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froggiewrites · 6 months ago

Text

Fanboy

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You get a little more than you bargained for when you decide to clean your Captain's office for him and stumble upon his smutty fanfiction. Warnings: Very Mild Angst, Smut, Fem!Reader, Roleplay, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Edging, Minor Dacryphilia, Petnames (use of sweetheart and good girl) Word Count: 7.6k Notes: This was originally supposed to be a sub 2000 word silly one shot about Law writing Sora smut. As you can see, it very quickly got out of hand. I hope you all enjoy it!

You have come to terms with the fact your Captain does not and will never want you how you want him.

It was hard, at first, to hear his silky voice and see his strong hands and not imagine him saying what you want to hear as he holds you against the wall, fingers slipping slowly up your thighs to where you need him most. It got even harder a few years in, after he started wearing perpetually open shirts and coats, showing off the tattoos you so desperately want to trace your tongue across. But you’re finally starting to accept that he simply doesn’t feel the same. His eyes don’t linger on you when you’re around. He doesn’t show you any leniency (not that you would expect any, of course, but it’s hard not to notice his favoritism for Bepo when he forgives him in an instant for a transgression he had you swab the deck for). He doesn’t accept your help when you offer it, no matter how badly he needs it.

He just doesn’t really want anything to do with you, or at least no more to do with you than anyone else on the ship. Penguin and Shachi, who unfortunately clocked your affection for your Captain years ago, have come up with a long list of excuses as to why he hasn’t shown any signs of affection.

“He’s shy.”

“He gets embarrassed easily.”

“He’s worried about the power gap.”

“He only looks at you when you aren’t looking.”

“Yelling is how he shows his affection.”

And of course, your personal favorite.

“He’s just a nerd. He doesn’t know how to act around women.”

Shachi has repeated this one a lot, and as always you immediately dispute it. “That cannot possibly be true, Shachi.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him!”

“I know what he looks like. Doesn’t change the fact he gets nervous.”

“Captain has never, for even a single moment, shown any sort of hesitation or shyness in front of me. And he’s a grown man, a handsome one, not to mention a wanted pirate. You honestly expect me to believe he’s some shy little nerd who can’t bring himself to talk to me? He just doesn’t like me, Shachi. And that’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“Handle what?” Penguin’s voice echoes in the small room he and Shachi share, which you’ve decided to invade for the day.

“Her pining for Captain.”

“Ah.”

You huff. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s like…a fact of life. Something so easy to brush past.”

Shachi narrows his eyes in confusion. “I thought you said that’s what you wanted to do. Be casual about it, and all.”

“Yeah, I want to. It feels different when you do it.” You’re pouting. You hate that you’re pouting.

Penguin gives you a pitying smile, dripping with good natured sympathy that makes you clench your jaw. “It’s tough, isn’t it?” He sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to shift you too much. He pats your shoulder, tutting quietly. “It’s hard to get over somebody you don’t really want to get over.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. You finally lift your head, and once you make eye contact, his smile turns a little more teasing.

“I know a great guy you could use as a rebound.”

You sigh. “Is it you?”

He laughs. “Who’s to say? You don’t need him yet.” His smile softens again, something more genuine. “But know that if you really do give up, there will be other guys. Other chances. Give this one a good shot, a real one, and if it doesn’t work out? Come talk to us, and it’ll all be alright.”

Shachi pipes up as well. “It will work out, really. But if it doesn’t…” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you can’t help but finally give them the laugh they were clearly aiming for. Which becomes a full on giggle fit once they light up and give each other a massive high five at their victory. The room is warm, and you finally forget your worries for a moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Law’s voice cuts through you like ice, and your laughter stops in an instant. Shachi and Penguin are unphased, of course, still smiling freely.

“I just got off of my shift, Captain. I was going to take a nap, but…” Penguin pokes your side, and you let out a soft squeak as you curl in on yourself. You don’t miss the way Law’s eyes narrow slightly at the contact, the way he seems to focus in on the noise. He must be annoyed with you, with how you’re taking up space somewhere you don’t belong.

“I’m also off shift.” Your voice is small, embarrassingly so.

“I wasn’t talking to you two.” Law’s voice is just as flat and authoritative as always. He’s nothing if not born to command. You’d love to hear what commands he might give you, if–

No. Bad. Evil. Your mind betrays you, as it always does. You sit up so you can hide yourself behind Penguin, make yourself small and inconspicuous and hope that Law will stop looking at you with those beautiful piercing eyes. You don’t know how long you can be normal under such an intense gaze.

“I’m on break,” Shachi defends, causing Law’s eyes to shift over to him. You can’t help but let out a sigh of relief as you feel the pressure of his gaze leave you, and you wrap your arms lightly around Penguin, allowing your forehead to fall forward and press into his back. You can feel the rumble of a laugh working its way through his chest, though you can’t figure out why.

Law’s voice is significantly harsher than before. “Well, end it.” You flinch, unused to him snapping quite so cruelly. Law may have a shorter temper than he would admit, but he never sounds quite so furious, especially not with Shachi and Penguin. He seems to realize this as well, because the next time he speaks is much gentler. “I–Just get back to work. I need everyone at their best right now.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” There’s a hint of chuckle in Shachi’s voice, for some reason. He stands, bed creaking as he does. “You can use my bed if you want to nap in here. Let Peng have his.”

You let out a soft whine, but peel yourself off of Penguin anyway. “No, it’s fine, I should get back to my room anyway. I need a nap before I do anything else.” You think you see Law nodding in approval out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look at him, his eyes are firmly on Shachi, glaring at his back as he leaves. Just wishful thinking on your part, as always.

Penguin softly pats your back as you walk past. “Chin up. It’ll all work out.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What’ll work out?” Law is staring at Penguin’s hand on your back.

“Nothing!” You try not to sound panicked. You fail, of course.

His eyes narrow.

“Sorry, Captain. This is a secret just for us lowly crew members. No captains allowed!” Penguin’s smile is relaxed and easy, and it almost manages to calm you down. You would love to play along, make a little joke out of it, but the idea of him finding out petrifies you. What if he’s disgusted by the idea? Horrified enough to kick you out of the crew, your home, your family? He wouldn’t, you know that, but the image in your head is so clear. Your chest feels tight, your head fuzzy, and you think at some point you started holding your breath.

Law makes a noncommittal grunt, scowl still clear on his face, but he leaves. A small mercy.

“Hey, take a breath, please. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Are you gonna be alright to get back to your room? Do you need me to walk you?” Penguin’s hand rests gently on your elbow, and he looks ready to jump to your aid at any moment.

You give him a shaky smile. “I’ll be alright. Anxiety’s never killed anyone. Probably.” You take care to walk as steadily as you can out of the room, avoiding eye contact with your Captain, who’s waiting directly outside.

“You okay?” His voice stops you in your tracks.

“Yeah, I’m–” You see the disbelief on his face. “I’ve been better. But it’s okay. I’ll get there.”

“Are Penguin and Shachi giving you trouble? They mean well, but sometimes their jokes can go a little far. I–” He clears his throat, eyes glancing away for a moment. “I could talk to them. If you need me to.”

You chuckle. This means he really has no idea he’s the source of your anguish. Good. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. They’re actually helping me through something.”

He purses his lips. You imagine how soft they’d feel on yours. “Helping you through something?”

“Yeah. I’ve been struggling with it lately, and talking to them has really helped.” You stare intensely at the wall behind him, worrying that you’ll come undone and say something you can’t take back if you stare into his eyes for too long. Something about him just makes you want to melt under his gaze, and you can’t afford to give in to the impulse.

He hums, eyes briefly fluttering closed. “I see. Well, I’m glad you have their support.” Is it just you, or is his voice a bit colder than it was before? “I’ll leave you be. Have a nice nap.”

“Thanks, Captain.” You try not to run back to your room until you’re sure he can’t hear your footsteps anymore. You change out of your boiler suit, desperate to be in something more comfortable than this, and throw yourself into your bed face first. You press your face into your pillow, trying to ground yourself. You aren’t allowed to imagine what it would feel like to lay on Law’s chest instead, his hands on your back, tracing meaningless patterns into your skin. You aren’t allowed to imagine the warmth of the blankets as his, or the comfort of your weighted blanket as his arm around your back. You certainly aren’t allowed to cry about the fact that it isn’t him, and that it never will be. Because that would mean you weren’t getting over him, instead getting lost in a fantasy of what can never and will never be. And you have no time for fantasy, despite what your heart keeps trying to tell you.

You dream of him, as you always seem to.

You could cope with it, if it were simply sex. If it were about nothing more than his cock and his hands and the way his voice penetrates deep into your bones whenever you hear it, turning you pliable and needy. But today’s dream is one you’ve had before, and one you always dread.

I love you. His hands are gentle as they wrap around your waist, pulling you close. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. His nose nuzzles against your neck, tickling you and making you giggle.

I love you too, Law. I think I always have. Your hands rest on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating below your fingers, quick and thundering. You smile. Nervous?

Of course I am. Look at you. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the affection flooding them. His nose brushes against yours, his lips growing closer, and his eyes flutter shut.

Yours shoot open.

No matter how many dreams you have about Law, you can never kiss him. How sad, that your brain can imagine a hundred ways he can fuck you and not one in which gives you the one thing you’ve been craving most.

You throw off your covers and throw on a bra, not bothering to get fully dressed. You need some air, which is unfortunate, considering the Tang won’t surface for at least another day or two. You can at least go downstairs and find a window, press yourself against the glass and pretend you’re out in the cold of the ocean, at peace with the world around you. You can avoid passing Law’s office, and hopefully that means you’ll avoid the man himself. You don’t want to burst into tears the moment you see him, and you feel too soft and fragile right now, like your edges are crumbling. Half of you is still in the dream, melting into fantasy, and being snapped into reality with a single look might shatter you.

You pad quietly out into the hallway, unsure of what time it is, not wanting to wake anyone. It’s impossible to tell what time of day it is on the Tang when you’re underwater, lit only by harsh fluorescents that constantly buzz. It’s peaceful, feeling the cold metal of the floors seep through your socks and hearing the quiet thunk of your footsteps muffled by the fabric.

“Are you heading downstairs?”

You turn to see Bepo, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, papers in hand. “Yeah, I am. Why? Do you need something?”

“Can you run these to Captain for me? I would, but–”

You see him wince as he speaks, and you immediately know what the problem is. Before you can even think about it, you’re swiping the papers from his hands easily. “Yeah, of course, big guy. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you so much!” He’s off in an instant.

You stare at the papers, willing yourself into reality. You’re going to bring something to your captain. The man you have no other relationship with. Just doing your job. And afterwards you can go back to your room and cry all you want, if you really feel like you need to.

Law should be in his office right now, buried up to his neck in paperwork. It doesn’t feel great to add to that pile, or to let him see you so underdressed, but Bepo needed help. You can’t let him suffer just to avoid some embarrassment. You make your way down, knocking lightly against his office door.

No voice calls you inside.

Strange. He should be here. Maybe he fell asleep at his desk again. You’ve heard the others scold him for that dozens of times, and you’ve caught him yourself once or twice. He’s going to ruin his back if he keeps doing that. You crack open the door, ready to shift him into a more comfortable position, but you find your Captain isn’t actually there at all. His desk is a mess, papers everywhere, a sharp contrast from the neatly organized shelves and minimalist look of the rest of the room.

“Maybe I should tidy up for him,” you mutter to yourself. Law hates asking for help with things he believes he should be able to handle on his own, but clearly this is getting away from him. And even if he wasn’t grateful for the intrusion, at least it might lighten his load a little. You’d do nearly anything to ease your Captain’s burdens, if he’d just let you.

Before you realize it, your hands are on the papers, your former fragility forgotten as you get lost in the calm that such a mundane task brings you. You start by simply organizing the papers into stacks based on their titles and a quick skim of their opening paragraphs. You don’t read any further, not wanting to read anything not meant for your eyes, and you quickly find you’re able to organize everything into three neat stacks: medical papers, ship logs, and a third stack of anything that doesn’t fit into the previous two. You’re nearly finished when you find a title that makes you pause.

You can’t figure out what What You Can’t Have could mean, or what this bundle of papers is doing in Law’s office. Skimming the first few paragraphs doesn’t give you any explanation, until you start reading more closely and see a name: Sora.

Everyone in the North Blue knows about Sora, Warrior of the Sea, and everyone on this ship knows it more intimately than most. Your Captain’s fondness for the series and your fondness for him means you know it very well, well enough to know this is not one of the noncanonical (but still official) spinoff novels, or a novel adaptation of one of the comics. There’s a character you’ve never heard of before in this, one that, if you were a more paranoid person, you would suspect is based on you. She can’t be, of course. That would be ridiculous. But as you read her introductory paragraph, you can’t help but notice she bears a striking physical resemblance to you. Same hair and eye color, same height, same build. But she can’t be you. She’s described as seductive, enchanting, and many other things you know nobody would ever say about you.

You should put this down. But the writing style is so familiar, and so are the handwritten edits in the margins. Your captain wrote this. You had no idea this was what he did in what little spare time he has. You keep telling yourself to stop reading, to tuck it away and pretend you didn’t see it, because really, you know he wouldn’t want you to have seen it, easily embarrassed as he is. But there’s so much passion in the words, so much care, and frankly? It’s good. Really good. You think he has some real talent, in something you would have never expected him to even try. His care for the series oozes from every word, and he’s really good at building tension, and–

Oh.

Your captain hasn’t just been writing fanfiction about his favorite hero.

He’s been writing smut.

Really good smut, honestly.

You lean against the desk, completely enraptured by his work. The tension between Sora and this unnamed woman is astonishing, every single word winding you up tighter as you wait for the dam to break. Before you know it, you’re fully bent over the desk, clutching the page in your hands, trying not to rub your thighs together at the very graphic descriptions of what Sora is doing with his hands. You imagine Law’s hands, lithe and long, sliding under your shirt like Sora’s do under this mystery woman’s. You imagine his breath puffing against your ear as he instructs, be good for me, now, and maybe you can finally get what you want, just like Sora does. You imagine him moving impossibly closer, feeling his hardness press into your thigh as–

“What are you doing in here?”

You freeze. Your captain is standing in the door, papers in hand and scowl severe. If you didn’t know better, you would think for a moment his eyes lingered on the cleavage you’re showing by leaning over this far. But you do know better, so you tell yourself he’s simply observing the papers in your hands, even if his gaze seems aimed too high for that. You shoot up, papers still in hand, shirt riding up in the process, and god does it look like his eyes dip down to your exposed midriff in the process. But they don’t. You have more pressing matters than your delusions, anyway.

“Hi Captain!”

“...Hi.”

“I–Um. I was organizing your desk for you.”

His eyes linger on the three stacks of papers, humming quietly. “I see that. …Why?”

“Bepo had me run papers down to you, but you weren’t here, and–and your desk was so messy, so much messier than usual, and I was worried maybe you were overwhelmed and I thought it might help.” You’re speaking a mile a minute, clutching the papers close to your chest in some desperate attempt to ground yourself, but the sound of the papers wrinkling causes him to glance down and now you’re sure that just for a moment he was looking at your boobs and you’re far more flustered than you were when you began.

And even worse, he smiles. It’s a soft, gentle thing, which sneaks so slowly onto his face you don’t even know if he realizes it’s there. But it is. And it’s beautiful. “Thank you, then. I appreciate the thought.”

Your grip eases on the papers for a second, and the crinkling brings his attention back to them. You don’t know what gives it away, but with the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips part, you know that he knows what you have in your hands. The way he whispers your name, the fear in it, makes your heart clench.

“Captain–”

“Did you–I–” He takes a breath, gathers himself. “Did you read anything you weren’t supposed to?”

God, you did. You’re halfway through a sex scene, flushed and flustered and thinking about your captain in ways that are wholly and completely inappropriate. You’re panicking. You can’t let Law see how flustered you are, can’t let him realize that you were fantasizing about him, lusting after him in his office while he’s out like some kind of pervert. So, trying to turn this around on him, throw him off his rhythm, you decide to make a deeply out of character choice.

You open your mouth, taking a dramatic breath as though you're going to start reading aloud, and you can see the panic in Law's eyes. Before you can decide between reading and handing it over to spare him the embarrassment, you hear “Shambles!” as the papers in your hand are swapped with the ones he walked in with. You're momentarily disappointed, before you look down and are struck with intense and all consuming delight.

