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms draped lazily over his knees as he watched you wipe at your face with the sleeve of your sweater. He didn’t say anything right away, just let the silence stretch long enough for your breathing to even out. You hated how vulnerable you felt, but with Soonyoung, it somehow felt okay.

"You know," he started, his voice light but steady, "Hansol’s always been like that. Head up in the clouds, heart locked up in a safe somewhere only he can find."

You sniffled, eyes still downcast, but you listened.

"He’s not a bad guy," Soonyoung continued, resting his chin on his hand, "but he’s stupid sometimes. No, scratch that. He’s logical to a fault — one of those people who overthinks everything and somehow ends up making the dumbest decision possible."

You glanced up at him, eyes red-rimmed but curious. "Sounds like you’re defending him."

"I’m not," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I’m just telling it how it is." He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Hansol's the type to approach life like a math problem — one solution, one outcome, no room for feelings. He’s good with logic, terrible with emotions. If it doesn’t fit his formula, he just ignores it."

"Sounds pretty annoying," you muttered, folding your arms over your knees.

Soonyoung let out a short laugh. "Oh, you have no idea. Do you know how many times I’ve seen him 'debate' with Mingyu about how ‘romantic gestures are pointless unless they serve a purpose’?" He shook his head like it physically pained him to remember it. "Like, bro, sometimes you just give people flowers because it’s nice! Not everything needs a reason."

Despite yourself, you cracked a small smile. You could picture it perfectly — Hansol arguing with that deadpan logic of his, Mingyu gesturing wildly, both of them convinced they were right.

"But," Soonyoung leaned forward, his tone softening, "he’s not heartless, Y/n. He’s just... slow. The type of guy who doesn’t notice his own feelings until they’re too loud to ignore. He doesn’t realize he’s hurt someone until it’s staring him in the face. And honestly, I think last night was the first time he really saw it."

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flickering toward the window. "It’s not like I needed him to see it. I just... I just wanted him to think of me. Not as some safe option, not as a convenience, but as someone who—"

You stopped yourself, lips pressing into a thin line. Your eyes burned again, and you hated it. Soonyoung watched you for a moment before he spoke.

"He does think of you, Y/n," he said firmly. "But like I said, he’s stupid. He’s probably been thinking of you this whole time and didn’t even realize it. You know how he is."

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of waiting for him to figure it out," you muttered, fingers tugging at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I'm not a puzzle to be solved."

Soonyoung smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. "Good. You shouldn't be." He sighed, glancing at the ceiling like he was remembering something. "But if I know Hansol, he’s probably kicking himself right now. You know how he gets when he messes up — goes all quiet, stops talking to anyone, starts staring at walls like the answers will magically appear."

You blinked, remembering how distant he seemed when he visited earlier. His awkwardness hadn’t been new, but it felt... different. Guilt, maybe?

"Do you think he regrets it?" you asked quietly.

Soonyoung tilted his head, his eyes kind but sharp. "I think he’s finally realizing that you’re not as 'out of reach' as he made himself believe."

Your head snapped toward him, heart stuttering. "Out of reach? What does that mean?"

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "You really don't see it, huh? This whole time, he’s been looking at you like you’re untouchable. Like you’re this smart, ambitious, 'got-everything-together' kind of person that’s too good for some guy like him."

You frowned, disbelief creeping into your voice. "That's ridiculous. Hansol's not like that."

"Yeah, well, people get real stupid when they like someone." Soonyoung stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. "You think you’re the only one overthinking? Hansol’s been overthinking since the day he met you." He glanced down at you, eyes twinkling with something playful but sincere. "But like I said, he’s slow. And if you’re tired of waiting, I get it. Just don’t pretend you don’t care when we both know you do."

Your throat felt tight, and you stayed quiet as Soonyoung headed for the door.

"Rest up, alright? I’ll check in on you later," he said, tossing you a grin before stepping out. "And if Hansol shows up again, try not to kick him out too fast. He might actually say something smart for once."

The door clicked shut, and silence filled the room.

You stared at your hands, the weight of Soonyoung's words settling deep in your chest.

Out of reach.

You never thought of yourself that way. But... was that really how Hansol saw you? All this time, did he think he never had a chance?

Your heart ached, and for the first time, it wasn’t from anger.

The door suddenly opened again, and Soonyoung peeked his head back in. His face was serious this time, his brows drawn together like he was thinking carefully about what to say.

"Hey, Y/n," he called softly.

"Yeah?"

"Don't get too caught up in him, alright? I mean it." His eyes were steady as he spoke. "Focus on yourself for a while. You’re allowed to do that, you know. Let him figure himself out while you do the same."

You blinked at him, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Focus on yourself. When was the last time you did that? When was the last time you prioritized your own peace instead of waiting for Hansol to notice something?

"Yeah," you murmured, your gaze turning thoughtful. "Yeah, I’ll do that."

Soonyoung grinned. "Good. You deserve it."

This time, when the door clicked shut, it didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like a quiet kind of relief.

*

The band had just wrapped up their third song, the crowd’s energy growing wilder with every beat. Anticipation hung in the air as Seungkwan stepped up to the mic, his grin sharp and infectious.

"And now, for our last song — an original!" he announced, voice booming over the crowd's cheers. "This one’s for everyone who denies something because they’ve never felt complete."

A ripple of excitement passed through the audience, a sea of nodding heads and raised phones ready to capture every second. Hansol’s fingers hovered over the strings of his guitar, heart pounding in time with the thumping bass.

This was it. Their first original song. The song they’d poured their hearts into.

Hansol could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, but it wasn’t suffocating — it was exhilarating. The fortune teller's words from before felt laughable now. What a load of crap. He’d been so caught up in her prediction, but here he was, on stage, living proof that none of it mattered.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and then he spotted you. Right in front, camera in hand, snapping pictures with that same focus you always had. You weren’t just an onlooker — you were part of it. You bopped to the beat, your grin wide as you caught every moment on film.

He couldn’t look away. Not when you gave him that playful high-five before he went on stage. Not when you danced along like you’d been cheering him on from the start. And definitely not when you smiled like that — so bright, so natural, as if none of the things between you two had ever happened.

How are you acting so normal?

He strummed the opening chord, pulling himself back into focus. Jihoon’s sharp drumming set the pace, and the song began. Everything fell into place, the rhythm steady, the notes clean.

Then, during the second verse, something went wrong.

The speakers cracked. The bass fizzled. The sudden static made a few people in the crowd wince, and then — silence.

Everything stopped.

The instruments, the vocals, the energy. All of it.

Mingyu shot a glance at Hansol, his eyes sharp with confusion. What’s going on? his look asked. Hansol didn’t know. He glanced back at Woozi, who had put down his sticks, his face a rare mask of concern. Seungkwan was already at the side of the stage, talking to a frantic staff member waving their hands in panic.

The whole venue was too quiet, the only sound the low murmur of confused voices from the crowd.

Hansol felt his chest tighten. His pulse quickened, not with the thrill of the stage, but with panic. His fingers hovered uselessly over the guitar strings.

Not like this. Not now.

He scanned the crowd again, and then he saw you. You were mouthing something at him, your eyebrows raised in concern.

"What's wrong?"

Hansol swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced back at his bandmates, at the staff, at the broken audio equipment. Everything around him felt like a blur.

But you weren’t a blur.

You were right there, your eyes on him, steady and sure.

He crouched at the edge of the stage, motioning for you to come closer. Without hesitation, you moved through the crowd to stand right in front of him.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the low hum of the venue.

Hansol didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked at you like he’d been holding something in for too long. His eyes darted to the crowd behind you, the sea of strangers with phones pointed at him, waiting for something to happen. The weight of all of it pressed on him again, but this time it didn’t feel like too much.

It felt like a push.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shouted,

“I like you!”

Your eyes went wide. The whole crowd gasped in unison, but Hansol didn’t care.

“What?” You blinked up at him, too stunned to move.

“I like you!” he shouted again, louder this time. “I really like you! Since… I don’t even know when!”

His voice rang out, clear and sharp, like it had been waiting to be said for too long.

“What are you talking about?” you said, taking a small step back, but your eyes never left his.

“I like you, Y/n!” he yelled, his voice cracking, but it didn’t matter. “Let’s go on a date after this!”

A split second later, the audio kicked back on.

The speakers popped, and suddenly, the music came blaring back with Woozi’s drumbeat leading the charge. The bass reverberated through the venue, and Seungkwan’s voice returned right on cue.

The crowd exploded.

Cheers, whistles, and shouts of surprise roared through the space. Phones pointed at Hansol, recording every second of his impromptu confession.

Mingyu’s jaw hung open, his eyes darting between Hansol and you like he’d just witnessed something unbelievable. Woozi’s drumming faltered for just a second before he locked back into rhythm. Seungkwan stumbled on his words, glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes before grinning like a man who knew he’d be talking about this for weeks.

But Hansol didn’t care about any of that.

His eyes stayed on you.

You looked at him like you couldn’t believe it. Your fingers hovered over your camera, your body tense as if you were about to bolt. But then, slowly, you lowered your camera to your side.

Your lips parted, and he thought you were about to say something, but you didn’t.

Instead, you smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a confused, nervous smile.

A real smile.

Hansol let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. His heart was still pounding, but this time, it wasn’t from panic.

He pushed himself up to his feet, letting the weight fall off his back. He threw his guitar strap back over his shoulder, fingers gripping the neck of his guitar as he glanced at you one last time.

See you after the show, he mouthed with a grin.

Your face flushed, and you covered your mouth with your hand, eyes squinting with a mix of disbelief and something else. Something soft.

With that, Hansol turned around and rejoined the band.

His heart was still racing, and his hands were still shaking, but none of that mattered anymore.

He’d been so sure he’d ruined things with you two days ago. He thought he’d wrecked something that couldn’t be fixed. But now, under the blinding lights of the stage, with the crowd still screaming, he finally felt something shift.

For the first time in a long time, Hansol felt complete.

*

The cozy hum of the café blended with the quiet chatter of other patrons. The smell of fresh coffee beans and sweet pastries filled the air, but none of that could drown out the sound of Soonyoung’s obnoxious laughter. He sat across from you, phone in hand, replaying that moment for the fifth time.

"Here it comes, here it comes," he said with the excitement of someone watching a blockbuster plot twist. His grin stretched wide as Hansol's voice blared from the tiny phone speaker.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

The crowd's eruption played out again, and Soonyoung slapped the table, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. His shoulders shook with every cackle.

“Can you stop already?” you muttered, fingers tapping away at your laptop as you edited the batch of photos from last night’s gig. Your latte sat next to you, half-finished, its warmth barely noticeable anymore. "I heard it live, Soonyoung. I don’t need a replay."

"But I do," Soonyoung grinned, wiping at the corner of his eye. "This is gold, Y/n. Absolute, once-in-a-lifetime gold. Do you realize how many people would pay for a confession like that? In front of a whole crowd? On stage? With working audio as the grand finale?" He pressed play again.

"I like you, Y/n! Let's go on a date after this!"

Your face burned as you ducked behind your laptop, ears heating with the memory of the moment. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“I like you, Y/n!” Soonyoung mimicked, his voice high-pitched and theatrical, throwing his head back as if he were the one on stage. “Let's go on a date after this!”

You shot him a glare. “Keep it up, Soonyoung. See what happens.”

“Oooh, scary,” he teased, grinning even wider. "Don't be shy, Y/n. You looked like you were about to cry." He sniffled, pretending to wipe away a tear. "Oh, Hansol, I’ve been waiting for you to say it all my life—"

“Do you have a death wish, Kwon Soonyoung?” you deadpanned, voice dangerously calm.

Hansol, sitting right next to you, snickered behind his hand. He leaned back in his chair, hands in his hoodie pocket, glancing at you with the laziest grin imaginable. He hadn't said much since you sat down, but the look on his face said he was thoroughly entertained.

"You're both impossible," you muttered, eyes flicking back to your laptop. You clicked through your photos, adjusting brightness and contrast, but the warmth in your chest refused to fade. Your lips twitched despite yourself. "This was supposed to be our first date, you know," you muttered into your latte, barely loud enough for them to hear.

But of course, they heard.

“Ohhh?” Soonyoung's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. "Is that regret I hear, Y/n? Did you want something more romantic?”

“Romantic?” you scoffed, glancing at him briefly. “Yeah, I definitely dreamed of being confessed to in front of 200 strangers while the sound system crashed.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite in your voice.

Hansol leaned in, his elbow resting on the table, his gaze steady on you. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost fond.

"Would you have preferred something more low-key?" he asked, voice low but curious. He tilted his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. "I can do it again if you want."

Your heart skipped once, just once, and you had to look back at your screen before your face gave you away. "Don't be ridiculous, Hansol."

"Noted," he said simply, still grinning.

“Don’t let her fool you, man,” Soonyoung butted in, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching his favorite TV drama. “She loved every second of it. I saw that little smile. Oh, wait, should I replay it for reference?” His finger hovered over the screen.

You snatched a napkin off the table and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Shut up, Kwon Soonyoung.”

He howled with laughter, catching the napkin and tossing it back at you. “You’ll thank me later! I’m basically the biggest investor in your relationship!” he declared, puffing out his chest like he deserved a trophy. “Without me, none of this would have happened.”

“Investor?” you shot back, eyebrows raised. “Investor in what? Chaos?”

“Love,” he corrected, tapping his chest with mock sincerity. “I invest in love.”

Hansol laughed quietly at that, his shoulders shaking just a little. His eyes stayed on you, warm and steady, like he'd finally stopped second-guessing everything.

And for a moment, you forgot about Soonyoung's antics, the video, the embarrassment of it all. You only noticed Hansol, his gaze on you like it had been for weeks — no, maybe longer.

I like you, Y/n. Let's go on a date after this.

You didn’t need a replay for that.

It was already stuck in your head.

*

Late at night, the faint hum of streetlights buzzed in the background as Soonyoung paced back and forth outside his apartment building, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was casual, but his words carried a hint of mischief.

“Hey… yeah, it’s me — The Reckyz’s manager,” he said with a grin, glancing around as if someone might overhear him. “Mm-hm, that’s right. I wanted to talk about our performance tomorrow. Got a minute?”

He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing with focus as he listened to the response on the other end. His grin widened. “Perfect. Here’s the thing — I was wondering if you could help us out a bit during the gig tomorrow.” He leaned his back against the wall, his fingers drumming against his thigh like he was cooking up a master plan.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing too crazy,” he reassured. “I was thinking… maybe some technical issues on stage during the last song. Not a full shutdown, just enough to get people on edge for a second. It’s for promotional purposes, you know?” He laughed lightly, the kind that only comes from someone far too pleased with their own scheme.

“Don’t worry, the members will be aware of it,” he added, his voice smooth as if he’d done this a hundred times. “They’ll play along. Trust me, it'll be unforgettable.”

His eyes flickered with satisfaction as the person on the other end agreed.

"Perfect. I'll owe you one," he said, his grin sharp now, like a cat who’d just caught a mouse. "Just make sure it happens right before the second verse. Timing is everything."

He hung up, slipping his phone into his pocket, eyes glinting with quiet triumph.

"Operation Unforgettable Moment is a go," he muttered to himself, pushing off the wall and strolling down the street, hands in his pockets, a spring in his step. “Biggest investor in love, huh? Yeah, that’s me.”

[vixensbrainrotts]

Same old, same old — Sanzu Haruchiyo

Content: Angst to fluff

Tropes: bonten! Sanzu

Warnings: drugs and their aftermath, needles, cursing, (slight) description of wounds, crying, yelling

Summary: Can you really handle this again? Should you really handle this again?

Vixen's two cents: I have strayed from my typical hyper fluff for this one and I dont know how to feel about it, please let me know. I thought shortly about making this super angsty (I had a different ending in mind) so lmk if you'd like to see the 'bad' ending to this too! Im still looking for moots so please message me, I promise im not so scary. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN if you have any ideas for me! now enjoy...

When Sanzu comes into your shared high-top flat, he‘s loud. He stumbles over his own feet, curses loudly when his Jacket won’t come off his arms, and runs into the door that stands half-open to the kitchen- livingroom. You’re sitting at the kitchen island when he comes to you, and something about his entrance and the way his pace is erratic and a tad too fast to seem relaxed makes you a little wary. Something is off, you can feel it radiating off of him.

„Hey, you alright?“ you ask innocently enough, trying to look into his eyes but he won’t return your gaze. Instead he just reaches down into the lining of his suit and pulls out a slim packet, slamming it onto the marble in front of you before going past you. „I don’t want to talk about it.“ he hisses as he heads towards the master bedroom.

You‘re confused, and you try to call out after him but he doesn’t respond, so instead you shift your eyes to the item Sanzu had placed before you. It’s a small, dark grey opaque plastic baggy, and it seems to whisper to you in intrigue. You reach for it, carefully peeling back one layer of the tight wraps.

What greets you inside isnt shocking, but disappointing.

Three small syringes, all slim, and notably empty, glint in the lighting, sharp tips sparkling with a metallic, glitter like shine. You sharply inhale, covering the tips with the plastic again to hide them from view. Clutching the packet tightly you stand to rush after Sanzu, who you assume is now in the bedroom.

„Haru?“ you hate the way your voice breaks. You’re supposed to be the strong one, the one who can handle these types of situations. „Haru!“ you call out to him again when you see him disappear into the bathroom, lock clicking when the door falls shut behind him. You lay your hand on the door to the bathroom with the hand thats holding the packet, and the noise the syringes make when they clink against the door makes you cringe. „Open the door baby, please. I promise im not mad at you or anything but please just open the door!” You cry out to him, softly rapping against the door with your hand.

In response you hear him yell “Go away”, and his voice is hoarse- he’s crying - he’s ashamed. Sighing, you cradle your head in your hands, thinking that maybe you can talk him out of it, but you hear the tap of the tub start running- probably to drown you out. “Haru baby we can talk about this, please turn off the water and open the door.” You try to reach him again but it’s useless.

“Go away y/n!” He roars and you can hear him start to strip, clothes being pulled and thrown into the floor. “I’m not leaving you alone Haru! Not when you’re like this!” You pound on the door this time, expressing your urgency to him clearly. On the other side of the door the haste ends, a sniffle reaching your ears over the noise of the running water.

“And I can let you see me like this!” His voice is smaller, weaker than you have ever heard him, and it breaks you. “I’ve seen you at worse baby, and you and I both know it’s better if you’d let me in.”

There are a few paces of relative silence, only the rush of water marking the passing of time. Then you hear another wet sniffle and a sigh, and you hear him slowly coming towards the door, and you step back a little.

Your grip tightens around the packet still in your hands when you hear the lock click open, and you swore you felt yourself go lightheaded for a second out of relief when the door finally opened.

Sanzu reveals himself, and he looks like a mess and a half. Eyes red, from crying and the drugs alike, hair falling and jutting out in messy strands from where it sat in the short pony, shirtless, and as you let your eyes drift down his exposed skin, you saw the hitches. His elbows were bloody and bruised from the injections, and tiny little veins raked the surfaces nearby.

His dress shirt lay bundled up in a forgotten heap on the floor not too far from the bathtub. The water was still running and it was annoying you. With a sigh you reached your empty hand up to him, cursing yourself when he flinched back a little.

You looked at his eyes, but he wouldn't return the gaze. Disappointed, you took the step forward on your own, laying your hand on his chest and pushing him into the bathroom, allowing yourself entry. Your hand traced down his arm, and when it reached his hand, you held it tightly, turning to face him when you walked past him, and puling him along further into the room.

You tugged him to the closed toilet seat, half-forcing him to sit before you, and he let you, slumping down onto the porcelain weakly. You turned shortly, wanting to go and turn off the still-open faucet, but a weak grip held you back.

Turning to look at Sanzu, you heard him mumble something, but the noise was shrouded by the running water. "What was that, love?"

"Dont let go." his voice was frail as he croaked it weakly, and your heart broke a little.

Sighing, you leaned your body towards the tub, reaching the tap and shutting it off, careful not to accidentally let his hand slip from yours. Once done, you straightened yourself and faced him again, walking over to stand between his legs.

"Baby?" he said, eyes only half open, "are you-" his voice got caught in his throat, but you knew what he wanted to ask.

are you mad at me?

are you disappointed?

are you leaving me?

are you out of your mind for staying with me after I've gone to rehab twice and relapsed again, and again, and again?

are you sending me back to rehab?