In trying to get the fanfiction out of your hands, Law has, in fact, given you more of his fanfiction to read.

You gasp quietly, cheshire cat grin widening. Law looks at you with confusion, clearly still so thrown he hasn't realized what's just transpired. In your current state, you can only think of one way to inform him.

"Her hands were soft and gentle, so small compared to his-"

"STOP." He lunges forward around the desk, powers forgotten as he decides to bullrush you to get the papers out of your hands. His hands wrap around your wrists, and before you know it you’re pinned against the desk, chests pressed together, his leg pressed between your thighs. You flush, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hard body against yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Do you think this is funny?”

You open your mouth to respond, but his lips are so close, and you feel something else pressing into your midriff. You make a small choked noise, and his glare doesn’t dampen.

“Are you trying to embarrass your captain?”

“I–uh–Captain–” You can barely squeak out anything, and he presses closer.

“Answer me.”

“You’re so close.”

He pauses.

He blinks.

And suddenly your captain is across the room, face bright red, holding his papers in front of his chest like a shield. “I–um.” He stares at you a moment, his eyes moving from your face to your chest to your hips and back up, and suddenly the papers shifts down in front of his crotch.

He couldn’t…

Could he?

Before you can process this, he’s speaking again, his tone far less authoritative than it was before. “How far did you read?”

“Uh–pretty far.”

You could swear his voice cracks a little as he whispers, “Oh god. This is–you were never supposed to see that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep reading, it was just–it was really good.”

He stares at you a moment, mouth agape. “What?”

“It was–I liked it a lot. I didn’t even mean to start it, I just couldn’t figure out what pile to put it in, and then I got really invested, and–I’m really, really sorry, Captain.”

“You liked it?” His eyes are narrowed, looking at you like something dangerous, like if he shows a moment of weakness you’ll pounce. He approaches you slowly, inching closer and closer.

“...Yeah. I did. I was really impressed, actually. I didn’t know you were a writer.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“Why?”

“I just…don’t know if I’m good at it.” He sounds small in a way you’ve never heard him. You’ve never seen Law less than confident before. He absolutely radiates it, a constant smug grin and twinkle in his eyes. It suits him far better than slumped shoulders and wringing hands.

“Are you kidding? It was amazing. What I was able to read, anyway. I couldn’t bear to put it down.” You reach for him for just a moment, your hand ready to touch his shoulder, but something in you pulls it back. You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not as you are.

He won’t look at you. You can feel his regret in sharing, in allowing his mask to crack slightly. There’s a bitterness to his tone as he snaps at you like a wounded animal. “You expect me to believe that? That you didn’t just read it to laugh at me?”

You can’t keep the pity off of your face. His first instinct is always to believe he’ll be hurt, that an open hand is a sign of a slap, and not a kind touch. “Why on earth would I do that, Captain?”

His shoulders unknot a bit as he thinks it over. You have never done anything to hurt him, and to tease in such a cruel way is not in your nature. He’s not relaxed, not quite, but he isn’t ready to run anymore. He leans against a nearby table, parking himself at a distance but assuring you he won’t go further. “I suppose you wouldn’t. …So you really liked it?”

The way he’s looking at you is so fragile, so soft. You feel your heart clench at the sight of such a guarded man looking so adorable, though you know he would hate to be called such a thing. You can’t help the affection that leaks into your gentle smile as you look at him. “I really did.”

He huffs, trying to bring back up his walls, but he can’t hide his relief, and his continued interest. “What did you like about it?”

“I thought the descriptions were very vivid. It was…” It feels like crossing a line you can’t uncross to call it hot, but he’s looking at you so expectantly. “Very stimulating.”

Something akin to a smirk grows on his face, offset by the dust of a blush on his cheeks. His voice is an octave deeper when he speaks. “Simulating?”

You shiver. “I–uh–yes. The leads had really good chemistry. I never imagined Sora would be so…charming. And I liked the woman too, though I have to admit I didn’t recognize her name.”

He nods. “You wouldn’t. She’s an original character.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to try my hand at something new, and I didn’t like pairing him with any of the canon characters so I just…made one up.”

You shift nervously on your feet, thinking about how remarkably familiar her description was. “So you made her just for this? Didn’t even give her a name?”

“I haven’t decided her name yet, but I’m working on it. And yeah, she’s just for this. Why?”

You want to be subtle, ease your way in, but your mind is running a mile a minute and frankly subtlety has never been your strong suit anyway. “So…is she supposed to be me?”

He shoots up so quickly he nearly falls over. “What? No! No, why would you think that?” He looks absolutely mortified, like he’s praying the floor swallows him whole. He looks about two seconds away from shambling himself out of the sub and letting the ocean take him away.

“Well in her intro, when you describe her…she looks a lot like me.”

“...She does?” He seems genuinely surprised, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you asking? You’re the writer! You didn’t realize?”

“No, I…” He’s blushing to the tips of his ears. “She was just supposed to be a beautiful woman. I didn’t think that hard about what she looked like beyond that.”

“She has the same hair color and eye color as me, you describe her as around my height, and the dress she’s wearing in her intro is my favorite color.”

His shoulders are so tense they’re practically up over his ears. If his voice cracks when he yells, you’re kind enough not to acknowledge it. “I didn’t think that much about it! I just thought of a beautiful woman and I described her.”

“So when you think of a beautiful woman in your head, you see me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You try to hide your giddy smile. “That’s sweet, Captain.”

He avoids eye contact so aggressively you swear it must be hurting him at this point. “It wasn’t–I–I didn’t notice. You don’t think it’s…creepy?”

“That you think I’m beautiful?”

“That I wrote porn about a woman who looks exactly like you.”

“Oh. When you put it like that I guess it doesn’t sound great.” He tenses again, so you rush to reassure him. “But no, I don’t think it’s creepy. It’s not like you meant to, or anything. Or that you wrote about me and like, another member of the crew or something. Why would I be mad that I just happen to be exactly your type?” Your heart is beating out of your chest as you try to portray a confidence you certainly don’t feel.

“Right. Yeah. I–There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And it’s…great porn, honestly.”

Your delivery is so awkward the tension finally breaks as he laughs at you. “I appreciate that. I worked hard on it. But I’m not sure on some of the descriptions.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure it reads as true to life.”

“Does it need to?”

“No, not really, fantasies don’t have to be realistic. But…I can’t help but think about it anyway. What if part of it is so unrealistic it takes you out of it entirely, and I just didn’t notice? Or didn’t know because I’ve never tried that specific thing? Do you know what I mean?”

You do. You know insecurity in your work, the way it whispers in your ear. You know that words are not enough reassurance to silence those whispers. You want to help him, even if you don’t know how you could.

“What if we…tested it? To see if it’s realistic?” You can’t believe the words that just left your mouth. From the look on his face, Law can’t either.

“What?” A beautiful crimson streaks across his face and up to his ears, heat radiating off of him.

“Oh my god. Forget I said that, that was so inappropriate, I’ll just go–”

“No!” He’s so loud you both flinch, and he seems surprised by his own objection. His long fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and you can feel his calluses brush against your skin. God, what you wouldn’t give for those fingers to be somewhere else. “No, don’t–don’t leave. I think–I would–um. I’d like that.”

You blink. “You would?”

“Just to…test it. To make sure my writing is accurate. I’m a perfectionist.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flicker down to where he’s holding you, and to your surprise, he doesn’t release his grip. He tugs you closer, pressing your chests together, and you can feel his warm breath in his ear. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Law.”

“What?”

The deep rumble of his voice is commanding in a way that has you rubbing your thighs together. “I want to hear you say my name. Call me Law.”

“Yes, Law.”

You can feel his smirk as he whispers the next words in your ear. “Good girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you bite your lip to keep from making any deeply embarrassing noises. He chuckles as he pulls away, and you see no trace of his earlier apprehension or nerves. You suppose Law has always been a good liar, always putting up the front of the proud, confident, and unshakable Surgeon of Death. What is this but another part for him to play?

“How did it start again?” He places his hands on your hips, leading you away from the desk and toward the wall. “She and Sora meet up in the club, strike up a conversation–”

“Can we skip to the good part?” You hate how needy and breathless you sound. You’re already worked up from reading, from hearing him speak, from being so close, that you think if you spend another minute without some kind of release you might explode.

He chuckles. “I guess we can skip forward a bit.” He presses you against the wall, hand sliding to your thigh. You shiver, but he stops right before his fingers slide under your shorts. “But have you been good enough to earn it?”

You whine, a pathetic, wounded sound that comes from deep within you. For a moment, you see his facade slip as he swallows, trying not to give away how much the sound turned him on. But after a moment his mask settles back firmly in place, and you’re both ready to continue the game. “Please, Law. I’ve been good. I’ll be good.”

His smile is all teeth as his fingers find their place inside of you. First one, pumping slowly and deliberately, curling to hit your sweet spot just right. He moans quietly in your ear at the feeling of it. You know his line before he says it. “Do you feel that? The way you’re pulling me in? You need me bad, sweetheart, don’t you?”

He inserts a second finger right as you open your mouth to answer. “Ahh–Yes! I need you!”

He pumps harder, faster, and his other hand starts to wander towards your chest. His lips find your neck, nipping at the point where it meets your jaw, making you gasp again. His hand gently squeezes your breast through your shirt, and he can feel your hardened nipples through the fabric. He chuckles. “Yes, you do. Nobody else can make you feel as good as I can. You know it. That’s why you’re here, that’s why you’re so drawn to me. On some level you know: it’s just you and me. We’re all there is, all that matters. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Law! Yes!”

His free hand effortlessly removes your shirt, and you gasp as you’re exposed to the air, your back pressing into the cold wall. He removes your bra next, letting out a soft hiss of appreciation when he finally sees them fully exposed. “As beautiful as I imagined,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. You don’t remember that line.

His mouth finds your nipple easily, sucking and nipping as you threaten to come undone under his attention. His fingers are still moving, his thumb on your clit, building the tension in your body until you feel like you’re going to explode. You’re so very close to the edge, close enough that in your pleasure you forget the next part of the story for a moment.

Until his fingers leave you.

“No!” Your head slams back into the wall as you wail, tears welling up in your eyes. Law seems unaffected, pulling back from you as he slowly inserts his fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste. The only sign that you’ve shaken him is the clear strain of his cock under his jeans, desperate to be free.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop, and he smiles at you, eyes half-lidded. “Did you think it was going to be that easy? That you would just get what you want, no questions asked?”

You whine, the sound filled with genuine despair. The room is silent for a moment as he stares at you, waiting for your next line, and you try to remember the part you’re supposed to play here. You just barely manage to grasp it, breathlessly saying, “I thought you were a better man than to leave a lady wanting.”

He slides off his tank top, revealing his beautiful tattoos to you. “Oh, honey, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need. And how wonderful it’ll be, once you’re so on edge you can barely stand it, and I finally give in to you. Can you imagine it?” He pops the button of his pants next, sensually sliding them and his boxers down to expose his bare hips. “What it’ll feel like, when I’m finally inside of you?”

His cock is finally free, bobbing in the air as it leaks with precum. He looks painfully hard, and you swallow as you briefly imagine it in your mouth. You’d give almost anything to taste him right now, but that isn’t a part of the scene.

“You’ll feel so full, honey. Imagine how good it’ll feel to cum on my cock. Isn’t that worth the wait?”

“God, yes.”

“Good girl. So agreeable.” One hand finds your hips as he uses the other to line himself up. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, god, please.”

He slowly slides in, feeling the drag of every inch of his dick against your walls. He makes a strangled noise at the feeling, burying his face into your neck as he desperately tries to catch his breath. He stops once he’s fully sheathed in you, giving you both a moment to adjust.

And then another.

And another.

“Law?”

You can hear him chuckle against you. “What, darling?”

“Please, Law.”

He pretends to ponder whether or not to give in for a moment, keeping you in suspense, before he relents. He pulls away from your neck, revealing his extremely red face. His voice may be calm, but the rest of him cannot hide the effects you’re having. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You know the line you’re supposed to say next. She tells Sora she wants relief, wants him to move, wants anything that she can have. But you’re soft, and weak, filled with want. You cannot help but think of your dream this morning, what you were denied and what you’ve always wanted. So you speak the honest truth. “I want you to kiss me.”

He stares at you for a moment, eyes searching yours. You see your own want reflected in him, an affection that makes your chest ache. Then a smile blooms across his face, one gentler than you deserve. The line he says next is Sora’s, but what comes after is all Law. “Whatever the lady wants,” he murmurs, before his lips meet yours.

The kiss isn’t fireworks, or an all consuming flame, or any other way you’d ever heard such a thing described. It was tender, it was kind, and most importantly, it was Law. You’d never wanted anything else. It finally confirms to you that this isn’t a dream, that he’s really here, pressing you against this wall, a desire burning in him that only you can satiate. The lust is still here, the heat of your bodies intertwined, but there’s something tender and real beneath it.

Once you both pull back, panting, you look into his eyes and know the scene is well and truly over. Now it’s just you and Law, breaths mingling and hearts pounding. He smiles at you, a nervous, delicate thing, his confidence left behind with the script. He’s breathless as he whispers, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

You let out a soft, unsure laugh. “Is that Law talking, or Sora?”

He brushes his nose against yours. “It’s all me. It always has been.”

You can’t help your lovesick smile, dripping with a saccharine fondness you couldn’t hide if you tried. You meet his lips again, a kiss with a little more fire, a little more desperation. You try to convey everything you can’t say aloud: the years of yearning, the pain of thinking this moment would never come, the euphoria of learning you were wrong. Your hands press against his chest, his pulse fluttering under your fingers in unison with your own. You wrap your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him ever closer. He lets out a soft sound, almost a whimper, at the feeling of your lips against his as you clench around him. His tongue slips into your mouth, and once again the air around you grows ever hotter.

“Can I move?” There’s a whine to his voice. “Please.”

“Please do,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chests together.

He needs no further instruction, thrusting harshly, hips rutting against yours. You can feel him struggle to hold himself back from pounding into you at a bruising pace. His hands grip your hips, his nails digging in as he clenches his teeth.

“You don’t have to hold back, Law. I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

He struggles to speak through his self control. “I want to enjoy this. I want to take my time.” Another deliberate thrust has you dragging your nails down his back, making him moan in your ear. “I want this to be as good as it can be for you.”

“This is–ahh!–already better than I’d ever dreamed, Law.”

One of his hands moves to your clit, his fingers starting a steady motion. “Not good enough,” he mutters. His lips find your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along its length, his teeth grazing your skin. You feel yourself coming close to cumming again, your voice growing louder, echoing through the room as you babble. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, the words please and more and Law are all you can say, all you can think. There is nothing in the world beyond the feeling of him against you, inside of you, his soft lips and callused hands.

You expect him to rip away your pleasure again, but when he briefly stills, your babbles turn to sobs anyway. He pulls back to look you in the eye, take in the sight of the tears running down your face, and you can see him soften once again. His hands and hips start moving again immediately as he presses soft kisses against your cheeks, clearing away your tears.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s alright. You’re doing great. I won’t take it from you again, I promise.” His voice is filled with pity. “You’ve been so good, you can take what you want now.” He builds you back up quickly, his hips pressing into yours even faster than before. You can feel yourself about to burst, and you slam your lips into his, moaning into his mouth. The dam finally bursts, and the pleasure nearly blinds you as you clench around him, his hips struggling to keep moving with how tightly your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your orgasm is what finally makes him break, filling you to the brim as his movements stutter.

You bask in the feeling for a moment, both panting and dripping with sweat, his cock rapidly softening inside of you. Your head lolls forward, pressing into his shoulder, and you press a kiss against his sticky skin.

“Was it worth the wait?” He tries to ask the question in a teasing tone, but you can hear the insecurity underneath it.

“It was worth everything and more.” You shift to wrap your arms tighter around him and nuzzle your face into his neck.

You can feel the rumble of his chest as he chuckles, gathering you up as he slips out of you. “Agreed.” He kisses the side of your head, an action so filled with care it nearly makes you burst into tears again. He tries to lower you onto something, making you pull him closer and whine. “I just need to set you down for a second, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

“No.” You sound like a pouting child, making you cringe, but he laughs fondly anyway.

“Alright. A few more minutes. But I have to clean you up eventually, and then we need to find a place a bit more private to settle in, don’t you think? Or at least somewhere more comfortable.”