A million questions lie unanswered between the two of you, and you choose to leave it that way as you guide his hand to rest on your waist, laying your own hands on his shoulders. You look into his tired eyes for a moment before pulling him forward to rest his head on your stomach.

Tracing his back and shoulders, you trail your hands up the back of his neck, scratching the nape a little before traveling up to the ponytail, pulling the holder out of his hair, and letting it fall open. You rake your hands through the sweaty strands, not caring about the grease.

You lean down to press a kiss against his head, hands now holding his jaw and you turn him to face you. "Im here for you, ok? I dont care what happens, I have your back. Always." you press another kiss to his forehead. "Through thick and thin, through good and bad." You kiss his jaw. "I love you baby, and nothing is going to stop me from loving you, not even yourself." Your fingers trace his cheekbones and lay your forehead on his, letting your eyes close.

"Allow me to love you all the way, please. Don't try and run when things get hard like this again, it's not good for either of us." you whisper, and you feel his breath hitch against your face.

His fingers curl around your waist, and you let him breath into you, and when you hear a weak whimper you straighten yourself again, pulling him into you again, letting him cry as you hold his head.

Looking at the wall you count the tiles. Blankly you hold your lovers head and think.

things will get better. things are better.

[just-jordie-things]

omg omg omg i am extremely sorry if i interrupted your hopefully very wonderful day but i was thinking abt megumi x reader where the reader is at first very stoic and nonchalant (and sometimes even comes off as a bit blunt), typically is introverted, but once u get to know reader u realise they are very silly and lighthearted, and they like doing things for their friends even if they dont rlly find it interesting as they just want to make them happy. IDK WHY BUT I RLLY LIKE THIS IDEA. byebyee ! ♪( ´θ｀)ノ

!!!!!!!! YES !!!!!!!!!!!

what's interesting about you is that megumi did not warm up right away- despite you being just like him. nobara and yuji notice it shortly after meeting you. at first impression you're reserved, maybe even a bit intimidated by their rambunctious energy. but once you got to know them it didn't take long for them to see the real you. that you could be just as goofy and fun, you just had to get comfortable first!!

but just to megumi's luck, it seemed you hadn't quite gotten used to his presence yet. because as soon as he came around, you were quiet. for a while he didn't think much of it. but eventually he started to notice that wasn't the norm for the others.

he'd see you having lunch with yuji, laughing and talking animatedly. or chatting away while mid-spar with nobara, it seemed even when you were winded you could hold a conversation with her.

and he tried not to let it get under his skin, because megumi wasn't sensitive... he didn't care if you got along better with his friends than with him.... that would be... well... shit.

he racked his mind for what he possibly could've said or done to ward you off. but the longer he thought about it the more he came to realize that he hadn't even been around you enough to have said something to offend you, so what could it be?

his pesky thoughts kept telling him maybe you were crushing on yuji or nobara... but he did his best to shove those thoughts down. so what if you liked one of them? it wasn't like him to be jealous...

well shit, he's jealous AND sensitive. fantastic.

deciding that he'd just have to approach you to get to the bottom of it, megumi swallows his pride. if he asked you directly why you never talked to him, then you'd have to give him a proper answer.

so he finds you one afternoon walking on your own, takes a deep breath, and approaches.

and just before he can say anything, you catch sight of him and even smile a little- wait did you just smile at him?

"fushiguro, i was just going to look for you"

it's the most you've ever spoken to him, and he's frozen before you. he even looks completely caught off guard, brows raised to his hairline, lips parted, eyes wide, you almost laugh at him.

"l-looking for me?" he stammers back at you, and this time you can't help the little chuckle that comes out.

"yeah, gotcha something," you say, only confusing him further.

he watches in shock as you reach in your pocket, trying to come up with what you could have for him. when you retrieve a small pop-it keychain and dangle it before him with a grin, megumi can safely say he wasn't expecting that.

he blinks at it dumbly, as if he's never seen a pop-it fidget toy before. there's only two bubbles on the keychain since it's so small, but he's more curious about the black, vague dog shape of the keychain itself.

"thought it looked like your dog," you say, your smile suddenly growing bashful the longer megumi just stands there and stares at it. "...kinda" you add nervously.

finally, he reaches out to take the small gift from you. he pops the bubbles mindlessly, but mostly he just couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

it was almost awkward, how long you both stood there in silence while megumi inspects the keychain.

and eventually, he looks back at you, only ot find you've been waiting rather patiently for him to say something.

"you just... got this for me?"

it's a stupid comment, but he doesn't know what else to say.

you nod your head. "yeah, made me think of you"

it made her think of me? now megumi's face is heating up at the idea that you think of him at all. before now he would've bet money that you didn't even know his first name.

"oh... thank you..."

his awkwardness nearly gives you second hand embarrassment, but you're so relieved that he accepted the silly gift at all that all you can do is smile and nod at him.

to his surprise, there's a block in his throat that he has to clear before he can speak again.

"um, i was just heading to lunch..." he trails off, hoping that's all the more he'd need to say, but when you stand there and blink back at him he figures he'll have to make more of an effort. "have you eaten?"

you shake your head, a small smile on your face as you see where he was trying to go with this.

"i could eat" you reply.

megumi nods his head a few times, his fingers nervously fiddling with his new keychain, popping the rubber bubbles audibly.

"so... so you want to come and eat with me?"

you bite your tongue to keep from laughing as you nod again. your lunch is spent making awkward conversation in an attempt to fill the awkward silences. but after trying to open himself up to you, megumi finally got to see the side of you he so badly wanted to get to know.

now it was just his turn to try to return the favor. you had your curiosities too, after all.

[da-rulah]

Hello again!

I am humbly back in your asks to shoot my shot. Could I request Popia coming back from tour and insecure reader who has heard some unsavory (untrue) rumors? Bonus for spice ♡

I adore you, and I hope you have a wonderful week. ♡

Hey lovely! This was an interesting little scenario in my head... I don't know if you wanted the version of Popia I've written, but frankly, an angry Popia is a sexy as fuck Popia in my mind, so I hope you enjoy this... 😈

TW/ Themes of jealousy, untrue rumours, domestic arguments, angry sex, possessive sex, creampie, unprotected sex

Reader has female anatomy but only lower genitalia mentioned. Pronouns not used.

MDNI 18+

Copia expected you to be a little more excited at his return, but instead was met with awkward smiles and anxious mannerisms that confused him. This wasn't like you at all...

You avoided the topic, telling him you were simply fine, just tired. But you could barely look him in the eye after what you'd heard...

"Amore, you are avoiding me," he stated, catching you in the ministry kitchen after your duties of the day were complete. Everyone had gone home for the day, the dinner service well and truly over. You'd offered to lock up tonight, indeed avoiding Copia for the third day in a row since he'd arrived back from tour.

"Copia please, it's been a long day and I need to finish cleaning up," you sighed, not bothering to look at him as you lifted the tray of pots and pans that needed cleaning and started to walk away from him towards the industrial sinks in the back.

"You won't even look at me! What did I do?" he asked, exasperated as he followed you. "Were you not happy I came home?"

"Of course I am!" you argued, slamming the tray into the empty sink, pots and pans clattering against each other. Finally, you looked up at him. His brow furrowed in annoyance, his patience at the situation wearing thin.

"Then why are you avoiding me? You barely let me kiss you since I came back, let alone touch you... You seem mad at me, and hell knows why!"

"Oh, come on, Copia! Everyone was wittering about it for the last two weeks! I should have known, it was only a matter of time before you found someone better, and I can't say I blame you but you could have at least told me and broken things off before I had to find out from the whispers in the hallway," you finally exploded, yelling at him about what you'd heard while he'd been away.

According to some of the sisters, someone had seen him going into a hotel with a woman on tour; a younger, prettier woman. The sisters had snickered about it for days, giving you filthy looks of satisfaction when they saw your obvious upset.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, his voice raising as he stepped closer. You shook your head, turning back to the sink and turning on the water for the shower head-style faucet and pouring washing up liquid over the pans.

"You, swanning into a fucking hotel with some prettier woman on your arm," you noisily moved the pots around the sink, coating them in sudsy water.

Copia reached for the faucet and switched the water off to interrupt you, forcing you to look back at him with a look of anger mixed with hurt and devastation.

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?" you asked, voice cracking under the weight of sadness.

"Yes, actually. Because when I find the stronzo who fucking lied to you, I'm going to skin them alive." The fury in his face was evident, his chest puffed up as he took deep breaths to keep himself steady. How dare someone make something so vile up?

"W-well you would say that..." you shrugged, actively choosing to ignore the clear signs that he was furious at the rumour and had been chasing you down for three days just to be close to you. Your own insecurities were too loud, telling you his gaze would be redirected the second someone better came along despite knowing he would never do anything to hurt you like that...

"You think I would do that to you? Do you not know how much I love you?" he asked, hurt. You bit your lip, tears flowing as you searched for a response. But you didn't have one...

Copia took a step towards you, his heart aching when you took one back from him as if scared of him. His instincts had him take another step to try and comfort you, but he watched as your back hit the edge of the sink, effectively corning you in.

"I don't know who started that rumour, but I can assure you, they will be dealt with." His tone was dark, matching the expression on his face. You felt almost hunted as he stalked towards you...

"Why would I ever want anybody other than you, amore?" he growled. It ignited something deep inside you, something akin to excitement...

He stepped close enough that you leaned back from him against the sink, his form looming over you as his arms caged you in, gripping the edges of the sink so tight his leather gloves squeaked in protest.

"You are all I have ever wanted, and yet you question my loyalty, tesoro?" he asks, his face hovering barely inches from yours. You couldn't find it in you to be genuinely scared of him, knowing him too well. "Maybe you need reminding just who I belong to, eh?"

"C-Copia... I'm sorry..." you told him, your voice small and quiet, unsure of itself.

"Too late," he growled, lifting one of his hands to grip the side of your neck and pull you close enough to land his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. Instinctively, you gripped the edges of his waistcoat to keep yourself steady.

He pressed his body against you, hips meeting yours where you bent backwards over the sink. He let go of the edge, instead hiking your thigh up to his hip to press himself further into you. You could feel him swelling against you, hardening as he deepened the kiss and felt you succumbing to him.

"You doubt my feelings for you, tesoro? You think I would want to fuck anyone other than you, eh?" he asked between kisses, now beginning to trail them down your jawline and neck. "Answer me!"

"N-no..."

He took your hand from his waistcoat, forcing it to grip him through his pants.

"You feel that? Who does that belong to?" he growled against your neck.

"M-me?" you questioned, heat pooling between your legs and butterflies fluttering erratically through your abdomen.

"Take it out, tesoro. Feel how fucking hard you make me..." he ordered. You did as told, unlacing his pants and reaching in to expose his length that sat thick and heavy in your palm. Copia groaned at the touch.

You couldn't help but start to pump his length in your hand, needing him close, needing more of him than you could get right now.

Copia couldn't stand it any longer, needing to claim you back as his, to show you that he belonged to you and you only. He stepped back, wrenching your body with him only to spin you and pin you back against the sinks edge. He lifted your habit over the swell of your ass, dragging your panties down to your knees as you folded in half for him.

"Do you know how often I thought of you on tour, tesoro? How I dreamt of burying myself inside you over and over when i couldn't have you? How many times I cried your name out into the night when no one was around, fucking into my hand because that's all I had?" he admitted shamelessly, dragging his gloved fingers through the wetness between your legs as you moaned in wanton delight.

"Did you miss me too, tesoro?" he asked, slowly pushing two fingers easily inside you, other hand gripping your shoulder to keep you from flopping into the sink at the feeling.

"Y-yes..." you whined. "So much."

You groaned as he curled his fingers inside you, stretching you open and ready for him as he held you still. "This is all I thought about, tesoro... Coming home to you, feeling you clench for me like your pussy is begging for me..."

"Copia please!" you cried, needing him now. "s'all yours, just please... I fucking missed you!"

You felt his fingers retract form inside you, leaving you empty for just a moment as he lined himself up with your heat and slowly started to sink into you.

"You feel that, tesoro?" he asked as he filled you, "All that is yours. Just for you, amore mio... Say it," he ordered.

"S'all mine... You're mine, Copia!" Hearing you claim him as he filled you sent his mind into overdrive, and his hips thrusted violently forwards until he was completely sheathed inside you.

He lost sight of himself then, gripping into your hips tightly while his hips pistoned into you. How badly he'd wanted you for weeks and weeks while he'd been gone, and the torture of you avoiding him since he came home was all too much; all his pent up frustration came out at once, claiming you as he asked you to claim him too.

"C-Copia..." you called to him as he fucked into you, reaching your hand back behind you needing to feel him, to have him hold you. He gripped your hand, threading his fingers through yours and held your arm against your lower back, leaning over you as he pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades.

"I got you, I'm here," he assured breathlessly, keeping his rhythm punishingly harsh.

It didn't take long at all for the coil to wind itself so tight inside you it threatened to snap in an instant. Overwhelmed as you were, your fingers tightened between his while your other hand gripped the edge of the sink. He could feel you clenching around him and knew you were coming to your end. Frankly, he was grateful. He couldn't keep this up much longer, his own orgasm looming...

So he started to talk you through it, almost begging you to remember the effect you had on him, that you were his sole reason for losing his mind.

"O-only you can do this to me, amore. I'm all yours, do you hear me? No one else... Never anyone else," he growled. "Cazzo, cum for me... Please, before I lose my fucking mind..."

You'd never heard him like this before, begging you to accept him as yours, to understand that he belongs to you. It drove you wild, snapping your orgasm into overdrive.

You cried out for him, your limbs tensing and convulsing as you spasmed around him. Copia gave in then, finally allowing himself to cum inside you with a garbled scream of his own. He refused to loosen his grip on you, holding you up from sinking down into the water and filthy pots beneath you.

"A-amore..." he panted, worried by the silence as you came down from your high. "Are you still with me?"

With all the strength you could muster, you straightened up, letting him take a step back and effectively removing himself from you while you both readjusted to conserve some modesty. When you turned around to look at him, propping yourself up on the sink edge again, you saw the worry in his face and instantly wanted to comfort him.

"Come here..." you told him, pulling him gently by his waistcoat again. He stepped into your warmth again, allowing you to wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head against his chest. His arms encircled you, holding you tightly to him. "I'm sorry. I let my head win again."

"No, it's okay amore. I don't blame you, I blame the assholes who spread that vile rumour." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, stroking your hair while you breathed him in, finally close and held by the love of your life once again. "I'm taking you with me next time. I cannot bear another tour without you at my side."

You pulled back to look up at him then, surprised and excited at the idea. "Really?"

"Sí, leaving you behind was the only mistake I made."

[bigchallenger]

our cat son

mark rebellato era! artrick

✎ art finds a cat and, in typical art fashion, persuades him to co-parent the new baby (in secret).

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 877 wrds.

"Art?"

Silence.

"Art, where are you?"

More silence. 

"Art, seriously, where are you? I heard you."

Patrick stood with his hands on his hips, a quizzical look on his face as he examined he and Art's shared room. They'd been bunkmates at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy since they were twelve, and Art had never not greeted Patrick with a big smile and wave.

Patrick literally heard Art shuffling around the room before he opened the door, so where the hell was he? There weren't many places to hide, so Patrick guessed he'd just have to start looking.

"Art?" He called, checking under his bed.

"Artt??" He drawled, checking under Art's bed.

"Where the hell are you?" He groaned, searching the connected bathroom.

"Arthur Michael Donaldson!" He yelled, standing in the middle of the room.

A short gasp sounded from inside their shared closet, then a small 'Shit!'.

Patrick frowned and walked over to the closet, placing each of his hands on the handles. He paused for a second to listen to the sounds of quiet shuffling of a body and rustling of clothes, then he smirked and yanked the doors open.

"Gotcha!- The fuck?" 

Art was curled up in between all the clothes, cradling a tiny ball of fur in his arms. He smiled sheepishly up at Patrick, who looked absolutely bewildered.

"Hey, Pat..." He smiled, shielding the little creature under his arm.

"What is that?" Patrick asked, trying to get a better view from where he stood.

"Don't be mad."

"Art, what the hell is that?"

"Don't be mad!"

"Okay, just tell me what the fuck it is!"

Art shifted with a grunt, lifting himself out of the closet. He moved the furball into his hands and presented it to Patrick like it was Simba-- And it might as well have been Simba, considering the fact that Patrick was now staring right in the eyes of a little orange kitten.

"Are you serious?" Patrick laughed. Despite his shock and bewilderment, he reached a hand up to scratch the kitten on the head. "Where the fuck did you get this thing?"

The kittened meowed, as if to tell the story itself, before Art shushed it and placed his fingers over its little mouth.

"You know where the courtyard connects to the neighborhood out back? Well, I was out there with Jack and we heard a little meow, so we started running along the fence trying to find it. We found this little guy stuck under the fence, so we picked him up and bathed him and made sure he was okay...but I couldn't let him go," Art explained, mindlessly petting the cat's back.

Patrick shook his head, thoroughly amused by the story. "So...what, you're planning on keeping this kitten a secret from the teachers and coaches? What if you get caught?"

Art paused, as if he hadn't considered that.

"Well...I was hoping you'd help me take care of him? I was planning on keeping him until we go home for Thanksgiving, so I can give him to my mom and make sure she'll take care of him."

Patrick huffed. Thanksgiving was...three months away. They were going to have to take care of this kitten and keep him a secret during room checks for three months. It would be difficult...but Art was looking at him like his life would be over if he had to let this kitten go, and he'd never been good at saying no to Art's pretty blue eyes.

"Okay, so what are we gonna name our baby?" Patrick resigned.

"What?" Art said, confused.

"What are we naming it? If it's gonna be our..." He paused, leaning down to examine the cat's underside. "...son, for the next three months, he needs a name."

Art broke out into a big, goofy smile. His eyes lit up, and Patrick would've thought Art's greatest wish came true. 

"We can keep him?"

"Only if we can co-parent. I'm gonna get way attached to that thing in the next three months, and I don't think I'll be able to handle it if I don't get to see him ever again."

Art laughed and shrugged. "You're already invited to all my family events. I'll make sure our son attends all of them."

Patrick loved that look in Art's eyes. He always looked like he was having the best day ever, especially when he smiled. Art was beautiful.

"Good. So...what's his name?"

"Bartholomew?"

"No."

"Garfield?"

"..Because he's orange? No."

"Uh...Alan."

"No!"

"Buttons."

"No- Actually, that's...that's actually kinda cute. I like that."

Art smiled even bigger, if that was even possible, and offered Buttons to Patrick. Patrick handled him very gingerly and cradled him to his chest. Buttons meowed in protest for a moment, but he quickly resigned to the warmth.

Patrick always ran hotter than Art, so it made sense that Buttons liked being held by him. Patrick was the fire to Art's ice.

"I love our son," Patrick said wistfully.

"I love him, too," Art shrugged. "Not as much as I love you, though," He said jokingly.

Patrick made a fake gagging noise and carefully shifted Buttons over to one hand so he could punch Art's shoulder.

"You're gross."

"You love it."

[bts-hyperfixation]

Pregnant Frustrations

A Namjoon x Reader fanfiction

Summer Madness 5/33 Namjoon comes home to find his pregnant wife with a bit of a conundrum.CW Pregnancy kink, Stretching (the request asked for fisting but that's bad for pregnant women so I've gone with perineal massage...), cockwarming, Praise

You flop back onto the bed, screaming into the nearest pillow in frustration, giving up completely. You'd known you were playing a losing game as soon as your belly popped but now, at 32 weeks you were finally defeated. Your body ached and you were pissed off that the bath you had just taken was only allowed to be lukewarm. Now you can't even successfully work on your perineal massage so you were going to fucking tear on top of all the other trauma of birth. You made a mental note to absolutely rip your husband to shreds when he got home. 

And at that moment, as if he knew what was coming, your love walked through the door. 

He walked into the bedroom to put down his bag like usual, clearly not expecting you to be lying, spread eagle on the bed with your head buried under a pillow.

"Everything okay babe?" Namjoon asked, confusion evident in his voice.

You launched the pillow in your hands at his head, missing by a hair. 

"Guess not..."

He drops his bag and picks up the pillow, placing it back where it lives and then climbs onto the bed next to you. He stretches his arms out and you wriggle back into them, mumbling an apology as you snuggle against him.

"What's the matter?" He asks, kissing your head. 

"My back is killing me." You groan. 

"A pillow to the head seems a bit dramatic if that's the only thing wrong..."