You hum quietly, pressing your nose further into him. You can worry about logistics in a few minutes. Right now you just want to bask in his warmth, in this dream turned reality, in the absolute joy of your feelings being reciprocated. “I really didn’t think you liked me,” you mutter sleepily. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I could say the same,” he murmurs into your hair.

You laugh. “Shachi and Peng are going to be so smug about this.”

“They are?”

“They’ve been trying to tell me for years, and they don’t get to tell me I told you so very often.”

“They were telling you too?” He laughs. “We could have done this months ago if we’d just believed them.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your eyes starting to slip shut. “You’re worth the wait, though.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as his hand rubs soothing circles on your lower back, luring you further into sleep. “Yeah. So are you.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece law #op #one piece smut

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sumluckr · 15 days ago

Text

Bound by fate

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x female reader (soulmate au)

Summary: You spent your life waiting for a soulmate worth dreaming about—and got Geum Seong-je instead: rude, possessive, and the last person you wanted. Too bad fate doesn’t ask permission.

You always dreamed that meeting your soulmate would be something straight out of a fairy tale. A shy glance across a crowded room, perhaps. Sparks flying, a magical moment where the universe itself seemed to hold its breath. Your soulmate. The one person fate chose for you. You’d imagined it a thousand times, each scenario more romantic than the last, each detail lovingly crafted in your daydreams.

Reality, as it turns out, is a bitch with a cruel sense of humor.

Because when fate finally shows its hand, it doesn’t bring you a charming prince or a gentle poet. No – it brings you Geum Seong-je. And it doesn’t announce his arrival with angelic choirs or whispered promises. It shoves him into your path on a perfectly ordinary afternoon, in the form of a hard, broad chest you slam face-first into in the busy school hallway.

The collision knocks the air from your lungs. Your books go flying, papers scattering across the floor. “Hey, watch it–” you start to say, irritation flaring as you stagger back. But before you can finish, a rough hand closes around your upper arm, steadying you – or maybe just holding you in place.

Then you hear it: the first words your soulmate would ever speak to you, etched into your wrist since childhood like a cosmic joke. Words you’ve stared at countless times, tracing the sharp curves of each letter, puzzling and hoping and secretly dreading the day they’d finally make sense.

“Are you fucking blind, bitch?”

The voice is low and gravelly, edged with annoyance. And the words… you could recite them from memory. They’re the exact words inked on your skin in faint silver script, currently hidden under the cuff of your uniform’s sweater. For a second, all you can do is blink.

It’s as if time slows down. You lift your gaze, heart hammering in your chest, and meet a pair of narrowed, dark eyes glaring down at you. Geum Seong-je. You know him by reputation – everyone at school does. Tall, lean, with a perpetual scowl carved on a face that should be handsome if not for the permanent “fuck off” expression. A faint scar cuts through one of his eyebrows, a souvenir from some fight, if rumors are true, and his dark hair falls in slight disarray across his forehead.

He’s the very definition of trouble, infamous for bruised knuckles and busted lips – usually belonging to other people, courtesy of him. And now this infamous asshole has a firm grip on your arm and is snarling the words you’ve feared for years right into your face.

Your stomach plummets. No. No fucking way. This has to be a mistake. Any moment now, someone will jump out and tell you this is a prank, that the universe isn’t this cruel.

But there’s no denial when fate quite literally grabs you by the arm. The burning heat where his fingers clutch you feels like confirmation – or maybe that’s just your anger igniting.

He called you blind. And a bitch. Some soulmate. The disappointment is like a punch to the gut, tangled up with white-hot fury.

You yank your arm out of his grasp. “Who the hell are you calling a bitch, asshole?” you snap, voice sharp enough to cut. The words fly out before you can think – a reflexive retort born of equal parts anger and heartbreak. You instantly recognize the phrase as it leaves your tongue. A chill runs through you. Fuck. Those very words… you’d seen them too.

Seong-je goes very still, eyes widening a fraction. For a heartbeat, he just stares at you, and you wonder if he felt the same jolt of recognition. Did he always know his soulmate’s first words would be an insult hurled in his face? If so, he must be just as thrilled as you are right now.

The hall has gone uncomfortably quiet around you. A few students pause to watch the brewing confrontation – after all, it’s not every day someone has the guts to talk back to him, the resident delinquent notorious for his explosive temper. You can practically taste the tension, bitter as bile.

He recovers first, of course. He scoffs, lips curling into a disdainful sneer. “Tch. Feisty, aren’t you,” he drawls, voice dripping with contempt. There’s something in his expression – annoyance, yes, but behind it a flicker of something like surprise. Like he wasn’t expecting you to bite back. Or maybe like he’s just piecing together the same puzzle you are.

“You heard me,” you retort, standing your ground even as your heart slams against your ribs. Your palm tingles where you slapped it against his chest during the collision; it’s like the echo of static, an aftershock of adrenaline and… something else. Something warmer that you refuse to acknowledge. “And get a new pair of glasses before you hurt someone, jerk.”

Another collective gasp from the gallery of students loitering nearby. Did you really just double down on insulting him? Some distant part of your brain screams at you that provoking Seong-je is about as smart as juggling lit dynamite. But you’re running on shock and wounded pride and years of romantic fantasies crashing down in flames. Your supposed soulmate just called you a fucking bitch – so to hell with playing nice.

For a second, you’re sure he’s about to explode. His jaw flexes, a muscle feathering in his cheek, and his hand balls into a fist at his side. Those dark eyes – intense and seething – lock onto you as if deciding which part of you to punch first. Instinctively, you tense, bracing for impact. Maybe you miscalculated; you’re not exactly itching to get decked in the middle of the hallway.

But then he does something unexpected. He laughs.

It’s a short, harsh sound, more like a bark. His fist unclenches, and he drags his tongue over his bottom lip as if considering you anew. “You’ve got a mouth on you,” he mutters, almost appreciatively. His gaze flicks over you – from your clenched fists to the defiant set of your jaw. You feel your face heat with a mix of anger and… nervousness? No, you refuse to be nervous in front of this asshole.

“So do you,” you shoot back. “Unfortunately, yours is attached to a total dick.”

His dark eyebrows rise in mock surprise. A few onlookers snicker at your comeback, quickly silenced when Seong-je snaps his glare toward them. The hallway audience suddenly finds their shoes and lockers extremely interesting. No one wants to be the collateral damage of Seong-je’s wrath.

He turns back to you. You force yourself to meet his stare evenly, though a part of you is internally screaming why, why, why on loop. Why him? Out of all the people in the world…

He steps closer, invading your personal space with an infuriating confidence. He has a few good inches of height on you; you have to tilt your chin up to keep eye contact. You catch a whiff of his scent – something sharp like mint and the metallic hint of a recent fight. It’s an oddly intoxicating mix, or maybe that’s just your stupid soulmate-bonded senses betraying you.

He leans in, and instinctively you lean back, though your back is already nearly against the lockers. He’s not quite touching you – except for a finger that suddenly hooks under your chin, forcing you to look straight into his eyes. The gall of this bastard.

“You think this means something?” he asks, voice low enough that only you can hear. The words vibrate between the inch of space separating his lips from yours. “One little mark and suddenly you’re destined to be my pain-in-the-ass princess? That it?”

Your heart stutters. So he did put it together. Of course he did – he might look like a thug, but he’s not stupid. If anything, those sharp eyes seem to miss nothing.

You swat his hand away from your chin and straighten your spine. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m nobody’s princess, least of all yours,” you hiss back. “And you’re delusional if you think I’m happy about this. I don’t want you, soulmate or not.”

It feels strange and heavy to say it out loud: acknowledging the bond even as you reject it. But you need him to know exactly where you stand – which is as far from him as possible.

Something flashes in his eyes at your words – annoyance, maybe, or something darker – but then it’s gone, replaced by cold apathy. He shrugs one shoulder, the motion lazy. “Good. We’re on the same page then,” he says. “I don’t want you either.”

Each word lands like a fresh bruise. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he wants. That this is what you wanted to hear – confirmation he’s not going to pursue this twisted soulmate bullshit. And yet… hearing the dismissal in his voice, the utter lack of interest, it stings. More than it should. You swallow hard against the lump forming in your throat.

“Perfect,” you manage to say, voice thick with sarcasm. You force a tight, mocking smile. “Then do me a favor and stay the hell out of my way.”

For a moment, something unreadable flickers across his face. Then he takes a step back, creating a fraction more distance. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Gladly,” he murmurs. His gaze drops pointedly to your scattered books on the floor between you. “Pick up your shit. And next time, try not to go around body-checking people who are minding their own business.”

A surge of anger spikes through you. “Minding your own business? You were standing in the middle of the damn hallway–!” you start, but he’s already turning on his heel, apparently done with the conversation.

Without another glance, he saunters off through the small crowd that immediately parts to let him pass. His posture is relaxed, hands in his pockets as if he didn’t just flip your whole world upside down and then stomp all over the pieces. Asshole.

You stand there trembling in the aftermath, fists clenched so hard your nails bite into your palms. Around you, the buzz of students resumes, gossip already crackling through the air like wildfire. You can practically feel the curious stares on your back.

With a shaky breath, you kneel and start gathering your strewn belongings off the linoleum. Each movement feels disconnected, as if you’re moving underwater. Your mind is racing and blank all at once. Part of you wants to scream, part of you wants to cry. You do neither. Instead, you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek until the sharp pain centers you, focusing on the mundane task of collecting your notebooks.

A pair of hands join yours, helping pick up loose papers – you glance up and see Baku kneeling across from you. His real name is Hu-min, but you’ve only ever called him Baku since you were kids. Right now his usually bright, mischievous eyes are filled with worry.

“You okay?” he asks under his breath, offering you a stack of your notes. His jaw is clenched like he’s holding back a dozen questions. No doubt he witnessed that whole trainwreck or heard enough to piece it together.

Great. The last thing you need is your friends making a fuss.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, shoving the papers into your bag. Which is a blatant lie, and Baku knows it. His brow furrows behind the fringe of sandy-brown hair falling over his forehead. He’s got the kind of face that’s naturally open, easy to read – and right now it’s broadcasting concern loud and clear.

You get to your feet with whatever dignity you have left. He stands too, shifting as if he might chase after Seong-je and throw a punch or two on your behalf. At easily over six feet tall and built like the varsity judo champion he is, he could probably give that asshole a decent fight. But the thought of more confrontation right now makes your stomach churn.

“Don’t,” you say quickly, grabbing his sleeve to stop him from doing anything rash. “Just… don’t, okay? Leave it.”

Baku hesitates, fists flexing at his sides. “That jerk grabbed you,” he says, voice low and simmering. “And I definitely heard him call you—” His teeth grit audibly. He’s always been protective of you, almost brotherly, ever since your families lived next door to each other when you were little. Hearing someone insult you like that… yeah, he’s not taking it well.

You force a shaky laugh. “I’ve been called worse.” Not really, at least not to your face, but you’re trying anything to diffuse the tension. Slinging your backpack over one shoulder, you add with false breeziness, “Besides, I gave as good as I got.”

At that, his lips twitch. “You definitely did,” he acknowledges, a hint of pride in his tone. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Desperate times,” you reply dryly, hugging your arms around yourself. The adrenaline from the spat is ebbing, leaving you cold and weirdly hollow. You’re grateful he doesn’t immediately bring up the obvious – the whole soulmate factor – especially not in the middle of the hallway. But you know it’s only a matter of time.

“Come on.” He gently steers you by the shoulder. “Let’s get out of the war zone.”

You let him guide you away, scowling at the curious glances still being thrown your way. People whisper behind hands or nudge their friends, undoubtedly speculating why you and Seong-je were arguing. There’s no way anyone heard the soulmark exchange in detail, right? It all happened pretty fast and quiet. You pray none of the gossips caught on to the actual words said.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch break, but there’s no way you’re going to class in this state. Baku seems to read your mind. Instead of heading toward your next class, he leads you up a flight of stairs toward the rooftop exit – one of the few places on campus reliably empty during class hours.

The heavy metal door creaks as you push through. The rooftop is quiet save for the distant hum of traffic beyond the school grounds. A breeze hits your face, cool and carrying the smells of the city – exhaust, street food from vendors out front, a hint of rain in the air. You inhale deeply, trying to calm the storm inside you.

Baku closes the door gently behind you both. The moment you’re alone, he turns to you, crossing his arms. His expression is somewhere between angry and concerned. “So,” he says carefully, “are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?”

You walk to the low concrete wall at the edge of the roof and lean against it, looking out over the sports field below without meeting his eyes. “It’s nothing,” you lie, your voice unconvincing even to yourself.

“Bullshit.” His response is immediate, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. He steps closer, trying to catch your gaze. “That was not nothing, and you know it. Why did Seong-je grab you like that? He looked ready to start a fight until… you both suddenly froze up. And then you started cussing each other out like—” He stops, inhaling slowly. “Like you knew something.”

Damn it. There’s no escape now. He’s too perceptive when it comes to you. Probably because he’s been there through every up and down of your life – including the countless times you’ve agonized over the damned soulmark on your wrist.

You swallow, throat dry. “He’s my… you already know, don’t you?”

His eyes search yours, and you realize he’s already guessed. He just needs to hear you confirm it.

With a shaky breath, you tug up the sleeve of your sweater and hold out your forearm. The silver script of your soulmark glints in the overcast light: Are you fucking blind, bitch? It’s always looked absurd on your skin, an ugly phrase etched in such delicate lettering. A cruel joke from the universe.

His face falls as he reads it again, even though he’s seen it before. He once joked he’d be there to punch the idiot who’d say those words to you. It had been an attempt to make you laugh at a time when you were despairing over having such a mark. You’d appreciated the gesture, but deep down you still held onto a foolish hope that maybe the words would come from some misunderstanding, or that they wouldn’t be as bad as they sounded.

Now there’s no sugarcoating it. The worst-case scenario is real, standing in front of you in the form of a violent delinquent with a potty mouth.

“It was him,” you say quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “ Seong-je. He said it, Baku. Word for word.”

His eyes blaze with anger even as he pulls you into a side hug, tucking your head against his chest. “That son of a—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. You feel his heart thudding under his uniform jacket. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, voice gentler. “I know you… you always hoped it would be different.”

That does it. The tears you’ve been holding back sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, refusing to let them fall. Crying over this jerk would just be the bitter cherry on top of this shit sundae of a day. But it hurts. You allow yourself to sag against Baku for just a second, taking comfort in the solid warmth of your best friend.

One hand rubs soothing circles on your back. “What an absolute dick,” he growls quietly, probably imagining all the ways he’d like to rearrange Seong-je’s face. “Of all people, it had to be him, huh? Just our luck.”

You let out a wet, strangled laugh. “Right? Lucky me.” You swipe at your eyes quickly before any actual tears fall, then step back, straightening your shoulders. Falling apart isn’t an option – not here, not now. You’ve survived plenty of disappointments in life; you’ll survive this too.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks. He keeps a hand on your shoulder, solid and reassuring.

You shake your head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to do. We agreed to ignore it. He doesn’t want me, I sure as hell don’t want him. End of story.”

Baku frowns. “You really think it’ll be that easy? Just pretending you’re not soulmates?”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. Soulmates. The word feels like a joke at this point. “People reject their soulmates all the time,” you say, though you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince. “It’s not like legally binding or anything. It’s just… a suggestion, right? A cosmic suggestion. We can ignore it. We will ignore it.”

He studies you for a long moment. “If he gives you any trouble—”

“He won’t,” you cut in, forcing confidence. “He doesn’t care. He practically said so himself.”

Which is true. He’d looked right at you and said “I don’t want you.” The memory is like acid in your chest. If there was any tiny part of you that wondered if maybe there could be something redeeming in this bond – some hidden romantic spark amidst all the swear words – Seong-je’s complete dismissal snuffed it out.

Maybe it’s for the best. You wouldn’t want to be tied to someone like him anyway, someone with fists of iron and a heart of stone.

“Still,” he mutters, “I don’t trust that bastard. If he ever tries to pull something or hurts you—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you assure him, attempting a smile. “I promise, Baku. Now can we please talk about anything else?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but then closes it and sighs. “Fine. But I’m keeping my eyes open. Gotak and Jun-tae too. We’ve got your back, okay?”

You nod, affection welling up for your friends. They might be overbearing sometimes, but they mean well. And right now, having their support feels like a lifeline. “I know. Thank you.”