"You're the reason I'm stuck like this, I think you deserved it."

He shakes his head, knowing better than to verbally argue. He shuffles you into a better position where he can reach your shoulders and begins to apply pressure in the best places. You roll your shoulders and relax instantly under your husband's skilled fingers. 

Your skin is still greasy from the lotion you used after your bath and his hands slide easily against your skin, running down your arms and back up along your neck. He repeats the motions over and over, each time wandering a little bit further, until his hands are carefully pressing over your stomach, indulging himself in the swell of your belly. He also isn't particularly subtle as he plays with your breasts and nipples on his way back to your shoulders.

"I said my back hurts Joonie, not my front." You comment glancing back at him. 

"Yeah, but it's not like you can lie on your front for me to reach your back." He shrugs "Also, The way you were lying when I came in wasn't exactly going to help your back pain, so I thought you might like other... help?"

"Oh... that... yeah. Sorry Joonie that wasn't a horny thing, I've just realised I can't do the perineal massages anymore." You sigh, reminded of your conundrum.

You expect him to look disappointed, only to find him with a thoughtful look on his face. You can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to work through his thoughts.

"Is it something you'd be comfortable with me doing?" He asks finally.

"I mean, I guess so? It's not like your fingers haven't been there before." You say gesturing to your stomach. "Do you know how?"

"Yeah, I read the same books you did." He admits. 

He slides you gently off of his lap, propping you up comfortably on a couple of pillows. 

He moves between your legs, taking the right one into his lap. He rubs hard against your thighs, digging in the heel of his hands to relieve all the pressure you had pent up. He follows a circular pattern, rubbing in all the lotion that you'd long given up on. He then switches to your left leg to repeat the motions. 

When he has finished playing with your legs, he helps you to bend them into the correct position for him to have full access to you. He picks up the vitamin oil you had long since abandoned and squeezes some onto his index fingers. 

You watch as he warms the oil between his fingers before carefully running it along the bottom of your vagina and perineum. 

"All okay?" He asks.

His fingers apply a little bit of pressure at the base of your vagina stretching down a little.

"All okay." You affirm.

He continues to move, taking his fingers in a U-shaped motion for a minute before sliding out and massaging against your perineum. You try to focus on your deep breathing like all the articles say, but somehow having Namjoon in between your legs stretching you out, was making it hard to focus.

You accidentally let out a moan as his fingers press back inside of you moments later but neither of you mention it. You do however notice the way he grinds against the bed a little, readjusting himself. He goes on for a couple more repeats, switching between stretching and massaging with almost textbook precision, not that you were surprised.

Suddenly a third finger you weren't expecting makes its way inside of you. You jump a little, the bigger stretch catching you off guard.

"Sorry," Namjoon whispers. 

Although the grin on his face suggests he is anything but apologetic as the third digit isn't removed. His hips grind against the mattress more obviously now, his eyes fixated on your heat rather than on you as he speaks. 

"It's getting a little... slippery down here." He alludes to how wet you've become since he started 

You thought your husband might be gentleman enough to ignore it, but apparently not.

"Look Horny, this isn't supposed to be sexy." You scold, half-heartedly.

"I can't help it if seeing my beautiful wife get wet for me makes me horny. I'm only human love." He says.

You roll your eyes.

His eyes flick up to meet yours as if asking for permission, his tongue flicking out briefly between his lips. You sigh deeply, resigned to appease him and stop pretending you weren't just as turned on as he was. 

"Look, on one hand, sex sounds fantastic, on the other, I'm exhausted, so you will be doing all the work." You relent.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Gorgeous." He grins.

He turns his head to the side and bites hard at your thigh making you yelp. His eyes are filled with mischief as they lock back on yours. He leans in closer to your pussy and licks a long stripe up the middle. His tongue flicks at your clit, digging into the centre. It makes you grab onto the sheets to keep from squirming away from him. Still, you wriggle uncomfortably as he plays with you, three fingers still deep inside of you, now searching to bring you pleasure instead of comfort.

"Sit still would you." He scolds.

His free arm wraps around your leg, bicep bulging as he keeps you exactly where he wants you. With nowhere to run, your orgasm builds quickly, but his tongue doesn't stop until he has cleaned up as much of your cum as he can.

He backs away and removes his belt, shoving his slacks down just far enough to spring free. He teases you at first, rubbing his head around your hole. He dips in a little and back out again, soaking his dick in a combination of your slick and his spit. You grab onto his shoulders, clawing at him to try and convince him to push forwards, but he just laughs, too strong for you to manipulate.

You whine for him, hoping to spur him on verbally instead.

"For someone who didn't seem interested in sex half an hour ago, you sure are a mess right now." He observes. 

He dips down towards you, teasing you with quick kisses before moving his face too far away again.

"I ache all over Joonie, it's not nice to tease." You pout, batting your eyelashes.

"You're right baby." He admits, leaning in to kiss the pout away "I'll make this quick for you." He winks

He lines himself up properly and pushes himself inside of you easily after all the stretching. He wastes no time, setting a punishing rhythm. You move with each thrust, having to cling to him for stability. He has one hand next to you and the other on the headboard to keep him from leaning against your stomach as he moves. He bites his bottom lip as he stares down at you, his eyes not leaving your face as he watches your expression twist with pleasure. 

"You're so pretty baby" He comments, coming out between harsh breaths. 

You moan loudly for him, voicing your approval. His hips dip to hit deeper inside of you making you cry out as the tension builds in your stomach, another orgasm rolling over you. He isn't far behind, letting go as he watches you unwind. 

He pulls away just long enough to watch his cum leak out of you, his fingers instinctively reaching up to play with it. 

"I feel empty, Joonie." You complain.

"Okay angel, I can fix that."

He kisses your forehead, wiping away some of the hairs that had gotten stuck to the afterglow sweat. 

He then pulls away from you completely disposing of the rest of his clothes. He lays on the bed and pulls you to spoon him, getting comfortable together before he slides his half-hard cock between your thighs. He sucks in air through his teeth as his over-sensitised gland slides back into the heat between your legs. You fall asleep there together, locked together intimately and fully satisfied.

Ask Box - Please send me thirsty/funny/angsty bts thoughts

Masterlist

Summer Madness Masterlist

[upsidedownmvnson]

CONGRATS ON 1K!!!!! AHHHH YOU DESERVE IT

What about a reader who's basically a female version of steve (used to be popular, is trying to be better, still a bit judgy...) and dustin is trying to set them up and neither of them like the idea until they have the opportunity to really know eachother and then are like "umm maybe i do like you"

upsidedownmvnson's 1k followers blurb celebration &lt;3 request a 1k word blurb :) deadline is saturday <3

idk this doesn't feel like my best work - i want to try again.

warnings: manipulation from ex mentioned,

eddie should've known that dustin had a plan. he's been trying to get you and eddie to hangout for weeks but eddie is stubborn as fuck.

but he believed you really did need a hand, so he trotted down the hallway to the closet in dustin's house, only to see you trying to climb the shelves to reach the box dustin had sent you to get. he contemplated not helping you, until it looked like you were going to slip. and the last thing he needed was you somehow blaming it on him.

"here," he says lowly, gruff, unfriendly. how he always talks to you.

you say nothing, but you climb down anyway. once he steps beside you in the small walk-in, the door slams shut, and eddie isn't fast enough, grabbing the handle after dustin turned the key. the knob doesn't budge.

"fuck," eddie says, frustrated. he didn't want to come tonight. not when robin and steve's new best friend, you, were going to be here. he just can't stand you. he's projecting his problem, and he even knows that.

you say nothing, just stand quietly near him. you don't move, afraid you'll somehow make him more mad. you'd tried. you tried everything you could think of to get eddie to see you for more than who you were a few years ago. but nothing seemed to work. dustin encouraged you to keep trying, but the constant rejection was starting to add up.

"what?"

he caught you staring, and you turn away. happy for the confines of darkness to hide the embarrassed blush across your cheeks.

"nothing, sorry." your tone is sharp. probably what makes eddie so on edge around you. he thinks you don't like him, and you think he doesn't like you. and you two just ended up as rivals. it was like you were back in highschool.

but you'd never even really spoken to eddie in school - so you just don't know why he hates you so much.

you laughed. and eddie looked at you confused. you shook your head, "it's pretty ridiculous," you said, laughing again. "like, the old lock 'em in the closet gag. how long did it take him to figure that one out?"

"don't make fun of him," eddie snaps.

you look taken back. "i'm not."

"you are, you always are."

"if i'm so mean then why am i always invited over. why does dustin call me begging for me to show up?"

"you make him beg?"

"i don't make anyone do anything," you say, the conversation turning hostile as it usually did. eddie twisting your words to make something silly into something ugly. "he just wants me to join."

"but why does he beg? better places to be than with the freaks?"

"i literally have nowhere else to be, it's just getting old getting fucking berated everytime i go out with my friends."

"who berates you?"

you looked around confused, was he serious? he looked shocked, as if he was figuring out that, uh yeah, you were talking about him.

"i can't walk into the room without you making some snide little remark under your breath. don't think i don't hear you constantly mocking me while we're in the group. and by the way you're the only one of us to ever refer to them as freaks."

you bang on the door a couple of time, "let me out!"

"not until you guys figure out how to be civil," dustin mumbled through the door.

"let us out, henderson," eddie said, hitting the door once with his fist.

"hey eddie," steve shouts through the door. "remember what we talked about? why don't you see for yourself?"

you two kept shouting to be let out, but after a few minutes it was clear that they'd left. a minute later you hear loud music turn on in the other room.

"well," you said, sliding down the wall of the closet. eddie did the same across from you. "can we just be civil and be done with it?"

"look," he says, "i just can't, okay?"

"why?"

"you know why."

"i don't."

"stop playing dumb, i'm starting to get angry again."

"i'm really, really not playing dumb."

"you and your friends in high school? all those times that your boyfriend would be bullying kids and you did nothing, you did nothing, but stand nearby and follow him around, it was sick."

"yeah, i know."

"and you were always defending him. like it was us who didn't understand. and you... you know?"

"he was mean to me too, i was scared of him."

eddie doesn't say anything.

"he always said he would like, hurt himself, if i left and like, just insane shit. i'm not proud of who i was."

eddie still doesn't say anything, just watches you. you shrink under the pressure.