For a minute, the two of you stand there in silence, leaning against the ledge and looking out at the grey sky. Your heartbeat gradually returns to a normal rhythm. Below, gym class has started on the field – a group of students jog laps, their distant shouts carrying on the wind. Life going on, utterly oblivious to the personal catastrophe that just struck you.

Eventually, Baku bumps your shoulder gently. “We should get back before a teacher notices we skipped class.”

You grimace. The last thing you need today is detention on top of everything. “Yeah, okay.”

As you both head to the door, you take one last steadying breath. Time to plaster on a semblance of normalcy and get through the rest of the day. You can meltdown later, in the privacy of your room maybe.

For now, you’ll do what you do best: grit your teeth, square your shoulders, and face forward. Soulmate be damned.

⸻

By some miracle, you manage to drag yourself through the remainder of classes without falling apart. You avoid further run-ins with Seong-je, though you hear his name whispered in corridors and classrooms – the rumor mill already churning out exaggerated tales of your confrontation. Each wild story (apparently you kneed him in the balls, according to one excited sophomore; another version insists he threatened to throw you out a window) just makes you want to crawl under a rock. Thankfully, your friends are having none of it.

When the final bell rings, you’re promptly flanked by Hyun-tak and Jun-tae in the hallway. Hyun-tak – or Gotak, as everyone calls him – stands like a brick wall on your right, shooting warning glances at anyone who even looks like they might approach you with nosy intentions. His broad shoulders and perpetual scowl do the trick; most people scurry off. Meanwhile on your left, Jun-tae offers you a timid smile. He fiddles with the black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose – a nervous habit – and asks softly, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time today. At least now it’s only a half-lie; the shock has worn off, leaving mostly exhaustion and a simmering resentment. You’re so drained that you barely protest when Hyun-tak takes your backpack off your shoulder and carries it for you, despite your usual independence.

Baku joins your little entourage at the front gate, having jogged over from wherever he’d been. “Coast is clear,” he reports, then eyes you critically. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Thanks,” you deadpan. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”

He has the decency to look sheepish. “You know what I mean.”

Jun-tae pipes up hesitantly, “We were thinking of heading to our usual place for an early dinner. To, um, decompress. You should come.”

The last thing you feel like is being in public right now, but the hopeful look on Jun-tae’s face stops you from declining outright. You know they’re worried and just want to cheer you up. And maybe being around your friends will keep you from spiraling into your own head.

“Sure,” you sigh. “Food sounds good.”

Hyun-tak grins and slings an arm around Jun-tae’s neck, dragging him in for a playful noogie. “See, Jun-tae? Told you she wouldn’t say no to food. Especially not free food.”

“Free?” You raise a brow as Jun-tae sputters and wriggles out of Gotak’s headlock, smoothing his rumpled uniform.

Hyun-tak puffs out his chest. “I got some extra money today. My treat. Eat all you want, shorty.”

He’s called you “shorty” since middle school – even though you’re of average height, he towers enough to justify it. Normally you’d give a snappy comeback, but you’re too emotionally spent to muster one. So you just nod in gratitude.

A few minutes later, you’re crammed into a plastic booth at your usual diner, a hole-in-the-wall joint just outside campus that your friend group frequents. The familiar smell of frying oil and spices is comforting in its own way. Hyun-tak orders two whole chickens’ worth of fried goodness and a round of sodas for the table, swearing that if anyone tries to sneak soju he’ll slap them. He eyes Baku specifically, who raises his hands innocently,

As you wait for the food, conversation stays blessedly away from the day’s drama at first. The boys chatter about an upcoming video game release, some new zombie shooter that has Hyun-tak hyped. Baku teases Jun-tae about a girl from another class who’s been texting him, which makes Jun-tae turn tomato-red and stammer that “it’s just homework help, nothing else!” For a little while, you almost feel normal, laughing along as Gotak does an exaggerated impression of Jun-tae trying to talk to girls, complete with cracking voice and terrified expression.

But inevitably, the elephant in the room – or rather, the jerk not in the room – comes up once the food arrives and the first hunger pangs are sated.

“So,” Hyun-tak begins, casually cracking a chicken bone between his teeth and sucking out the marrow. An intimidating sight if you didn’t know he was a softie at heart. “Are we going to talk about what happened with Seong-je, or are we all just pretending it didn’t happen?”

Jun-tae gives him a pointed look. “Subtle, Gotak.”

“What?” He shrugs, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I’m concerned. We’re all concerned. Right, Si-eun?”

At the mention of Si-eun, you glance to the quiet corner of the booth. He, who had been uncharacteristically silent the whole time, looks up from his phone where he’d been scrolling idly. He meets your eyes with his usual calm, unreadable expression. He is a man of few words, but when he does speak, it’s often blunt.

“We are,” he says simply, confirming Hyun-tak’s statement.

You sigh, setting down the piece of chicken you’d been picking at. There’s no avoiding it. “What do you guys want to know?”

Baku snorts. “How about: what the hell are you going to do? Because if you’re gonna date that piece of shit, I need to know so I can schedule a daily ass-kicking to keep him in line.”

“I’m not dating him!” You recoil, horrified. “Did you miss the part where we basically told each other to fuck off?”

Baku raises his hands again, face calm but voice steely. “Soulmates can be… complicated. Just covering my bases. I had to watch one asshole hurt our friend before.” You know he’s referring to Oh Beom-seok – a former friend of theirs who turned out to be bad news last year. Baku and the others have been extra protective since then, especially of Jun-tae and Si-eun, but also of you, the lone girl of the group.

“Seong-je isn’t my friend, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get a chance to hurt me,” you assure them firmly. “Soulmate or not, I want nothing to do with him.”

Hyun-tak nods approvingly. “Good. Guy’s a ticking time bomb. I still can’t believe fate was messed up enough to pair you with him.”

“It’s not fate,” you mutter. “It’s some stupid cosmic mistake. One I plan to ignore.”

Jun-tae, who has been unusually quiet, speaks up in a tentative voice. “Can you really just… ignore it?” He pushes his glasses up nervously. “I mean, I’ve read stories where people who reject their soulmates have a hard time. Emotionally.”

You know what he’s referring to. There are plenty of accounts of soulmates who tried to stay apart – some say it felt like a constant itch under the skin, or like something important was missing. In extreme cases, people got physically ill from prolonged separation. You don’t know how much of that is scientific fact versus romantic folklore, though.

“I’ll manage,” you say, with more confidence than you feel. “We’ll keep our distance, and everything will be fine. Maybe the bond will just… fade.” You have to believe that, or you might break down.

Si-eun finally chimes in quietly, “What about him?”

You frown. “What about him?”

He tilts his head, mop of dark hair shifting away from his eyes. “Seong-je. If he doesn’t keep his distance.”

“He said he would,” you reply, recalling his dismissive “gladly” when you told him to stay away. The memory for some reason makes your chest tight again, and you cover it by taking a gulp of cola. “The asshole acted like I’d given him a gift by saying I didn’t want him. So trust me, he’s not going to chase me or anything. He’s probably thrilled he got a free pass.”

Your friends exchange looks that range from skeptical to relieved. Hyun-tak looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it and instead reaches for another chicken piece. Baku claps you on the back gently. “Alright then. If he’s smart, he’ll keep his ugly mug far from us. If not…” He cracks his knuckles again, a dark grin spreading. “Well, we’ll handle it.”

You manage a small smile. As much as you hope Baku won’t need to “handle” anything, it’s nice to know these idiots have your back.

“I appreciate it, guys. Really,” you say softly, earnestness cutting through your usual sarcasm. They all smile or nod – even Si-eun offers a tiny upturn of his lips.

The conversation shifts after that, steering mercifully away from soulmates and Seong-je. The boys fall into an argument over which action movie to see this weekend, and you mostly just listen, chiming in with a sarcastic comment here or there. The knot of anxiety in your stomach slowly loosens with each laugh.

By the time you all part ways after dinner, dusk is falling. Baku insists on walking you home, despite it being completely out of his way. “Don’t even try to argue,” he says as you open your mouth. “If I leave you alone and that dickhead shows up, I’ll never forgive myself.”

You roll your eyes but let him, too tired to protest. The walk is peaceful, he chatting about a new martial arts move he’s trying to master while you nod along, occasionally teasing that he just likes showing off.

There’s no sign of Seong-je, as expected. He’s likely off doing whatever delinquents do in the evening – smoking on a street corner, getting into fights, or hopefully far, far away from your neighborhood. You silently thank the universe for small mercies.

When you finally collapse into bed that night, you stare at the ceiling for a long time, replaying the day’s events. It still feels surreal, like a messed-up dream. A part of you keeps asking why – why you, why him, why like this? But there’s no answer.

Eventually, exhaustion claims you. Your last thought before sleep drags you under is a stubborn one: I’ll make this work. I’ll live my life as if Geum Seong-je doesn’t exist. Soulmate bond be damned.

⸻

It turns out “ignoring your soulmate” is easier said than done.

To Seong-je’s credit, he does seem to avoid you for the first couple of days. You don’t spot him at all on Wednesday; by Thursday you catch only glimpses of his leather jacket disappearing around corners, or the back of his head in the cafeteria as he exits with his tray. Each near-sighting sends your pulse skittering – partly from residual anger, partly from something more complicated that you refuse to name.

You tell yourself it’s relief you feel when he’s not around, and frustration when he appears in your peripheral vision. That it’s normal to be hyper-aware of someone who poses a potential threat to your peace of mind. And it’s definitely normal that whenever you inadvertently hear his name or his rough laugh in the halls, your ears prick up like a damn bloodhound. That’s just… caution. Not curiosity. Definitely not.

By Friday, you’ve settled into a routine of pretending he’s invisible. And aside from a few tense moments where you accidentally locked eyes across a crowded cafeteria (you looked away first, scowling; he just gave an unreadable stare before turning back to his friends), things are uneventful.

Which is why you’re completely caught off guard when Ms. Lim, your homeroom teacher, corners you after last period and cheerfully announces you’ve been assigned to after-school cleanup duty.

“What? Why?” you splutter, clutching your books to your chest.

Ms. Lim adjusts her prim glasses and gives you a disapproving tsk. “You and Park Hu-min were absent for an entire class period on Tuesday, weren’t you? Did you think that went unnoticed?”

Your stomach drops. Crap. You’d hoped that slipping back into class before the bell on Tuesday might cover your absence, but clearly someone ratted or the teacher noticed. Baku had an excuse via a club activity, but you were out of luck.

“I… I wasn’t feeling well,” you lie weakly.

She arches an eyebrow. “You seemed fine in your other classes. Regardless, cutting class is against school rules. The penalty is cleaning duty. Report to the gym supply room in ten minutes. And if you skip that,” her voice hardens, “I’ll make it a week’s worth of detention.”

Great. Just great. You mutter a grudging assent and watch her walk away. Digging your phone out, you shoot a quick text to Baku and the guys on your group chat: Got nabbed for skipping class Tues. Stuck with cleaning duty now. FML. Almost immediately, three sympathetic crying emojis pop up from Jun-tae, alongside Hyun-tak’s helpful message of ha ha sucks to be you. Baku sends a knife emoji followed by Want me to come help?

You quickly type back No, I got this. Don’t need you getting in trouble too. The last thing you need is any of them in the crosshairs with teachers on your account. Besides, it’s just cleaning. Boring, but not difficult. Maybe some quiet time is exactly what you need to round out this hellish week.

You head to the gym equipment room as instructed, still in your school uniform. It’s a dusty space adjacent to the gymnasium, filled with racks of dodgeballs, folded mats, and piles of old sports equipment. The air smells faintly of rubber and sweat. Ms. Lim’s note said to sweep and mop the place.

You roll up your sleeves, determined to make quick work of this and go home. But as you flick on the single fluorescent light, you realize the universe isn’t done screwing with you yet.

Because leaning against the back wall, lazily spinning a mop in one hand, is Seong-je.

He’s changed out of his uniform jacket, now in just the white dress shirt with sleeves messily rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks up. For a moment, he appears as displeased to see you as you are to see him. His eyes narrow, that familiar scowl deepening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you blurt out, stopping in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

He scoffs. “What’s it look like? Cleaning duty.”

Your heart sinks. Of course. Ms. Lim did mention cleaning duty as a penalty – presumably, other offenders get lumped together. Just your shitty luck you’d be paired with him.

He twirls the mop once more and then sets it down with a sharp clack. “If you’re here to slack off, think again. I’m not doing your share.”

“As if I’d trust you to do a decent job,” you snap reflexively, marching forward. If he wants to pretend Tuesday never happened, fine by you. Two can play indifferent. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Gladly,” he echoes your words from earlier in the week, dripping with sarcasm.

With pointed avoidance of looking directly at him, you grab an old broom and start sweeping furiously at a dusty corner. For a few minutes, the only sounds are the swish of bristles on concrete and the occasional thud as one of you moves equipment to clean under it.

Despite your best efforts to ignore him, you’re hyper-aware of his presence on the other side of the small room. The space suddenly feels a lot smaller with just the two of you in it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch glimpses of him pushing the mop around, his long strides making short work of the floor. The silence between you is tense, charged with unspoken things.

It’s almost a relief when he breaks it, even if it’s in typical Seong-je fashion.

“So,” he drawls, “How’s the little fanclub?”

You glance up, brow furrowed. “What?”

He smirks, still focused on mopping. “Your trio of guard dogs. I’m surprised they let you come here alone. Thought one of them might be hiding in your skirt pocket or something.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about your friends – no doubt he’s seen Hyun-tak, Baku and Jun-tae hovering around you all week, running interference. You bristle at his mocking tone. “They’re my friends. And they don’t ‘let’ me do anything. I make my own decisions.”

“Sure you do,” he says lightly, sarcastically. “Because skipping class to cry on the rooftop was such a brilliant independent decision.”

You grip the broom handle so hard your knuckles ache. “For your information, I didn’t cry.” A half-truth; you didn’t actually shed tears in front of Baku, at least. “And screw you for spying, asshole.”

He actually rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t spying. I went up there for a smoke. You two were yapping so loudly I couldn’t help overhearing the sob story.”

Your face flushes hot – a mix of anger and embarrassment. How much did he hear? Given he’s calling it a sob story, probably enough. “Eavesdropping creep,” you mutter.

“Again, not my fault you broadcast your business.” He stops mopping for a moment, leaning on the handle. “But let me make one thing clear, since you and your boyfriends seem to be planning some grand avoidance strategy.”

You grit your teeth at his characterization of your friends. “What?”

He meets your gaze full on, and there’s that intensity again, like he’s stripping you down to the soul. “I meant what I said. I’m not interested in this soulmate bullshit. So you and your pals can relax. I’m not gonna woo you with flowers and love notes, princess.”

The sheer absurdity of the idea wrings a harsh laugh out of you before you can stop it. “Trust me, that was the last thing on my mind. I’d probably punch you myself if you showed up with flowers.”

He flashes a wolfish grin. “Oh? Not a fan of romance?”

“Not with you,” you retort, going back to sweeping. A cloud of dust makes you cough, and you use it as an excuse to look away from him. That grin did something weird to your insides – something annoyingly close to a flutter.

“Good,” he says after a beat. “That saves me the trouble.”

You focus on corralling dust bunnies, pretending they’re his face. “Trouble of what? Having to google how to spell ‘soulmate’?”

He snorts. “Trouble of dealing with your whining if you got some delusional hope.”

You whirl on him. “I’m not delusional!”

He’s closer now than you realized – only a few feet away, having abandoned the mop in a bucket. He must have crossed the room while you were preoccupied. He stares down at you with that infuriatingly calm expression. “No? Then why are you so worked up? I’m agreeing with you.”

“I’m not worked up,” you lie, voice indeed a pitch too high. “Just stick to your side and shut up. We’ll be done faster.”

For a moment he doesn’t move. Then he takes one step closer. The hair on the back of your neck rises.

“What now?” you snap, gripping the broom as if it could double as a weapon.

He tilts his head, examining you like you’re a puzzle. “You really hate this, don’t you?”

You blink. “Hate what? Cleaning duty? Obviously, genius.”

He shakes his head, a strand of black hair falling into his eyes. “No. This.” He gestures a finger back and forth between you. “Us.”

“There is no ‘us’,” you say immediately.

He continues like you didn’t speak, voice oddly serious. “It’s eating you alive. I can see it.”

Your throat tightens, because damn him, he’s not wrong. It is eating you alive – the dissonance between what you thought a soulmate should be and what you got, the anxiety of what it means for your future. But you’ll be damned if you let him know the extent of it. You mask your unease with venom. “Don’t act like you know anything about me.”

“I know that you’re so pissed at fate that you can’t even sweep a floor without looking like you want to murder someone.” He sounds almost bored, but his eyes… they’re drilling into you.

“Maybe I do want to murder someone right now,” you say pointedly, matching his stare with a glare.

His lips twitch – not quite a smirk, something smaller. “By all means, baby, take your best shot.”

The casual taunt, the pet name said with such mockery – it pushes you over the edge. Before thinking, you swing the broom at him, aiming for that smug face. It’s a clumsy, telegraphed move, and he easily catches the broomstick mid-swing.

In a flash, he yanks it forward, pulling you with it. You yelp as you stumble straight into him. He drops the broom and grabs your wrists, spinning you around in one swift motion. Suddenly your back is against his chest, one of his arms around your waist, the other banding across your arms, caging you against him. The speed and strength he displays is dizzying; you’re caught like a snared rabbit.

“Let— let go!” you struggle, but his hold is ironclad. He’s not hurting you, but he’s got you secured effectively, like he’s done this a hundred times in sparring sessions or street fights. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, his breath annoyingly steady while yours is ragged.

“Calm down,” he growls near your ear. “Jesus, you have two modes: bitchy or berserk.”

His arm is a solid bar across your front, and for a wild moment you’re acutely aware of how easily he could really hurt you if he wanted. The fact that he’s restraining you without actually hurting is almost… considerate? The thought makes you angrier somehow.

“You provoked me!” you hiss, still squirming.

He chuckles, and you feel the rumble of it through his chest. “A little temper on my soulmate, huh? Kinda hot.”

“Screw you,” you bite out. Your face is burning – from exertion, from fury, from the unwanted flush that creeps up at how tightly his body is pressed to yours.

He leans down slightly, and you feel his nose skim light as air against the side of your neck, just below your ear. It sends an involuntary jolt through you. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he whispers crudely.

Your brain short-circuits. Did he really just—? “E-excuse me?!”

“You heard me.” His voice drips smug wickedness. “You know, you talk a big game about not wanting me, but your body’s telling a different story right now.” His grip shifts infinitesimally, just enough that you become aware of how your back arches against him and— oh. Your face flames as you realize what he’s likely feeling from you squirming in his hold. The traitorous pounding of your heart, the shallow bursts of breath.

Mortified rage wells up. “You’re out of your damn mind,” you manage to spit, trying to stomp on his foot with your heel.

He sidesteps slightly, foiling that attempt. Finally, he loosens his hold enough to spin you back around. Before you can react, he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you there. Not hard enough to hurt, but you’re effectively trapped between concrete and Seong-je.

The mop and broom lie forgotten on the floor. The fluorescent light flickers, casting erratic shadows over his sharp cheekbones. He braces one hand on the wall by your head, the other loosely gripping your shoulder. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

Your pulse is a drumroll in your ears. There’s anger, yes, but also a dangerous thrill at the closeness. God, you hate him. You hate that he can do this to you – provoke you, confuse you. Maybe Jun-tae was right; ignoring a soulmate is hard, especially when he’s practically on top of you.

Seong-je’s eyes flick down to your heaving chest for a second, then back up. A slow, infuriating grin spreads on his face. “Bet you’ve been thinking about it,” he purrs. “About us. Late at night, maybe? Wondering what it’d be like?”

You want to slap the look off his face, but he’s got your shoulder pinned. Instead, you unleash your tongue. “The only thing I wonder is how satisfying it’d be to kick you in the balls.”

He laughs – an actual genuine laugh that catches you off guard. “Liar,” he taunts. “I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”

You blink, thrown off. How do you look at him? You weren’t aware you even did, beyond shooting glares. If anything, when he’s not looking, you’ve been trying to pretend he’s invisible. Unless… those times your gaze drifted over to him despite yourself – in the cafeteria or across the yard – was he catching that? Shit.

He leans in closer, face inches from yours. His voice drops to a provocative whisper. “I’m your soulmate. Sooner or later, we’re gonna fuck. You know it, and I know it.”

Your brain implodes. The sheer blunt vulgarity of the declaration stuns you speechless for a moment. Then words rush back like a tidal wave. “The hell we are! Over my dead body, you psychotic jackass!”

He clucks his tongue, mock pity on his face. “Keep telling yourself that. But we both felt that spark just now.” He presses in, and your breath hitches. “Felt it the other day too, didn’t you? That little jolt when you ran into me.” His lips curve. “Fate’s pushing us together, princess. It’s just a matter of time.”

Your mind screams to deny it, to throw it back in his face. But a treacherous part of you knows exactly what he’s talking about. That inexplicable heat when he first grabbed your arm in the hall, the electric jolt when you slapped your hand on his chest. Even just now, your skin burned everywhere he touched, your heart racing not just from fear or anger. As much as you loathe him, there’s something there – chemistry, raw and crackling. And damn him, he’s exploiting it.

He must see the conflict in your eyes, because he smiles like the devil he is. His hand slides from your shoulder up to cup your chin roughly. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, “I’m not looking to cash that in just yet. I’m not that desperate.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s not a gentle, sweet meeting of lips like you once dreamed a soulmate’s kiss might be. No, Seong-je crashes into you with a bruising force, his mouth slanting over yours hotly, demandingly. It’s a claiming, a power play, a challenge rolled into one. For a split second, your brain blanks out, stunned by the sensation – the taste of spearmint and trouble on his lips, the faint copper hint, a split lip from a fight earlier, maybe.

Then you regain your senses and react. Hard.

Your teeth clamp down on his lower lip, not enough to maim, but definitely enough to hurt. He jerks back with a sharp hiss, one hand flying to his mouth. You seize the moment and swing your palm with every ounce of fury you have left.

SMACK.

The slap echoes in the small room, your hand stinging from the impact across his cheek. Seong-je’s head actually turned with the force of it. A red imprint of your fingers blooms on his pale skin.

For a few charged seconds, neither of you moves. Your breathing comes ragged; his shoulders rise and fall as he slowly lowers the hand from his mouth. There’s a cut on his lip now where you bit him – a bead of blood wells and he licks it away casually. His cheek, where you slapped, darkens angrily.

You expect an explosion – for him to yell or shove you or worse. But he just… looks at you. One corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk, even as his lip bleeds. “That all you got?” he taunts softly.

You stare in disbelief. This bastard. This is what he finds amusing? You’ve never felt more humiliated or enraged. Tears of frustration prick at your eyes, which only infuriates you further. You refuse to let him see you cry.

Without another word, you duck under his arm and bolt for the door. He doesn’t stop you. As you wrench it open, he calls after you, voice echoing with dark amusement, “See you around, soulmate.”

You slam the door behind you so hard the glass panel rattles.

Your face burns with a mix of fury and shame as you half-run down the empty corridor. How dare he? How dare he kiss you like that, say those things? To treat this whole soulmate business like it’s some game where he can just toy with you?

You storm out of the school and into the cool evening air. It’s only when you’re a block away that you realize you left your bag – and everything in it – back in the supply room. With him.

“Son of a–!” You kick a lamppost in impotent rage, immediately regretting it as pain zings up your toe. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

There’s no way you’re going back for it now. You’d rather die than face him again tonight. You’ll retrieve it later, maybe ask a janitor in the morning. For now, you just need to get home and scream into a pillow.

The worst part, the very worst part, is that beneath all the anger, a small treacherous part of you can’t stop replaying the kiss. Your first kiss – if that mess even counts – and it had to be with him. And what’s worse… for a split second, you’d almost kissed him back. A tiny voice in your head whispers that he’s right. That some sick piece of you is drawn to him.

You shut that voice down with extreme prejudice. Maybe you can’t change the bond, but you sure as hell can fight it every step of the way.

Let Seong-je be as possessive and cocky as he wants. You refuse to fall for it. If he wants a war, you’ll give him the bloody, foul-mouthed war of his life.

⸻

True to your word, you spend the next week doing everything possible to avoid and ignore Seong-je. After the disastrous cleaning duty encounter – which you pointedly did not divulge in detail to your friends – you’ve doubled down on keeping your distance. You change your routes to class if you know he usually loiters in a certain hallway. You eat lunch in the library one day to dodge the cafeteria because you heard his laugh echoing before you entered. When you do catch a glimpse of him, you pretend you haven’t, even as your pulse inevitably spikes.

For his part, he doesn’t exactly chase you down. But he’s there – oh, he’s there – at just the wrong moments. Like Wednesday, when you were chatting with a boy from your math class by the vending machines; Seong-je had strolled by and given the poor kid such a deadly glare that he practically threw your can of Coke at you and scurried off. Or Thursday, when you stayed late to help Jun-tae with a project, and walking out you found Seong-je leaning against the school gate as if waiting. You’d frozen, heart thudding, but he merely locked eyes with you, lit a cigarette, and then walked off into the dusk without a word. The tension is maddening, like an itch you can’t scratch.

By Friday night, you’re at your wit’s end. So when one of Jun-tae’s classmates asks if you’d like to catch a movie over the weekend – clearly flirting – you impulsively say yes. Daehyun is nice enough: soft-spoken, studious, the kind of guy you might have been interested in if your life weren’t such a soap opera. Plus, he has no ties to the whole soulmate mess. A normal outing with a normal guy sounds like exactly what you need to remind yourself that you have choices. That your life isn’t defined by a foul-mouthed delinquent and a stupid predestined bond.

You keep the plan secret from the guys. Baku would blow a fuse if he knew you were going on a “date” given the current circumstances, and Hyun-tak or Si-eun would likely also object or at least worry. You just want one evening of normalcy without your three watchdogs or a certain someone looming over it.

So on Saturday, you tell your mom you’re out with friends, and meet the boy at a cafe near the movie theater. The evening starts off… fine. Nice, even. He is polite and a little shy; he compliments your outfit and holds the cafe door open for you. You get coffee and chat about school. It’s all very proper and pleasant, if a bit awkward – first meetings usually are. But you roll with it, determined to enjoy yourself.

Halfway through listening to Daehyun explain his theory on why the latest Marvel movie flopped, you notice him falter, eyes darting to something over your shoulder. His face loses a shade of color.

Before you can turn to see what spooked him, a familiar voice speaks up from behind you, dripping with faux surprise. “Well, look at this. Didn’t expect to find you here, princess.”

Your stomach plummets. No. No, no, not now.

You turn around slowly in your seat. Geum Seong-je stands there, hands in his jacket pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. He’s not in uniform – instead wearing ripped black jeans and a fitted dark t-shirt under his open leather jacket. He looks annoyingly good, which just makes this worse.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level. Your heart is already hammering against your ribs.

He tilts his head, eyes flicking to Daehyun for a second before returning to you. “Public sidewalk. Free country. I was just grabbing a coffee.” He lifts his other hand, and only now do you notice the takeout cup he’s holding. “Didn’t know I’d run into you… on a date.”

The way he says it – laced with contempt – sends heat to your cheeks. You feel a spark of anger, which is good because it pushes back the panic. “That’s none of your business,” you snap quietly. “Weren’t you the one who told me to stay out of your way? Maybe you should return the favor.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Believe me, running into you is the last thing I wanted tonight,” he lies. You suspect from the gleam in his eye that he might have been looking for you, though how he knew where you’d be is a mystery. Did he… overhear at school? Did Jun-tae mention something to a friend who mentioned to someone? Or has Seong-je actually been going out of his way to shadow you? The thought is both unnerving and oddly thrilling in a twisted way.

Daehyun clears his throat nervously. “Uh, is this… a friend of yours?”

Before you can say “hell no,” Seong-je steps forward, leaning down so one hand braces on the back of your chair, the other flat on the table next to your coffee cup. It’s an unnecessarily intimidating posture, effectively caging you in your seat. Daehyun’s eyes widen and he leans back.

“Her friend? Sure,” he answers, lips curving into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Seong-je. And you are… done here.”

Daehyun blinks. “E-excuse me?”

You shoot up out of your chair, forcing him to step back a half-step. “What the fuck, Seong-je?” you hiss, mortified and furious. “You need to leave. Now.”

He doesn’t budge. Instead, he picks up your half-finished latte from the table, takes a sip – the audacity – and grimaces. “Too sweet,” he mutters, then pointedly pours the rest into a nearby potted plant.

Oh, that’s it.

You shove at his chest, making him finally step back fully from the table. “Are you insane?!”

Daehyun also stands, though he looks like he’d rather sink into the floor. “Hey, man,” he says weakly, “I think you should calm down—”

Seong-je turns his glare on the poor guy. “And I think you should shut the fuck up and walk away.” His voice is deadly soft.

Your stomach lurches. This is spiraling out of control. People at neighboring tables are starting to stare. The last thing you need is a scene. You put a hand on his arm instinctively, trying to yank him toward the cafe entrance away from Daehyun. “Stop it! You’re causing a scene.”

He barely budges under your tug, eyes still locked on the other boy. Daehyun, to his credit, puffs himself up in an attempt to hold his ground. “Is this guy bothering you?” he asks you, trying to sound brave but his voice trembles.

Before you can answer, Seong-je lets out a low laugh. “That’s adorable. You playing the hero?” He moves so fast you barely have time to gasp – he grabs Daehyun by the collar of his shirt with one hand and jerks him forward, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Listen, man. She’s taken. So fuck off before you really piss me off.”

“Hey!” You grab his wrist with both hands, nails digging into his skin. “Let him go, you bastard!”

Daehyun’s face has gone sheet-white. He holds up his hands. “O-okay, okay! I don’t want any trouble.”

He releases him with a small shove. Daehyun stumbles back, breathing hard. His eyes flick from Seong-je, who looks like the embodiment of menace, to you, and shame washes over you. This was supposed to be a nice, normal night for him too, and now it’s ruined.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt to Daehyun, heart heavy with mortification. “He’s… he’s just a crazy ex.” It’s easier than explaining the truth, and maybe it’ll salvage a scrap of your dignity.

Daehyun manages a strained nod. “It’s… fine. I’ll just go.” He looks at Seong-je with equal parts fear and disgust. “Maybe call me when… um, yeah. Bye.”

He all but flees the cafe. You watch him jog down the street through the front window, wanting to scream or cry or both.

Seong-je has the nerve to brush off his hands like he just took out the trash and is proud of it. Your blood boils.

You whirl on him. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He gives you an incredulous look. “Me? I just did you a favor. That guy was a limp dick, I could tell from a mile away.”

You stare at him, mouth agape. “A favor? Are you out of your fucking mind?!” You’re so angry you’re practically vibrating. “That was my date, you lunatic! I chose to be here with him! You had no right—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes flashing. “I’m not letting some loser put his hands on what’s mine.”

His entitlement is like gasoline on fire. “You don’t own me! Soulmate or not, I am not your property!”

He breathes harshly, and for a second you think he might lash out or yell. But instead, he does something that truly catches you off guard – he softens his tone, just a notch. “No, you’re not property. But you’re… tied to me. Whether you like it or not. I didn’t ask for it either.”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking away briefly as if searching for words. “Do you think I enjoy this? Having some cosmic chain linking me to a mouthy little pain in the ass?”

Your eyes widen. It’s the first time he’s ever even remotely acknowledged the bond as affecting him, beyond ego and lust.

He presses on, words clipped. “I tried to stay out of your way like you wanted. But every time I turn around, there you are, with your stupid face and your stupid friends, and it pisses me off that I can’t just… forget it.” He scowls as if the admission physically pains him. “It’s like you’re under my skin, and no matter what I do, I can’t get you out. So yeah, maybe I’m an asshole for ruining your date. But you shouldn’t be going out with some other guy when—when—”

He stops himself, breathing hard. There’s a wild, conflicted look in his eyes that steals the retort from your tongue. Could it be that he’s actually feeling something real here?

“When what?” you ask quietly, heart thudding.

His face contorts into a glare. “Nothing. Forget it.”

And just like that, he shuts down. You can almost see the walls going back up, his expression icing over. It’s infuriating – he can’t just spew all that and then clam up.

“God, you are impossible,” you say, voice thick with frustration. “Fine. Run away from it. I don’t even care anymore.” You’re lying – you do care, way more than you should, but pride keeps your voice hard. “Next time, don’t bother interfering. I’ll live my life, you live yours. Stay out of my way, for real.”