"and you know what? how come everyone gets a second chance but me? nancy and steve were part of the cool kids too and you gave them a second chance. you haven't even given me one."

"i thought that..."

"what, eddie? just lay the cards on the table and let's talk about it."

"i thought you hated me," eddie says.

"i'm sorry eddie. i don't hate you, you just make me anxious."

and then eddie feels like shit. because he's thinking about it and you're right. you'd never, ever struck first in any of the verbal fights with him. and you were always tense around him - he thoguht it was hate but you were scared, you thought he was going to be mean to you. and he realizes he's been blinded by some petty grudge that he hasn't given you a chance to be yourself.

"i'm sorry," edide says, his voice breaks and he feels like his core values have been ignored. he was the one in the wrong. "maybe we can... maybe we can like talk?"

you shuffled to the other side of the closet, scooped eddies hand in yours to comfort him, and smiled at him. you could see his glossy eyes even without the light. "i'd like that."

eddie smiled, not knowing where to start but excited to try.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Old Fashioned ↠ The King x Reader

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Romantic

Music rang throughout the crowded rooms in the School of Impersonation as the broken-down jukebox sang sorrowfully in the corner. Its glitched and sporadic chants did little to dissuade the gang from enjoying themselves, however, as they all still seemed to have about as much fun as if the music were clear.

You leaned against the wall behind the makeshift bar, watching as the King members ran around drinking and dancing on stage. The white dress you stole from the Ultra-Luxe fitted you nicely as you cradled your own alcohol in your hand, enjoying the multiple Elvis songs that the members took turns singing into the busted microphone.

You jumped in surprise when you heard your bell being rung, you're eyes scanned over the rows of barstools before they landed on the King. "Sorry, baby, didn't mean to make ya all shook up like that.".

You grinned at him, "Don't worry about it. Here for another drink?"

"I sure am, could you get me one for the heart?"

"One for the heart? Did one of your groupies leave you?"

His blue eyes locked onto yours for a minute before he replied, "Yeah, somethin' like that."

You rummaged around in your crates before pulling out a bottle of beer. Simple, but he seemed to enjoy them well enough.

"I'm worried about you, King, did something happen? I feel like you're never hanging around your girls anymore." Normally you'd see the two women he was usually around at least once a day, but it'd been around a week since the last time you saw them.

"I'm hangin' round you, ain't I?" He said, offering you a quiet 'thank ya' as you handed him over the drink.

"You know what I mean." You said, leaning against the counter to better level yourself with the man who sat on the bar stool before you. "What's going on? Was there an argument?"

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the counter, supposedly a nervous habit, although, you don't ever think you've seen him anxious in your life. "Would you mind comin' upstairs with me? I'd rather talk with you in a more uh—secluded location."

"You're the boss." You quickly wiped your hands off onto a rag before following closely behind him up the stairs of the relatively large building. You ran your hand along the rusted railing as you went, you were slightly anxious about what he wanted to talk to you about and prayed that he wasn't mad about the whole 'banned-from-the-Ultra-Luxe-for-not-following-industry-rules' incident. You thought you brushed most of it under the rug, but maybe something happened to reach his ears all the way out in Freeside?

"Sooo, what'd you wanna tell me? I hope I'm not in trouble." You joked, attempting to alleviate the tension that was slowly starting to set. You'd been in the King's room many times before, most people have, he's not very strict about who can and can't wander up to that floor, but seeing it without all his usual girls made you feel confused and slightly uneasy.

"(Y/N), I don't know what's overcome me but I can't seem to shake you from my thoughts." He blurted, placing his hands gently on your shoulders.

"What?" You asked. This wasn't where you thought the conversation would go at all.

"Listen, you don't gotta say anythin' right now. I get that I'm technically your boss an' all that, but—well—I just wanna offer you this dance."

You giggled, flattered at the offer as you stepped closer to drape your arms around his neck, his hands instinctively sliding down your waist. "Of course." Is all you said before he began to sway you across the wooden floors that still held sturdy after all these years. The old-fashioned slow dance didn't mix well with the songs the others blasted downstairs, but it didn't seem to matter, the King still handled you delicately as you danced. And when the music started to slow, he dipped you down, kissed your temple, and let you go.

He wrapped your hands around his arm as he led you to the pool table that sat off to the side, "How 'bout a game of pool?"

[bengiyo]

A Boss and a Babe Ep 7 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Cher and Gun began formally seeing each other, though Cher wanted to keep things private for now. Their dynamic is adorable, and everyone at work knows; folks are just keeping quiet to protect them. Unfortunately, life prevents them from committing to their eSports team, and they lost a big match. We left off at a very lovely moment of consent, which felt especially nice from New.

I like that Gun explicitly doesn't like skinship, so it at least explains why he doesn't instinctively reach out and touch Cher when he's unwell and instead clasps his arms behind his back.

Ah yes. This is a Thai BL. That hair better be dry or you will die if you go to sleep.

I'm okay with Sugar Daddy Gun. "You and your friends got beef? Let's grill it on the beach."

Oh, Gun, that was smooth. "Think of it as an inspection," as a way to make the guys feel more at ease is very kind. I like everyone here.

I also like the smirk Zo gave Cher.

I'm enjoying the Three apology scene, but I'm so distracted by the guy in red trunks in the background behind Jack who keeps disappearing and reappearing.

I'm definitely in love with Fluke Pusit. I really like the little bit of facial hair they're letting him keep.

See? Everyone sees what's happening with Cher and Gun, and are all like, "I'm not in that conversation."

Gun may be wealthy, but no one is immune to being dragged into the water for play time.

I think Thoop frustrates me because it's an experience I've been in Cher's position a lot lately in the last three years.

I like how genuinely Gun smiles around Cher and his friends.

I don't know about drinking out of actual glass on the beach. That seems hazardous.

Oh, Nivea product placement. How you never let us down. I'm not surprised that Gun is a nice drunk.

Yes! More Zo-Cher interactions! Zo is the emotional backbone holding this team together.

Once again! Everyone knows! Jack and Aoi told Cher not to broadcast that they went on a trip with the boss. The relationship is professionally inappropriate, but folks see how it's helping both of them, so they're keeping quiet! This is a show about how you can't control how others perceive you, and will just have to accept that people are going to misunderstand and dislike you. It's pretty clear!!

I love Aoi so much.

Book Kasidet is so fun to just observe. He's a special actor, and he and Force are to be reckoned with.

Oh, Gun. You really shouldn't appear on his stream and flirt. People are nosy and messy.

Gun is such a boyfriend. I love it.

Part of what I like about New's style sometimes is the lack of surprises. It felt like Thoop was an addict the entire time, and so it was revealed that he has been gambling. The conversation with Cher also goes exactly where you'd expect: Cher stresses that his sense of duty to Thoop is bigger than his feelings for Tian, and of course Thoop is going to force the money on Cher. Thoop is a gambler, and they don't like feeling like they owe people. He's also going to promise not to do it again, but we know he's going to get into huge trouble.

First Thoop says Cher only helps him out of a duty to his sister, and now he's mad that Cher is with someone else? Is he supposed to just mourn her forever even though she rejected him??

And now Thoop is going to do something especially dangerous.

Oh, I love Jack, too.

These two should not be having a cute conversation at work with those catty girls around.

Looks like they might get found out next week.

This has been a really enjoyable show for me, and I'm excited to talk about it alongside Step By Step next week. I've seen some confused gripes about this show, but it's been working well for me.

[erindrinkstea]

That post calling out codsluts racism is not a “baseless and stupid opinion”. You and other creators in this fandom that purposely ignore the exclusion of the only black character are the issue. Do better and apologize or leave this fandom

Look, I understand why you seem to be mad. I do not deny that more so than often, Gaz is unincluded or replaced by Konig in posts. I'm not ignoring that, in fact, I love Gaz's character a lot which is why I feel upset sometimes as well whenever he's ignored or replaced.

But that does not mean that every post that does not include Gaz means that they're excluding them. In Codslut's defense, she made that post according to their personas, not their race. If you'd scroll back, Codslut would post a lot about Gaz as well so exclusion wasn't the issue.

And in Madi's defense, no one deserves to be attacked so harshly despite her given actions. I believe it wasn't her intention to drive someone to their death and it was others who took her post, ran with it and attacked Myka.

To be honest, I genuinely just want to move past this. I never meant to get mixed up in this issue, I only reached out due to how upset I was that a person committed due to bullying. And right now, I just feel so confused.

One side says that Myka is officially dead, if that were the case then may she rest in peace and I hope she's in a better place now. While another says she's still alive and faked it, then I'd say that I feel a little disappointed and wished that the issue was dealt in a different way.

I'm not faulting anyone for what happened. I feel like we all could have done better in this situation.

In my case, I will retract my other posts regarding the situation to avoid any more misunderstandings being spread.

I will stand by what I said though. Think twice before saying anything. Every opinion is important but keep in mind that your words might hurt someone. Verbally assaulting, threatening, and telling someone to die is never a good thing to do, no matter the situation. Actions have consequences and words have impact.

For more information to those confused, this was why I post about this situation in the first place- to spread awareness.

Sheheal's post

Summary of the Situation

My final message about this. I'll be returning to posting fics after this. Thank you to the support of others and to the anons that kept me informed.

More Facts

Official Statement from Codslut

Love you, Erin <3

[quietbluejay]

Transformers Devastation #6

the finale! featuring what happens when you merge a mad scientist and a Texan

Diversity win! Giant alien robot scorpion head about to join in unholy union with a Texas Man/Florida Man hybrid!

Scorp's living his best life here well I mean aside from being an extremely damaged head one does have to ask why he's still so damaged and what's with all the cables you'd think he'd want a better setup then again, no one's accused Scorp of having common sense

over with Hunter, he's trying to focus but there's interference

it cuts over to Sunstreaker's head, which is currently surrounded by scientists

Hunter tries to focus

"I just have to not-"

there's thumping on the door

this is what happens when you merge a survival of the fittest decepticon mad scientist and a Texan

over in Oregon, Megatron fights the reapers

THEY INVITE THE FULL SAVAGE FURY OF MEGATRON

and man I feel like I'm back to reading 70s xmen comics here

"The planet is ours!" yells Megatron

how is he saying all that with the mouth laser

Starscream is fighting another Reaper (and there's kirby dots yay!!!)