Something flashes in his eyes – hurt, anger? – but he masks it with a derisive snort. “Whatever you say, princess.”

He turns on his heel and stalks off into the night without a backward glance. You stand there trembling for a long minute after he’s gone, trying to process what just happened.

He almost opened up. Almost. But of course, he slammed that door shut. And what would you have even done if he hadn’t? Hugged him? Thanked him? The thought is laughable. He’s created a mess then left you to clean it up – literally, in the cafe case, and figuratively for your emotional state.

The date is a bust, you doubt Daehyun will ever want to see you again, and now you’re left with more confusing feelings towards Seong-je swirling in your chest.

You feel like screaming. Instead, you drag yourself home and spend half the night angrily crushing the pillow to your face to muffle frustrated sobs that you’d never let anyone hear.

After the weekend, you resign yourself to an uneasy status quo. You avoid Seong-je where you can, and when you can’t, you do your best to ignore his existence. He, apparently, decides to adopt the same tactic; aside from a few intense stares from across the schoolyard and one or two derisive smirks in passing, he doesn’t approach you directly all week.

Your friends sense something’s off – you’re more tight-lipped than usual, and Jun-tae asked if you were okay twice after noticing your bloodshot eyes Monday morning, you blamed allergies, not going into detail about crying half the night. But you haven’t told them about the ruined date or the confrontation. Partly out of embarrassment, partly because you’re still trying to sort out what it meant yourself.

By Thursday, you think maybe things will eventually settle. Maybe you and him can fall into being nothing more than two people who share a weird bond but otherwise live separate lives. It’s a depressing thought in some ways – like a part of you will always be unresolved – but better that than constant chaos.

Unfortunately, peace is a fickle thing. And jealousy, it seems, is something Geum Seong-je cannot handle in any dose.

It happens after school. You and Baku stay late in the gym – he’s helping you practice some self-defense moves because, as he said, “If you’re gonna keep pissing off raging psychos, might as well know how to throw a punch without breaking your thumb.”

You appreciate it. Hitting the pads he holds actually feels good; imagining it’s Seong-je’s face probably helps add power. After an hour, you’re both sweaty and laughing as Baku teases that your roundhouse kick is more of a floppy circle.

“You’re getting better, though,” he concedes, ruffling your hair affectionately as you exit the gym into the late afternoon sun. Most students have gone home by now, campus fairly empty.

“Thanks, coach,” you joke, swiping at your damp forehead. “Same time next week? Maybe I’ll manage to actually knock you over.”

“In your dreams,” he grins.

Your foot must still have some dust or chalk from the gym floor because you slip slightly on the smooth outdoor tiles. Baku grabs your elbow to steady you. “Whoa there.”

“I’m fine.” You laugh, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs you a little closer, squinting at your face.

“You got a bruise coming in,” he notes, thumb brushing just under your right eye.

“Oh.” You’d nearly forgotten – an elbow from one of the drills accidentally caught your cheek earlier. “It’s nothing.”

Baku scowls. “Nothing? Looks like I punched you. That asshole’s gonna think I actually hurt you.”

You roll your eyes. “Who cares what he thinks?” Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about how it might appear to anyone else.

He sighs, the hand on your elbow sliding down to your wrist and squeezing in a comforting way. “Maybe put some ice on it when you get home, okay? And if anyone asks—”

Suddenly, someone yanks Baku away from you with brute force. You gasp as Baku is torn from your side and shoved back.

Seong-je is there, seemingly out of nowhere, eyes wild with rage. “Get your fucking hands off her!” he roars, and swings a fist at Baku’s face.

It happens too fast to shout a warning. But Baku has reflexes of his own – he narrowly ducks the punch, and on the recovery, throws one of his own. His fist connects solidly with Seong-je’s jaw in a sickening crack.

Seong-je drops like a stone.

For one horrified second, you think he might be dead. He’s flat on his back on the ground, limbs sprawled, completely out cold. Baku stands over him, chest heaving, fists still clenched.

“What the fuck—?!” you finally find your voice, stepping forward. “Baku, oh my god!”

“He came at me,” Baku says quickly, defensive, eyes wide as if surprised himself at how quickly that escalated. “I didn’t even think, I just—” He gestures vaguely with his fist.

You kneel down next to Seong-je, heart in your throat. He’s breathing – you can see the rise and fall of his chest. There’s already a bruise purpling along his jaw from Baku’s punch. “You knocked him out,” you say, half in disbelief.

Hyun-tak and Jun-tae come sprinting from the corner of the building, drawn by the commotion. “Holy crap!” Jun-tae exclaims, nearly tripping over his feet when he sees the scene. “Is that—?”

“Seong-je,” Hyun-tak finishes grimly, grabbing Baku’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Baku runs a hand through his hair, looking equal parts pissed and sheepish. “He fucking attacked me! All I did was hold her arm and he went berserk.”

Jun-tae’s eyes ping-pong between you and the unconscious boy. “Why would he— oh.” He blinks. “He thought… you two…?”

You flush, suddenly piecing it together. Seong-je saw Baku holding you close, touching your face, maybe got the wrong idea. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter. This idiot really thought— what, that Baku was moving in on you?

Baku shakes his head, almost laughing in disbelief. “He actually thought I’d— with her? Seriously?” He looks at Seong-je’s prone form like he’s grown two heads.

“Guy’s crazy,” Hyun-tak mutters, though he looks more curious than angry now. He exchanges a look with Jun-tae that you can’t quite decipher.

Meanwhile, you’re still crouched beside Seong-je. Now that the shock is fading, you realize you’re worried. He’s completely unresponsive. “We need to do something. I mean, we can’t just leave him here.”

Baku folds his arms, scowling. “Why the hell not? It’d be what he deserves.”

You glare up at him. “Really? And when he wakes up and comes looking for round two, what then?”

That makes Baku pause. Jun-tae chimes in softly, “We might get in trouble if someone else finds him like this. They’ll ask questions.”

Hyun-tak nods. “Better to move him.”

Baku sighs heavily. “Fine. But if he swings at me again when he wakes up, I’m not holding back next time.”

The boys approach to lift Seong-je. Baku takes his shoulders, Hyun-tak his legs. Together they carry his limp form across the courtyard. You grab his fallen leather jacket and school bag.

“Where to?” Hyun-tak asks.

“The nurse’s office is closed,” Jun-tae says, pushing his glasses up with one finger as he hurries alongside. “Maybe the old music room? Nobody uses it after hours.”

You lead the way, opening the door for them. The old music classroom in the adjacent building is mostly storage now, rarely locked. Inside, dust motes dance in the slanting sunlight. The boys deposit Seong-je on a long wooden bench against the wall.

He groans faintly as Baku adjusts his position. You all step back, watching. He doesn’t wake, but at least he made a noise, which is reassuring.

“Alright, he’s your soulmate,” Baku says, rubbing the back of his neck. “How do you want to handle this?”

You bite your lip. Part of you wants to walk away and let him wake up alone, but a bigger part feels responsible for… well, for him being here. And if he wakes alone, who knows what he’ll do or think. This whole mess happened because of a misunderstanding; maybe if you’re here, you can straighten it out without more punches thrown.

“I’ll stay with him,” you say finally. “The rest of you should go. If a teacher finds all of us here, it’ll be hard to explain.”

Baku looks like he wants to argue, but Jun-tae gently tugs his sleeve. “She’s right. We shouldn’t all be here if someone comes by.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that psycho,” he says, frowning.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist. “He’ll be disoriented when he wakes. And I can handle him.” You say it with more confidence than you feel, but after all the drama, you’re fairly certain Seong-je won’t actually hurt you. He’s had chances and hasn’t.

“I’ll wait outside the door, just in case,” Baku concedes reluctantly.

That’s as good as you’ll get. You nod. “Deal.”

Hyun-tak pats your shoulder with a small smile. “Holler if you need us to deck him again.”

You smirk lightly. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

With some grumbling, the boys file out. Baku gives you a last concerned look. “Yell if you need me. I’ll be right outside,” he reiterates.

“I will,” you promise, shooing them. “Go, before we all get detention.”

They leave, shutting the door behind them. The quiet that settles is heavy. You turn to look at Seong-je.

He’s still out cold, but color is returning to his face. You notice something you hadn’t before: a small bandage on his left cheekbone – probably from some scuffle earlier in the week. It’s slightly dislodged now. Carefully, you peel it off; the cut beneath isn’t too bad, already scabbed. You wonder absently how he got it.

Then you catch yourself and frown. Why do you care? You shouldn’t, right? He’s an asshole. A violent, crazy asshole who just attacked your best friend in a fit of misplaced jealousy.

But… he was jealous. He thought Baku was moving in on you and he lost his shit. On one hand, it’s infuriating – his possessiveness is toxic and problematic. On the other, a tiny, irrational part of you feels almost vindicated. Like proof that he really does feel something for you beyond anger and lust, even if it’s twisted.

You sigh, taking a seat on the bench a couple feet away from his feet. What a mess.

After a few more minutes, Seong-je stirs. You straighten, heart rate picking up. His eyelids flutter, then those dark eyes open, squinting at the ceiling. He groans, bringing a hand up to his jaw.

“That son of a bitch,” he mutters hoarsely.

“Which one?” you say dryly, unable to help yourself.

His head turns sharply toward you, eyes widening in surprise. He tries to sit up too fast and winces, sagging back on his elbows.

“Easy,” you mumble, reaching out on instinct to steady his shoulder. He tenses under your touch and you pull back quickly.

He blinks at you, disoriented. “The fuck… where are we?”

“Old music room,” you say. “School.”

He touches his jaw again and lets out a pained hiss. His gaze hardens. “That gorilla friend of yours packs a punch.”

Anger flares in you again at the memory of what triggered this. “You deserved it,” you snap. “What were you thinking, attacking Baku like that?”

His expression sours. “Saw him with his hands all over you… I thought—” He breaks off, scowling. “Doesn’t matter what I thought.”

“Jesus, Seong-je,” you run a hand through your hair in frustration. “He’s like a brother to me. There is nothing between us. Everyone knows that. Why do you think he calls me kid and teases me like I’m twelve? We grew up together.”

He doesn’t respond, jaw clenched. You realize he’s avoiding your eyes now, staring off toward the dusty piano in the corner. Embarrassed? Maybe.

“Even if it wasn’t him,” you continue, softer this time, “what gives you the right? You can’t just swing at any guy near me.”

His gaze snaps back, bristling. “The hell I can’t.”

You throw up your hands. “You’re unbelievable.”

He struggles to sit up fully, and this time you don’t help. He manages, swinging his legs over the side of the bench to face you. He looks a little pale under the bruising jaw, but otherwise steady. The silence stretches awkwardly.

Finally, he speaks, voice low. “I saw him touching your face… and I lost it. I thought you lied. About not wanting anyone.”

You look at him in disbelief. “I never said I didn’t want anyone. I said I didn’t want you messing up my life.”

He flinches at the “you” part. “Right.”

Regret pricks at you. That came out harsher than you intended. But you don’t know how to say what you mean. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Look, this entire situation is so fucked up. I was upset, Baku was comforting me. That’s it. I didn’t… I haven’t been sneaking around with someone, if that’s what you thought.”

He nods slowly, absorbing that. “Okay.”

Okay? That’s it? You sigh. At least he seems calmer now. His eyes rake over you briefly, like he’s checking you’re okay.

“Are you hurt?” he asks gruffly, nodding toward your cheek.

You touch the bruise. “It’s nothing. Just from training.”

Something like guilt flickers in his expression. “Heh. Thought he gave you that. Which is why I…” He trails off.

“Went full Hulk-smash,” you finish dryly.

He grimaces, then surprises you by bowing his head slightly. “I fucked up.”

Well. That’s probably as close to an apology as you’re going to get from him. And it sounded sincere, albeit grudging. You stare, caught off guard.

Seong-je rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable under your scrutiny. “I… I’m not good at this shit. The—” he waves a hand vaguely, “soulmate shit. Feelings. Whatever.”

You can’t suppress a soft snort. “No kidding.”

He shoots you a mild glare but doesn’t bite back. Instead he inhales, then looks up at the ceiling. “I acted like an idiot. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you say, voice laced with sarcasm. But truthfully, hearing him acknowledge wrongdoing does something fluttery to your insides. It’s a start.

He glances at the door. “Your friends… they carted me in here?”

“Yeah. They were worried a teacher might find you out cold and connect it to us.” You hesitate, then add, “They’re outside, probably freaking out that I’m alone with you. I should let them know you’re awake.”

You stand, but he grabs your wrist – gently, this time. “Wait.”

You pause, heart skipping at the light grasp of his fingers around your wrist. “What?”

He releases you as soon as you turn back to him, almost as if he hadn’t realized he reached out. His eyes search your face. There’s something raw in them that unmoors you.

“I’m… not going after that guy from the cafe,” he says lowly. “If you… if you wanted to see him again, I won’t interfere.”

The last words sound dragged out of him. You blink in surprise. That’s… surprisingly considerate? More than that – it’s like he’s saying he’ll step back for your sake.

Your chest tightens. For some reason, that offer doesn’t fill you with the relief you’d have expected a week ago. Instead, it leaves a hollowness.

“I don’t think he’ll want to see me,” you admit quietly. “Not after… everything.”

Seong-je nods, not looking remotely sorry about that outcome. There’s a flicker of smugness, quickly masked.

You shake your head, exasperated. “Unbelievable. You’re still happy he ran off.”

He meets your eyes evenly. “Yes.”

The audacity of his honesty… you almost admire it. You let out a mirthless chuckle. “You’re a jerk.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” He stands now too, though a bit unsteadily. He towers over you, the closeness bringing back memories of other heated moments. But this time is different. His posture is tense, but not with anger. More like uncertainty.

He raises a hand, and you flinch slightly, but he’s only reaching toward your hair. Gently, he picks out a small clump of dust or foam that clung there from training earlier. You hold your breath as his fingers brush your hair, then slide down briefly to tuck a strand behind your ear – a surprisingly tender gesture that sends your heart aflutter.

“There’s still a lot I don’t get,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on the piece of your hair he’s winding unconsciously around his finger. “About this… about you.”

You swallow hard. “Seong-je—”

He interrupts, looking at you with a strange mix of frustration and longing. “But I know I’m not letting you go. I tried. It’s not happening.”

Your heart skips. His tone reminds you of someone admitting defeat – like he tried to fight the bond and lost. And maybe, just maybe, it’s not the worst thing in the world for him.

In spite of yourself, you feel your walls slightly lower. If he’s going to be half-honest, you can be a little honest too. “I… I don’t know what I want right now,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. “This is all so… messed up. You drive me crazy. In every way.”

A corner of his mouth lifts – not a cocky smirk, but something almost hopeful. “You’re not exactly a walk in the park either, princess.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat of anger isn’t there. Exhaustion and a weird relief take its place. At least you’re… talking, sort of, without screaming.

He shifts a step closer, and your breath catches. “So what now?” he asks, low and quiet.

It’s a good question. Where do you two go from here? The slow path from loathing to something tolerable, maybe. Perhaps even something more, one day, if you don’t kill each other first.

“One step at a time,” you say finally. “Don’t assume this means I forgive you or that I’m okay with— with everything. But… I’m tired of fighting every second.”

He nods slowly. “Truce?”

“For now,” you allow.

He sucks in a breath as if steeling himself, then reaches out with his pinky finger extended – a small, hesitant gesture. It’s such a ridiculous contrast to his usual bravado that you actually smile a little, bewildered. Nonetheless, you hook your pinky with his, sealing the quiet truce.

Neither of you says anything for a moment, standing there with linked pinkies like children making up after a squabble. When you finally pull away, he lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it.

“Guess we should get out of here,” you say, remembering the world outside this room.

He nods. “Yeah.” Then he adds with a grimace, touching his jaw, “Tell lover boy outside not to sucker punch me this time.”

You snort. “Don’t give him a reason and he won’t.” But you open the door and poke your head out.

Baku nearly trips from where he was clearly leaning against it. Hyun-tak and Jun-tae appear around the corner too, looking concerned.

“All good?” He asks warily, eyes flicking to Seong-je standing behind you.

“Define ‘good’,” you say, then sigh. “We talked. No one’s murdering anyone.”

Baku cracks his knuckles unconsciously, but nods. Hyun-tak arches a brow at you, as if asking if you’re really okay. You nod subtly.

“Let’s just go,” you say. “Before a teacher catches us.”

Amazingly, you all manage to exit the building and slip off campus without incident. Seong-je walks a few paces behind with Hyun-tak and Jun-tae, who seem to be casually flanking him in case he tries any funny business. Baku stays glued to your side, throwing distrustful glances back.

But nothing happens. The boys part ways in front of the subway station, uneasy goodbyes exchanged. Baku glares at Seong-je, making a silent “I’m watching you” gesture. Seong-je responds with a middle finger. Progress, you suppose.

To your surprise, Seong-je ends up following the same route as you – turns out he lives in the same general direction. So you find yourself alone with him for the last few blocks to your home.

It’s quiet, a little awkward, but not entirely unpleasant. He’s walking close but not touching you, hands in his pockets. At one point he clears his throat, as if wanting to say something, but doesn’t.

When you reach your street, you pause. “This is me,” you say, nodding toward your house up ahead.

He nods. An awkward beat passes. You both stand there, not quite looking at each other.

“So… see you Monday, I guess,” you mumble.

“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Try not to trip into any new guys till then, alright?”

The nerve of him – then you see the teasing glint in his eye, and realize he’s actually joking. You huff. “Try not to punch anyone else who breathes near me, and we have a deal.”

He smirks. “Can’t make promises.” But then, quieter, “See you, princess.”

Your heart does a dumb flip at the low timbre of those words. Rolling your eyes to cover it, you turn and head towards your house. After a few steps, you glance back.

He’s still standing there, watching you go with an unreadable expression. When he sees you looking, he quickly turns and walks off, trying to play it cool.

You bite back a smile as you head inside.

Maybe – just maybe – you and your foul-mouthed soulmate can figure out this chaos together after all.

⸻

A couple of months later…

Life with Seong-je doesn’t exactly transform into domestic bliss. He’s still an abrasive asshole at least 80% of the time. And you’re still a mouthy firecracker who won’t take his shit. But there are… changes.

For one, you’ve gradually gone from avoiding each other to, well, not avoiding. In fact, he’s inserted himself firmly into your daily routine. He waits for you at the school gates most mornings, never saying that’s what he’s doing, of course – he’ll claim he just happened to time his arrival the same, or that he needed to talk about something “important” like the new cafeteria menu. If you call him out on it, he just smirks and lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke away from you in a rare show of courtesy.

He sits with you at lunch now, too. The first time he did, plopping his tray down next to yours at your friend group’s table, the others went silent as a grave. Hyun-tak looked ready to fling a chicken wing at his head. But you sighed and introduced the elephant in the room. “He’s eating with us. Deal with it.”

After an awkward start, the dynamic found a shaky equilibrium. Jun-tae is still terrified of him, though he mostly ignores Jun-tae rather than picking on him, much to your relief. Si-eun occasionally exchanges dry one-liners with him – their combined deadpan snark can actually be funny. Hyun-tak warms up a bit after Seong-je compliments his fighting form, “Not terrible,” which had Hyun-tak grinning like he’d won a trophy. Baku remains wary, but they have a tacit understanding now; you suspect Seong-je privately apologized for the sucker punch incident, or at least acknowledged it. Baku hasn’t tried to knock him out again, so that’s progress.

As for you and him… things are slow, as they probably should be. The tension is still there, under the surface, but it’s less hostile now. More… charged with something else. Something that shows itself in moments like:

• The time he saw you napping in class and flicked a paper ball at you to wake you before the teacher caught on – only to mutter “idiot” fondly when you glared sleepily at him.

• Or when he “accidentally” left a bottle of your favorite iced tea on your desk, claiming someone gave it to him and he didn’t want it (you both knew it was a lie, but you took it without comment except a small “thanks,” which made him flush and grumble under his breath).

• The afternoon he discovered you’re ticklish and mercilessly poked your side until you were shrieking with laughter, only stopping when you threatened to bite his finger off – and then the way you both were strangely breathless, faces close, until Jun-tae walked in and you sprang apart.

• And countless bickering sessions that somehow ended with the two of you grinning like idiots, your friends exchanging bewildered glances.

It’s messy and complicated, but it’s yours.

One late afternoon, you find yourselves alone on the rooftop of your apartment building. He had walked you home – something he does more often now, usually under the pretense of “I was bored” or “it’s on my way” – and you invited him up, shocking both of you. He only raised an eyebrow and said “Got beer?”, to which you rolled your eyes and said you could check.

So here you are, two beers pilfered from your dad’s stash in hand, watching the sunset over the city. The sky is painted in oranges and purples.

“Not bad,” he admits, sipping. “For cheap beer.”

You snort. “Shut up and enjoy the free booze.”

He chuckles and lightly clinks his can against yours in a mock toast. There’s a comfortable silence for a while.

As twilight deepens, you feel a contemplative mood settle. You steal a glance at Seong-je. In the dimming light, his features are softened, almost peaceful. It’s rare to see him like this – not scowling or smirking, just… quiet.

On an impulse, you ask, “Do you ever think about the future?”

He gives you a sideways look. “What, like flying cars and shit?”

“No, dumbass,” you laugh. “I mean your future.”

He shrugs. “Not really. Live in the moment.”

You frown. That’s not surprising from him, but still. “Nothing at all? Not even where you want to be in five or ten years?”

He scrunches his nose like the thought of planning that far is distasteful. “Five years… I’ll be, what, 23? Shit, that’s old.”

“Hey!” You elbow him. “23 is not old.”

He smirks. “Whatever you say, grandma.”

You roll your eyes, but press on. “I think about it sometimes. I mean, about… us.”

The words slip out and your face warms. You haven’t explicitly defined anything about this weird relationship. It’s been one day at a time.

Seong-je tenses slightly, his grip on the can tightening. “Us,” he repeats carefully.

You forge ahead, trying to sound casual. “Yeah. I mean, lots of soulmate couples… eventually get married, you know.”

There. You said it. You feel a flutter in your chest even bringing it up – an image of a white dress and a path you’re not even sure you want, but it lurks in the back of your mind because that’s what society drills in when it comes to soulmates: happily ever after.

Seong-je’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” he blurts.

You bristle, embarrassment quickly turning to defensiveness. “It’s just a thought! Geez, you don’t have to react like I proposed or something.”

He makes a face like you just gave him food poisoning. “Marriage? Fuck no.”

Before you realize it, your palm smacks his arm.

He recoils, more from surprise than pain. “Ow, what the hell?!”

You shoot him a death glare. “You could’ve just said ‘I’m not interested’ like a normal person,” you huff. “No need to act like I suggested murder.”

He rubs his arm with a scowl. “Might as well be murder. Getting tied down, playing house – that’s not me.”

Ouch. You knew he’d likely scoff, but hearing the vehemence still stings a bit. You cover it with anger. “Fine, message received,” you snap. “You don’t need to rant.”

He sees your expression and has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “Hey, I’m just being honest. You really see me as the husband type? Because I sure as shit don’t. And you, in an apron greeting me at the door? Ha!”

You flush, partly from anger, partly because that domestic image is so absurd it’s almost funny. Almost. “Of course not,” you mutter. “It was hypothetical, dumbass. Forget I said anything.”

You turn away, gulping the last of your beer with a scowl. Great, now you feel stupid for bringing it up. Way to ruin a nice moment.

Before you can stew too much, he nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “Quit pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You so are.” He chuckles. “Look, marriage is just… it’s not on my radar, alright? Doesn’t mean—I mean, it’s not like I plan on bailing or something.”

You glance at him, surprised. He’s staring straight ahead, tapping a finger on his can.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, “don’t get hung up on that fairytale crap. We’re not exactly the prince and princess type.” He smirks. “You’d probably throw the glass slipper at my face.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you. “Only if you deserved it.”

“I usually do,” he agrees lightly. Then he shifts, tilting his head down to catch your eyes. “Besides, piece of paper or not… you’re stuck with me. You know that, right?”

Your breath catches. The way he says it – almost gentle, in his own rough-edged way – feels more meaningful than any grand romantic promise.

You manage a half smile. “Is that your version of reassurance? ‘You’re stuck with me’?”

He grins, bold and a little cocky. “It’s the truth. No one else is crazy enough to handle you.”

“Oh, screw you,” you laugh, shoving him.

He grabs your hand as you push and holds it. “Later, maybe,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You groan at the innuendo, cheeks heating. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

“Debatable,” you say, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let him draw you into his side. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, not unlike how Baku does – but where that felt brotherly, this feels… entirely different. Thrilling in a slow-burning way.

You sit like that as the last light fades, bickering softly about who would kill whom if you lived together (he insists you’d kill him with nagging; you insist he’d die by leaving socks everywhere and invoking your wrath).

At some point, you rest your head against him, and he presses a chaste kiss to your hair. It’s an oddly sweet gesture that makes your chest ache.

“Don’t think this means I’m wearing a damn tux ever,” he mutters into your hair.

You smirk in the darkness. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d probably combust.”

He snorts. “True.”

You turn your face up towards him, and even though it’s dark, you know he’s looking at you. You stick your tongue out. “Guess we’ll just have to keep things interesting without the fairy tale ending.”

He catches your chin, eyes glinting. “We’re plenty interesting.”

Before you can reply, he closes the gap, kissing you properly. It’s not the searing, bruising kiss of that first time in the supply room, nor the hesitant half-kisses you’ve shared since. This one is slow, teasing, as if he has all the time in the world to coax reactions out of you. And damn it, he does – your toes curl as you lean into him, sighing against his mouth.

He tastes like cheap beer and confidence. And something distinctively him that you’ve come to crave.

When you part, you’re both smiling. “Still a fucker,” you whisper affectionately.

He chuckles. “And you’re still a bitch.”

His tone makes it sound almost like a pet name. You roll your eyes, resting your forehead against his.

A toxic, foul-mouthed fairytale, indeed. But it’s yours. Twisted and dysfunctional, full of fights and slaps and screaming matches… and now, chaotic affection and rough-edged devotion.

It may not be the romance you dreamed of, but as Seong-je pulls you into another hungry kiss, you realize something:

Sometimes, the best happily ever after is just surviving each other – and finding the messed-up kind of love that only soulmates like you could ever understand.

#weak hero class fanfic #weak hero class imagines #weak hero x reader #weak hero fanfic #geum seong je x reader #geum seong je #Geum seong je fanfic

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sideysvault · 5 months ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ Handmade 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Cregan Stark x fem!reader ₊ @hotd2025bingo. ₊ read part two

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱ • ⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

wc. 1258k

tags. [sfw] arranged marriage, slowburn, fluffy, family life, they are both shy and dumb, mutual pining.

────────

It was like the Northern soil itself was rejecting her. No matter how hard the Princess tried, she never seemed to be worthy enough.

Or Honorable enough.

The prolonged exposure to the cold weather used all of her body’s stored energy. Most days, the Princess felt tired, with her facial muscles fighting to twitch against the freezing breeze, her cheeks were in a perpetual state of red, with the undying burning sensation traveling across her limbs.

The people of the region? Despite her best efforts, they still saw her as nothing more than an outsider. Someone who was not built like them, not educated on their rigid values. A liability, at best, and a foreign spy at worst.

The woman only knew one thing more righteous than the frosted soil. The lord of Winterfell himself, Guardian of the North, Lord Cregan Stark. Her husband.

Most days, the Princess was deeply intimidated by his presence, his way of being. Cregan Stark had impossibly gray eyes, which always reminded her of a winter storm. Whenever she walked behind him, his broad back would obfuscate almost all of her view. Not to mention his God's forsaken honor.

It all made her feel inadequate.

However, the Princess would be the first to admit it; It was intoxicating, that beautiful honor of his. Even after consummating the marriage and sharing the same bed in the cold of dawn, he called his wife by title instead of name. While she was endlessly charmed by this habit of his, and supposed it was to be taken as a sign of respect, the majority of the time It felt like nothing more than a polite rejection.

When the first stripes of light began to decorate the sky, the Princess knew that she did not need to corroborate the date to know what it was. She was turning a year older, alone, in a strange land with stranger people. And even if she knew that she had no right to complain —After all, a young, kind, and distant husband is every woman’s dream— she had still hoped for marital love.

You see, beyond the tales of honor and horrifying efficiency, she had heard stories of families in the North being formed out of love and loyalty. Even rulers possessed this privilege, often growing to form meaningful connections with their arranged spouses.

Perhaps the ardent patriotism with which they fed their land seeped into their crops and fed them with devotion. Or so had the Princess thought. But it had been months now, and all of her efforts had been rendered futile.

Her heart, though, was often at odds with her pride. Whenever he saw Cregan Stark, she couldn’t help but to waver under his charm. Feeling the inexplicable need to gain his affection at all cost. After all, he was a stern and formidable leader and a good friend to even the Night's Watch, the most forlorn amongst the realm.

And Dear Gods, was he a handsome man. A long, steel-strong face, auburn brown hair, and unbelievably tall. Her husband did not need the heavy furs he usually wore to look stout and robust, but they definitely made him look irresistibly personable. She had always thought that a Lord avoiding extravagance was rare so, to the woman, this furthered her husband’s rejection of traditional power structures.

She had sinned with a lack of modesty in the past, but now she viewed elaborate decoration as ostentatious and unnecessary, specially when their people were struggling.

But even then, how could she ever complement his values?

The Princess had a recurring dream as of late. The woman had begun to wish for only two things: For her husband to perceive her as fair enough as to fall in love with her, and for the crimson red between her legs to stop appearing altogether. After all, who, amongst all men, could be a better father?

A kinder husband?

────────

Regardless of the land's greatness, it could not be argued that the North was considered one of the poorest regions in Westeros. He tried to ignore his shameful instincts. But whenever he saw her, he couldn't help but feel like a brute. He did not have much to offer; a busy life, an inherited prophecy, primal worship of the Old Gods, a struggle for survival, and his people, who were stern by nature.

He felt a pinch of superficial guilt in seeing his beautiful wife dressed in the North's dour clothing. The shades of blue and gray danced before her eyes, covering her warm skin in the musky colors of the winter climate.

Cregan knew that this was merely an easy excuse to avoid unraveling his true grievance with the situation. He could not provide what she deserved, and his wife still woke up besides him every morning, with a kind smile on her face.

This would be the first birthday she would spend on her new home. And Lord Cregan was trying to reclaim what he felt ashamed of. Determined to transform the grouches into something she could cherish.

But, how could he possibly thank her for her kindness if he just had all the work done by someone else? Making it himself would be the least she deserved. The Lord of Winterfell wanted to gift her a custom jewel that would remind her of the comfort she deserved on her life.

After all, he did notice how hard she tried to follow the North's austere ways, specially his own. And while he endlessly appreciates her tact, he wanted his wife to let go of the idea that being married to him implied she had to restrict herself so severely. It was a weird thing, he thought. How fond he had become of her and how little he had been able to show it.

While he was gilding dinner, Cregan’s mind trailed off to her naked, sweaty back, the sounds she was making before turning back to look at him with a lustful, doe-eyed gaze. He remembered the times she prepared glasses of wine, ideal for them to share at night, talking till dawn about nothing in particular.

The truth was that the Northerner was not particularly fluent with words, but he would love to hear her silky voice telling him stories and teach him facts that he would've never thought to be so fascinated by.

He craved learning every detail about her, no matter how mundane. The man adored her for travelling with him and learning about the winter soil and its costumes, meeting people with a strong, confident gaze that remained resolute, even in spite of her skin, which always cracked under the freezing cold.

Cregan loved seeing her play with snow when she thought no one was watching, that his wife was never scared of petting the wolves; He felt fascinated by how quickly they would trust her, as if they could also perceive that elusive openness in her soul.

A smile appeared on his face as he realized that he wanted a family. Not for the continuation of the nobility of his name, but a home of their own, with whom he considered a close friend. Having a babe that carried their mother’s laugh within them, her wit, her curiosity.

He tried to infuse in every dent all the words he was too ashamed to say to her. A cowardly act, yes, but perhaps the safest way of expressing the deep love he had developed towards her. The love he was too shy to express with his own voice.

────────

notes. This is my first time writing for Cregan! I'm still not super sure about how to characterize him, but this has been stuck in my mind since I saw the prompt on the hotd bingo. Personal updates? After two years, I'm still in love with my ex (yay!). This is a bit slppy and rushed but i missed posting and the comfort writing can provide<3. Anyway, take care.