Starscream says he serves the Decepticon cause

Starscream dramatically fires Megatron while claiming he's, as always, his humble servant

meanwhile the Runatwins are well

they get ripped to pieces

they're dead

i… holy crap this is gonna be "galvatron saves earth"

you know galvatron should totally have milked this when he came back

Whatever edge these guys had before is completely gone

meanwhile they're trying to contact Headmaster Central

the last one gets blown up!

hot rod: who-? hardhead?

it is indeed Hardhead, and he says they have to go, NOW

"I may not care much for ol' sunstreaker but it's a matter of necessity now"

Someone's got access to everything in Sunstreaker's head, and he intends to find out who

Hot Rod is really shaky

Hardhead tells him this comes from the top, but Hot Rod says he's going to have to use force if he wants to bring him

hot rod is also used to working alone and making his own calls

Hot Rod drives off into the light

Hardhead: go get 'em

hot rod is also used to working alone and making his own calls

RIP

Hound wants to know if they've had a chance to look at the telemetry he sent through on Leadfoot

Nightbeat is on the case!

"it's as though every bit of leadfoot died simultaneously"

he can't shake the feeling it's somehow familiar

Nightbeat never forgets anything, so this means either some phantom memory engram has been introduced without his knowledge or part of his memory has been erased or submerged

he heads out towards his little ship

"Either way...it's a mystery!" I am choosing to ignore "living cyber-cell". I am looking away. I do not see it.

"give of your charnel kiss."

meanwhile the bird is flying up behind galvatron

he blasts it with purple light

now the guy Galvatron grabbed goes up to one of the other Reapers

"Brother! What ails you?"

he grabs his head and the guy talking turns to dust, oof

Scorp taunts him with the fact that it will be his first and LAST time transforming

a sunstreaker body's hands twitch, then reach over to pick up the Hunter-head and put it on the body

something is slowing down Sunstreaker's connection

so is this the texan making scorp talk like that or is scorp just like this i think the phrasing is scorp but the fact that he said it is maybe dante

he fires and narrowly misses Hunter

"Sunstreaker!"

he blasts a hole in the wall

the Reapers are all getting dusted and the Decepticons are confused

Megatron decides to seize the initiative and target their vessel

the reason Galvatron's body is purple is now clear

"...for now. Little do they know that with one apocalypse averted..."

"...another is begun"

Galvatron stands ominously over Sixshot's unconscious body

the Decepticons meanwhile successfully destroy the Reapers' ship

starscream once again voice of reason

Agent Red wants more of "them" but the scientist guy says he can't do it, it's already crazy that they're using this one

man I can't believe this comic made me like Galvatron, I feel vaguely dirty

and Devastation ends on that!

next up I'll be doing the final set of Spotlights, then over to Revelation which wraps up most of the loose ends

[daxwritesstories]

College AU Part 8: My Rival

Content warning: abuse (implied)

Scene 1: I'm Not A Vampire

(Scene title by Falling In Reverse)

INT. Boys Dorm hallway - Night

Cyra is sitting outside of one of the dorm room doors, hugging her knees to her chest. She looks uncharacteristically sad. She checks her phone for the time, it's 11:30. Upon seeing the time, Cyra locks her phone and sighs, resting her forehead on her knees.

Just then, Ace and Zayn turn the corner together. Zayn notices Cyra right away.

ZAYN: I think you have a stalker, Ace.

Cyra looks up at them. Ace sighs.

ACE: It's fine. She bought me this outfit today.

Zayn smiles at Cyra, looking a little confused.

ZAYN: You bought him that?

ACE: She's got a rich daddy. I'm sure it was no problem for her. Right?

Cyra responds in a friendly but unenthusiastic tone.

CYRA: Yeah, don't worry about it. Do you like the outfit, Zayn?

Zayn hesitates before answering. He looks at Ace, who is leaning against the wall, waiting for an answer.

ZAYN: Well...

Zayn reaches out and runs his fingers down Ace's chest. Ace giggles in response and Cyra watches with pure jealousy in her eyes.

ZAYN: It's perfect for him.

Cyra sadly glances to the side. Ace smiles and pokes Zayn's shoulder. Then he turns around to unlock the door. Cyra shuffles out of the way but doesn't get up.

ACE: Have you just been waiting here all night?

CYRA: No. My band finished up practice so I decided to swing by.

ZAYN: You're in a band?

CYRA: I just joined. We're a metal-slash-rock band. I'm the singer.

ACE: Ah, so that's why Roman likes you so much.

Ace finishes unlocking the door and opens it.

ZAYN: Are you guys any good?

CYRA: We're so good. Better than any mainstream band out there.

Ace and Zayn go into the dorm. Cyra quickly stands up and follows them in.

INT. Ace & Zayn's dorm - Night

ACE: I didn't invite you in.

CYRA: So? I'm not a vampire.

Ace sighs.

ACE: Go home, kid.

CYRA: I wanted to ask how your date was first.

ACE: It was amazing. In fact, it's not over yet. So get lost.

Cyra glances between the two men, looking upset and conflicted.

ZAYN: Do you need someone to walk you back to your dorm? I can go with you if you'd like.

Cyra huffs in frustration. She speaks in a pissed off tone.

CYRA: No. I'm fine. You're too nice, Zayn.

ZAYN: Huh?

CYRA: Nothing. I'll go. Have fun.

Cyra leaves the dorm, slamming the door behind her. Zayn gives Ace a confused look. Ace just shrugs.

Scene 2: My Rival

(Scene title by Steely Dan)

INT. Cafeteria - Afternoon

Cyra and Vir are eating together at one of the tables. They are casually chatting.

CYRA: Must be nice rooming with Halo.

VIR: Yeah, I'm having fun. I guess.

Cyra glances around the cafeteria. She seems a little disconnected from the conversation.

VIR: I don't know. I feel like things are still a bit awkward between us.

Cyra squints and looks at Vir again.

CYRA: Really? After all this time?

VIR: It hasn't been that long. And the awkwardness isn't really because of her. It's more like... I'm realizing I'm still kind of mad at her.

CYRA: Hm.

Cyra goes back to looking around.

VIR: Like, I know it's a lesbian cliché at this point, but I hate that I let myself be a straight girl's experiment.

CYRA: She's not a hundred percent straight.

Cyra still isn't looking at Vir.

VIR: She's basically straight. She'll never be in an actual relationship with a girl.

Vir notices that Cyra is distracted. She frowns.

VIR: Are you okay?

Cyra whips her head back around to look at her friend.

CYRA: Hm?

VIR: It's not like you to ignore me while I'm talking.

CYRA: I'm listening!

Vir smiles and Cyra smiles back. After checking over her shoulder one more time, Cyra sighs.

CYRA: Have you ever been rejected?

VIR: Many times.

CYRA: How do you deal with it?

Vir tilts her head curiously.

VIR: Who rejected you?

Cyra smiles and shakes her head.

CYRA: Don't worry about it.

Vir raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She doesn't have a chance to question Cyra further though, her gaze shifting past Cyra instead.

VIR: Someone's coming.

Cyra turns around to see Zayn walking toward their table.

CYRA (mumbling to herself): Speak of the fuckin' devil.

Zayn nervously approaches the girls.

ZAYN: Cyra.

CYRA: Hi Zayn.

ZAYN: Can I... talk to you?

Cyra looks at Vir, who smiles mischievously. Vir stands up and grabs her remaining food.

VIR: I'm gonna go.

Cyra turns her head as Vir walks past her.

CYRA: Text me, my love.

VIR: I will, sweetheart.

Cyra grabs Vir's hand and Vir holds it until they are out of arm's reach.

Zayn watches Vir leave and then moves to take her seat.

ZAYN: Is that your girlfriend?

CYRA: She used to be. A long time ago.

Zayn looks confused for a moment but quickly shakes it off.

ZAYN: So, um, what's going on with you and Ace?

Cyra folds her arms.

CYRA: I could ask you the same thing.

ZAYN: Well... nothing official yet but... There's definitely something going on.

Cyra rolls her eyes.

CYRA: Did you just come here to rub it in my face?

ZAYN: What? No! I came to ask you how you feel about him. Because I don't wanna fight with you.

CYRA: This is what I meant by you being too nice. If you're gonna take him from me you could at least be more aggressive about it. I feel like I'm losing him to someone who doesn't even want him that bad.

ZAYN: That's not what I– Ugh! Look, I just wanna know what's going on. How long have you known Ace for?

CYRA: A couple weeks.

ZAYN: What? But you two talk to each other like you've been friends for a while. And with the way you've been acting...

CYRA: Why does it matter how long we've known each other? I can still have a crush on him.

ZAYN: I just wanted to know if I was intruding on anything. I'm not the type of guy to ruin someone else's relationship.

Cyra suddenly snaps at Zayn.

CYRA: Well, you're not intruding. Okay? Is that what you wanted to fucking to hear?

ZAYN: Uh... well, yeah. I guess.

CYRA: Then there you go. You're free to do whatever you want with him. But you better start fucking fighting for him!

Zayn stares at Cyra in shock.

ZAYN: Huh?

Cyra stands up and slams her palms on the table.

CYRA: I said fight for him. Because I promise you I'm gonna steal him away from you. The least you could do is put up a fight.

ZAYN: Cyra, please just–

Without hesitation, Cyra grabs her half-full drink and throws it at Zayn. His jaw drops in shock as the liquid goes all over his shirt. He's rendered speechless.

Cyra storms off before Zayn can even process what happened.

CYRA: Ungrateful piece of shit!

Scene 3: On My Own

(Scene title by Ashes Remain and no one else)

INT. Hallway - Afternoon

Axel is sitting on a bench in the hallway. He has his knees to his chest and is looking at his phone. He doesn't notice when Ace walks up to him.

Ace bends forward to force eye contact.

ACE: Hey you.

Axel looks up from his phone.

AXEL: Hi.

ACE: Have you been avoiding me? I keep seeing you around but when I try to go talk to you, you disappear around a corner.

AXEL: I'm avoiding everyone. Don't take it personally.

ACE: It's hard not too. I thought we were friends. You didn't talk to me all summer.

AXEL: I broke my phone. Just got a new one before school started.

ACE: You broke your phone?

Axel rolls his eyes and frowns at Ace.

AXEL: Yes, Ace.

Ace frowns too. He sits down next to Axel. It seems to make Axel uncomfortable.

ACE: You're still talking to him, aren't you?

AXEL: Why do you care?

ACE: Because I'm still worried about you.

Axel sighs.

AXEL: I told you everything's fine between us.

ACE: You don't have to lie to me.

Axel glares at Ace.

AXEL: Like you'd ever understand.

ACE: What?

AXEL: You have no problem jumping around between flings like it's nothing. I'm not like that. I can't just let someone go when I care so much about them.

ACE: You have an unhealthy attachment.

AXEL: And so what if I do? It's my problem so just leave me alone.

ACE: I'm trying to help you.

AXEL: I don't need help.

Ace scowls and shakes his head.

AXEL: Don't fuckin' look at me like that! You're not any better than me. And you're no better than him either.

That strikes a nerve with Ace and he snaps at Axel.

ACE: Don't you ever compare me to him!

Axel just frowns and glances to the side.

ACE: You know what? Fine.

Ace stands up.

ACE: Keep doing this shit to yourself. See if I fucking care.

Ace stomps away and Axel just stares blankly at the floor. Once Ace's footsteps fade, Axel looks in the direction he went. Then he shakes his head and goes back to looking at his phone.

Scene 4: Me And My Broken Heart

(Scene title by Rixton)

INT. Library - Afternoon

Celeste is sitting in one of the chairs, reading a poetry book. She glances up at the clock on the wall, it says 5:00. She closes the book and stands up.

We cut to a different part of the library. Cyra is standing in front of one of the bookshelves, looking for something. Celeste turns the corner and stops suddenly when she sees Cyra.

Cyra hears the footsteps and looks in Celeste's direction. The two girls just stare at each other for a moment before Celeste tries to walk past Cyra.

CELESTE: Excuse me.

CYRA: Celeste, wait.

CELESTE: I don't want to talk to you.

CYRA: Celeste.

Celeste hurries past Cyra.

CELESTE: Leave me alone.

Cyra follows her.

CYRA: We have to talk at some point. You've been avoiding me for almost three years now.

CELESTE: I know.

CYRA: Celeste, please.

Celeste stops and sighs. Cyra stops too, giving her space.

CELESTE: I'm still mad at you.

CYRA: I know. But it's been years.

CELESTE: Time won't heal my broken heart.

CYRA: I said I was sorry.

CELESTE: "Sorry" doesn't make up for what you did.

CYRA: I regret it.

Celeste frowns and turns around to face Cyra.

CELESTE: No you don't!

Cyra takes a step back in surprise when Celeste snaps at her.

CELESTE: You've done the same thing to others since you apologized, and you'll do it again. Once a cheater, always a cheater!

CYRA: Celeste, I–

CELESTE: Nothing you can say could make me feel better! Just leave me alone. Please.

Celeste turns around and hurries away before Cyra can argue. Cyra sighs and hangs her head forward, ashamed of herself.

[diagonal-queen]

That Place

♡ pairing: Dazai Osamu x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: Dazai decides to introduce you to his old friend, except he's not what you thought he'd be.

♡ wc: 1.5k

♡ cw: Death (I hate to remind everyone that Oda is very deceased), Dazai talks about the mafia and suicide, mentions of alcohol.

note: You guys wanted this 😐 (dw I'm not mad or anything lol, I was just worried when I saw that the angst option won because I suck at writing angst sksjksksskjh) Apologies for errors.

Dazai hadn't said a single word for a few minutes and you were extremely worried about that.

He was taking you to meet an 'old friend' of his, or at least that's what he claimed. You weren't going to any usual places where one might visit a friend, like a cafe or a mall, but instead you were traipsing a small hill near the port. You were fully aware that Dazai was an unorthodox individual, and that his friends possibly were too, but you still had a twinge of apprehension in your stomach.

"Osamu...?" You finally asked, wanting to satiate your curiosity. "Why're we meeting him all the way out here?" Dazai gripped your hand a little tighter, and when you reached the top of the hill he finally spoke.

"He's here, already."

You took one of his arms and held it, almost nervously.

"He's here?" You repeated, confused. There was a tree, a gravestone, some flowers, but not much else. You noticed that the grass was rather soft, for what that was worth. Dazai stared at the headstone.

"Odasaku..." he began, then gestured towards you. "This is Y/N."

"Oh, you were talking about..." The grave. That was what he was talking about. You turned to him in surprise, but he didn't meet your gaze. The usual jovial and carefree gleam in his eyes was entirely absent. It was truly unnerving to see.

"I don't usually talk to him, but I figured an introduction was appropriate," Dazai shrugged, his face expressionless. The grave read S. ODA, who had apparently died at the age of twenty three. You'd never heard of such a man before, but you could only assume that by Dazai's reaction he must have been quite important.

"You said...Odasaku?" You asked, and Dazai drew a slow breath.

"Ah, that's just a nickname I gave him," he explained, quietly. "His name was Oda Sakunosuke."

"Right. How did you know him?"

"...we were both with the Port Mafia at the time," he bit his lip, and for a moment you reconsidered asking a single other question. Dazai hadn't revealed much to you at all about his time as a mafia executive, and eventually you gave up asking any questions. He really only ever griped about his ex-partner.

Dazai had always been, and was still, very much a wild card of a man. He was rather unpredictable, but you'd gotten much better at reading him over time, and you could tell that this Oda Sakunosuke was a rather valuable figure in Dazai's life. It was written plain as day on his face. You wondered then, if that was the case, why you'd never known of his existence before today.

"I see..." you replied so softly it was essentially a whisper.

"He was a little weird, though. He never killed anyone, despite being in the mafia, and he always had his curry really spicy. It was like putting solid fire in your mouth. I tried it once and I think I almost died."

"Some people just have a taste for spicy food, I suppose." You felt a little awkward. Often it was so easy to make conversation with Dazai, which was one of his many traits that drew you in so quickly. However, now you had no idea what to say or how to comfort him, though that was all you wanted to do. Admittedly, though, this revelation about Oda was rather sudden.

"You remember that bar I took you to last weekend? I told you that it was important to me?" You nodded, recalling the location. You remembered how time seemed to slow down while you were sitting in the mostly deserted bar with Dazai, noting the faint scent of smoke and how Dazai was so much more quiet that day. "Odasaku and I used to spend our time there outside of work. Us and Ango, too."

"Ango?" You questioned. You didn't know the agent too well, but you wouldn't have guessed that he and Dazai shared much of a history.

"Yeah. The three of us were friends, before Odasaku died."

"...don't take this the wrong way, but I can't really see you and Ango being friends." You turned to face him. "He's very...stern, and you're not."

"Things have changed since then." That brief statement told you all you needed to know. You sighed, and gave his arm a squeeze. The breeze picked up slightly, the leaves of a nearby tree disturbing your shared silence with their rustling. Dazai's beige coat fluttered in the wind.

"Odasaku is actually the reason I turned to the Agency," Dazai suddenly shrugged, the usual playful inflection somewhat returning to his words. "When he died, I made a promise to him, and that's how I've kept it."

You knew he was being intentionally vague, but whether it was because he'd rather not elaborate or because he thought you wouldn't understand, you weren't sure.

"You were with him when he died?"

"He was killed by the leader of an opposing organisation." Dazai bitterly answered. "And I found him right before he died. He asked me to...he told me to make a promise and I don't want to break it."

"...I know this is kind of a dumb truism, but I think he's proud of you, Osamu," you said, leaning your head onto his shoulder. "I think that he'd be glad to see that you've kept the promise- whatever it is, I mean."

"Mm," Dazai nodded once, slowly. You weren't certain that he'd absorbed the words as you'd intended.

"I'd have liked to meet him. Do you think we'd have gotten along?"

"...yeah, I think...I think he'd have liked you." For the first time since arriving at Oda's grave, Dazai smiled. It was a small, sombre smile, but it was vastly better than his empty expression from moments ago. "In some ways, you remind me of him."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, for one, he was never so enthusiastic about my interest in suicide." Dazai said this like it was a tedious inconvenience, but in his eyes it honestly probably was.

"He sounds like a sensible person," you told Dazai.

"He was pretty sensible, actually. He adopted some kids who were orphaned as a result of the Dragon Head Conflict."

"...the what?"

"You might not have been in Yokohama at the time- I'll explain it all later. Anyway, it was pretty gruesome, and a lot of people were slaughtered. Odasaku saved some of the children who were victims and helped raise them."

"That's so sweet. How are they now?" You asked.

A moment of silence passed.

"They were all killed, not long before Odasaku was."

You wondered if Dazai's past could possibly get any more tragic, before dismissing the thought. Absolutely, it could. Meeting Oda Sakunosuke was likely barely scratching the surface, but you felt that you were ready to learn everything about Dazai's story: even the more unpleasant aspects.

"That's awful...children being wrapped up in all this? That's sickening." You heaved, voice almost cracking. "I can't believe that you- and he...I'm sorry, Osamu. I wish I could have been there for you."

"...when he died, I think I was kind of mad at him, because at the time I felt like he was leaving me behind. I'm still here because of him, though, and for a long time it felt...almost pointless. Nobody was ever as important to me as he was until..." Dazai stopped himself, before drawing a silent breath. "Until I met you."

Something shifted within you, and you felt tears burn the lines of your eyes.

"Without Odasaku, I might not have met you. And I'd hate to think about how my life would be if that were the case." Dazai wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close, kissing the crown of your head. "I don't want to lose you, too."

You cast your misty eyes to the headstone, feeling almost as if it were staring right back at you. You gripped Dazai's coat as you hugged his torso.

"I don't wanna lose you either," you said, finally letting your tears spill down your face. The breeze whistled in your ear. "I don't know how I'd...I couldn't do it. Please, don't leave..."

"Of course I won't," he responded softly. "I'll always be there for you, my love."

Dazai eyed the name carved into the headstone once more as you quietly sobbed into his chest. His jaw tensed as his other arm enveloped your waist, pressing your smaller body to his. It almost felt to him as if he weren't just promising his love to you, but to Oda as well. He would do for you now what he couldn't do for him then, and this time he'd do anything to guarantee it.

i deadass can't remember if Oda's grave is atop a hill near the sea 💀 sorry if that's inaccurate. uhh just pretend for my sake pls. also i don't mean to make it seem like it was Dazai's fault Oda died? i just think in Dazai's mind that's probably how he feels to an extent. idk love you bye x