All credits from the idea of Cregan calling you by title instead of name goes to @sylasthegrim’s wip. Thank you sm for the inspo! go support them rn

-Sidey xxxo

#hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd s2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of dragons #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd spoilers #hotd fanfiction #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan stark x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Hope you're okay :D

First your writeing it's so good and i love it, and this is mu first time asking you for a request :)

So idk if you aleady did this, i don't remember reading it but i wanted to know how do you think Damian would react when he finally meet his brothers partner?

When JASON borough you home, Damian wasn’t certain whether he was seeing the same perpetually annoying Jason, especially when he watched him look at you as though you were the only one in the room.

It was something completely new, for as long as Damian could remember Jason was a man who held great resentment and anger within himself, which often resulted in making him prone to rash decisions and act out on his self destructive tendencies. So seeing him smile with you, laugh with you, joke with you was a side to him that only Dick had told him stories about.

Damian wasn’t fond of trusting anyone outside of his own family, but he’d be stupid to not see that you were an extremely positive influence on Jason, and soon found himself hoping that his brother wouldn’t be the one to fuck this up via self sabotage. However he didn’t have to fear that being the case when he saw the way Jason seemed more at peace by your side then he ever did in his entire life, his shoulders were no longer hunched and the furrow in his brow was less prominent, his jaw was no longer clenched and is more relaxed.

It was as though Damian was looking at a completely different person and he couldn’t help but find himself being thankful to you for having such unwavering patience with Jason and secretly hopes that you continue to do so for the nearby future. Damian could clearly see that you helped Jason through the moments that he wouldn’t dare bring up to his own family and while that hurt, he’s glad that Jason wasn’t alone with his thoughts anymore and was able to carve out a future with you.

‘They’re good for you Todd.’ Damian said once you were out of earshot.

‘I’ve known that since the moment they didn’t shy away from my scars and brokenness.’ Jason told his little brother.

‘You’re not broken.’ Damian corrected as he saw the look upon Jason’s face as he looks at you play with Titus, ‘ you’re healing.’

When TIM brought you home Damian didn’t know that he even got a partner, he didn’t bother to think that Tim was capable of engaging in a romantic relationship with anyone, given how co-dependant he was with that stupid laptop of his.

Damian understood that Tim and himself didn’t have the best of relationship, it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly ideal for two people who were meant to be considered ‘siblings’, but Damian didn’t want him to be mistreated by anyone regardless.

So when he began to take notice how you took care of Tim without it being overbearing or controlling in the slightest, you made sure he ate properly and took adequate rest whilst letting him uphold his responsibilities. You trusted Tim to take care of himself when you knew you were out of your element and he trusted you to keep ahold of his heart no matter what, and Damian could see that in the way you would boast about Tim as though he was gods gift to humanity; Which to you he very much was with a side order of sarcastic wit.

You reminded Tim that he was more then what he could give to other people, a lesson that Damian truly believed Tim needed to learn and if he learnt that through your relationship then that was good enough for him.

‘I didn’t know you were capable of being in a relationship.’ Damian told Tim and he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Thanks Damian, much appreciated.’ He said sarcastically.

‘You didn’t let me finished Drake,’ Damian told him before continuing, ‘however I’m…glad that you found someone who makes you sees your worth.’

Tim smiled softly. ‘Thanks Damian.’

When DICK brought you home, Damian was quick to follow you throughout your visit to the manor in hopes of getting a good gauge of your character, he valued Dick as his brother and wasn’t just about let him date anyone he decided to pick up from the side of the street one day on a whim.

Damian wasn’t exactly trusting towards you at first -despite the many stories Dick had told him about you- genuinely thinking that by next week Dick would’ve dumped you and bring home another one of his short lived romances, and seeing as how commitment wasn’t exactly a thing Dick was well known for. So he wasn’t expecting much to come out of your visit but when he saw just how happy Dick was with you, holding your hand, practically glued to your side and just acting like an human version of a puppy dog whenever he was with you it was almost sickening; well it was but you get the point.

Not once did Damian see Dick’s adoring eyes wander from you, he was completely entranced by anything and everything you said as though it was gospel. You both were the epitome of lovesick and Damian didn’t know whether he should be happy that it seems as though Dick found someone whom he could be genuine with and no be judged, or be grossed out by how much pda you do.

It was a tossup between the two but Damian found himself gaining some form of respect for you throughout the day and soon would in your corner for most of your playful disagreements.

‘Oh come on Damian, you’ve barely known my partner for a day and now all of a sudden your pally pally?’ Dick whines as Damian stood by your side.

‘So? It’s obvious they’re the one in charge of this relationship.’ Damian replied and you could’ve busted out laughing at Dick’s expression afterwards.

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winwintea · 5 months ago

Text

tetris

PAIRING ↬ gamer!park jisung x fem!reader (feat. zhong chenle)

TAGS ↬ fluff, action, romance, some angst, hidden feelings, 80s au, video game competitions, unrequited love or so he thought, best friend's girlfriend trope, winwin shows up randomly i love you my winsung anon

SUMMARY ↬ living up to the pressures of becoming a famous tetris player might be hard for a guy like park jisung. but it's much more difficult when the girl he’s got a crush on may actually be his best friend's girlfriend.

WORD COUNT ↬ 10.1k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ happy birthday queen @viasdreams !!! hope you enjoy as much as i had writing this (i suffered) and thank you to @polarisjisung for usual for being my beta reader <33. also i know tetris came out late 80s and was popular during the early 90s too but for aesthetic purposes im saying 80s

PLAYLIST ↬ saturday night - bay city rollers; tetoris - hiiragi magnetite; jessie’s girl - rick springfield; working for the weekend - loverboy; shoot to thrill - ac/dc; don’t play games - martin jensen; i’m still standing - elton john; cherry bomb - the runaways; hold on tight - aespa; one way or another - blondie; i ran - a flock of seagulls; choose your fighter - ava max

THE FIRST TIME PARK JISUNG PLACED HIS HANDS ON AN ARCADE MACHINE, HE WAS HOOKED.

When he felt the rough texture of the joystick, he felt a tremor in his chest. It wasn’t fear, nor excitement, but something in between. The flicker of the screen pulled him into a world he didn’t yet understand but felt desperate to explore.

The arcade around him was alive, buzzing with the electric hum of machines, the crash of digital waves, and the clatter of coins. Yet, in this moment, all the chaos faded into one singular thing: the falling blocks on the screen.

His fingers hovered over the controls, trembling. When they pressed down, the buttons responded with a slight resistance that grounded him, pulled him into the world on the screen. The joystick was smoother than he expected, gliding under his unsure grip. The first piece—a long, yellow bar—fell into place. Then another. And another.

For Jisung, the world seemed to shift with each line he cleared. These weren’t just blocks; they were each a piece of himself, shifting and rearranging to fit into something bigger. Each ping from the machine was a quiet reassurance, telling him that for once, he was doing something right.

The weight of his usual insecurities were being lifted, then replaced by an unfamiliar confidence. His heart raced, not from anxiety but from a kind of joy he didn’t think he was allowed to feel. This machine didn’t care about how shy he was, how awkward his words sounded, or how he tended to shrink away when the world got too loud. All it asked was that he see the shapes, find the patterns, and keep going.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d found something. A purpose.

Jisung didn’t think of himself as anything special, and most of the time, neither did anyone else. He was the kind of person who slipped into a room without making a sound, his lanky frame perpetually hunched as if apologizing for taking up space. His dark hair often fell into his eyes, a convenient shield against the world’s attention. At school, he was known only as “that tall, quiet kid.” Teachers liked him for his politeness. Classmates tolerated him for his unobtrusiveness.

His best friend, Chenle, was the exact opposite. The sun to Jisung’s shadow, always shining and dragging Jisung into the light whether he wanted it or not. When Jisung hesitated, Chenle jumped in headfirst, loud and full of laughter. Their friendship didn’t make sense to most people, least of all Jisung, but somehow it worked.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” Chenle called over his shoulder, his voice easily cutting through the noise of the crowded street. “Pixel Haven’s gonna get packed if you don’t move!”

Jisung trailed a few steps behind, his hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pockets. Friday nights at the arcade were a tradition Chenle had started months ago, and Jisung tagged along because… well, because it was Chenle. He didn’t really play the games. Watching Chenle dominate the machines or charm the employees was enough for him.

Pixel Haven came into view, its neon sign glowing pink and blue against the dim evening sky. Inside, the arcade was a sensory overload of flashing lights, cheerful 8-bit melodies, and the unmistakable clink of coins being fed into machines.

Chenle pushed open the door, holding it wide. “Hurry up, man! They got a new game in!”

Jisung shuffled inside, his head immediately dropping down to look at his sneakers. Even though the arcade was bustling with busy teenagers, he felt like every pair of eyes could land on him at any moment. He stuck close to Chenle, who bounded ahead like an excited puppy.

The arcade was Chenle’s kingdom. He knew everyone. He always high-fived the regulars, playfully bantered with his street fighter competitors, and was always trying to introduce someone to Jisung. But Jisung was content being a silent observer, finding a quiet corner to lean against while Chenle made his rounds.

Unfortunately for Jisung, Chenle had other plans.

“Hey, Jisung, check this out!” Chenle pointed to the brand new Tetris machine, it’s screen cycling through vividly colored blocks. “Bet you’d be good at this.”

Jisung blinked at the machine, his lanky frame stiffening as if the suggestion were a spotlight being aimed at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Before Jisung could protest, Chenle shoved a quarter into his hand and practically dragged him toward the machine. The crowd around it thinned slightly, making space as Chenle announced, “Alright, people, make way for my boy here. Jisung’s about to show you how it’s done.”

Jisung’s ears burned as a few heads turned toward him. He could already feel the weight of their eyes, his anxiety prickling at the edges of his mind. “Chenle, I—”

“Stop overthinking,” Chenle interrupted, patting his shoulder. “Just play. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Jisung stared at the glowing screen. The cheerful music beckoned him, the falling shapes almost hypnotic. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, sliding the quarter into the slot. The machine chimed, and the first piece appeared at the top of the screen.

Although this was his first time, the controls felt familiar. The buttons responded with a satisfying click to his every touch, the joystick smooth under his palm. He hesitated for a split second before rotating the first piece and sending it down. It clicked into place.

Then another piece came, and another. His fingers moved instinctively, rotating, shifting, dropping. The lines started clearing, one after the other, and the game's upbeat sounds grew more frequent.

The world around him faded, the noise of the arcade blending into a dull hum. His focus sharpened, each piece fitting perfectly into a strategy that seemed to form effortlessly in his mind. Shapes became patterns, and patterns became solutions.

“Holy shit. He’s actually good,” someone murmured behind him.

“Good? Are you kidding? He’s crushing it!” Chenle exclaimed, his voice cutting through the growing excitement.

Jisung didn’t register their words, his eyes fixed on the screen. The pace quickened, the pieces falling faster, but he kept up. His long fingers danced over the controls, rotating pieces with precision and dropping them into place. A four-line clear flashed on the screen—a Tetris—and the small crowd erupted into cheers.

Jisung blinked, momentarily snapping out of his trance. He looked over his shoulder, startled by the group that had formed behind him. Chenle was at the front, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Keep going!” Chenle yelled. “You’re on fire!”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jisung’s lips, the rare feeling of pride warming his chest. He turned back to the game, determined to see how far he could go.

For the next few minutes, Jisung played like he was in a world of his own, the lines stacking and clearing in rapid succession. When the inevitable “Game Over” finally flashed on the screen, a ripple of applause broke out behind him.

Jisung stepped back, his cheeks flushed, his heart racing. Chenle clapped him on the back, his laugh loud and contagious. “What did I tell you? Tetris wiz, right here!”

Jisung glanced at the score on the screen—higher than he’d expected, but the number barely mattered. For the first time, he felt like he belonged, like he’d found something he was actually good at.

And judging by the awed looks from the small crowd, they thought so too.

Jisung didn’t know much about you, other than the obvious. You worked the counter at Pixel Haven most nights, moving between tasks with effortless ease. Always handing out quarters, fixing the occasional glitchy machine, and keeping the arcade running smoothly. And, of course, you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That part was impossible to miss.

Chenle had introduced you once, casually slinging his arm around your shoulders as he bragged about beating the high score on Galaga. Jisung remembered offering a small, awkward wave while you smiled politely, your attention more on Chenle than him. Since then, you’d only been a background presence, someone Jisung saw but never really thought about.

Until tonight.

He’d run out of quarters after his third Tetris run and found himself lingering near the counter, clutching a few crumpled bills in his clammy hands. Chenle was off challenging someone at Street Fighter again, leaving Jisung on his own.

You were busy at the counter, sorting a handful of tokens while chatting with another customer. The neon glow from the sign above cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Jisung hesitated. Asking you for change felt… strange. You weren’t just the person behind the counter. You were Chenle’s girlfriend. That fact alone made this simple interaction feel like crossing some unspoken line.

But he needed quarters, so he shuffled forward, his head down, and placed the bills on the counter.

You looked up, and for the first time, your eyes met his directly. “Oh, hey,” you said, your voice light and friendly. “Need some quarters?”

He froze, the words stuck in his throat. You were smiling. Warmly, like you genuinely wanted to help. Jisung nodded, sliding the bills closer to you.

You took them, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as you counted out the quarters. “Here you go,” you said, placing them into his outstretched hand. “Good luck out there.”

That smile. It wasn’t just a gesture. It felt different, even if Jisung knew it probably wasn’t. You were like this with everyone, weren’t you? Friendly, approachable, easygoing. It was why Chenle liked you so much.

But still, Jisung felt something shift inside him. Your smile lingered in his mind as he turned away, clutching the quarters tightly in his fist. His chest tightened, but not with the usual pang of nerves. Instead, it was with something he couldn’t quite name.

It was strange, the way that tiny moment replayed in his head as he walked back to the Tetris machine. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. You were just being nice, just doing your job.

But as the night wore on, Jisung found himself glancing toward the counter more often than he meant to. He tried not to think too much about it, but something small and misshapen had taken root in his chest, fragile but undeniably there.

You were Chenle’s girlfriend. He barely knew you. And yet, your kindness had left a mark he couldn’t ignore.

The arcade quickly became Jisung’s second home. Every chance he got—between school, homework, and the occasional group hangout he reluctantly attended—he found himself back at Pixel Haven.

At first, it was a way to pass the time, a distraction from the things that weighed him down. But soon, Tetris became more than that. The falling blocks weren’t just shapes anymore; they were puzzles waiting to be solved, challenges daring him to do better, to think faster. He didn’t just play the game—he immersed himself in it, memorizing patterns, calculating strategies, and finding a strange sense of peace in the rhythmic clearing of lines.

The change didn’t go unnoticed.

“Dude, you’re, like, a full-blown Tetris addict now,” Chenle teased one night, leaning casually against the machine as Jisung started yet another round. His hands were full of snacks he’d grabbed from the counter, and his grin was as wide as ever. “I should start calling you ‘The Tetris Wizard or ‘TetWiz’ for short”.

Jisung flushed, his long fingers hovering over the controls as the pieces began to fall. “I’m not that good,” he muttered, barely audible over the hum of the arcade.

“Are you kidding me?” Chenle laughed, nearly spilling his soda. “You’re insane at this. Like, next-level insane. You’ve got the whole crowd thing going on, too.”

Jisung paused mid-game, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, a few regulars had gathered nearby, casually watching his progress. Their murmured admiration sent a wave of heat to his cheeks.

Chenle clapped him on the back. “See? WizKid status.” He took a swig of his drink, then grinned mischievously. “Hey, you know what? There’s a tournament coming up. Local thing. You should totally enter.”

The words hit Jisung like a truck. No, like someone dropped a T-piece on his head. He fumbled with the joystick, sending a block spiraling into the wrong position. “What? No. No way.”

“Why not?” Chenle’s voice rose in playful disbelief. “You’ve been killing it lately. This is your chance to show everyone how good you are. Plus, think of the bragging rights. I’ll tell everyone I trained you.”

Jisung’s heart pounded, the idea of playing in front of a crowd making his palms sweat. He’d barely gotten used to the small groups that gathered at the arcade. A tournament meant real attention. Real pressure.

“I… I don’t think I can,” he stammered, his gaze fixed on the screen.

Chenle rolled his eyes but didn’t push. “Alright, alright. Baby steps, TetWiz. But think about it, okay? You’d crush it.”

Jisung nodded absently, but the thought lingered long after Chenle wandered off to bother someone else. A tournament? It seemed impossible, unthinkable. Yet, as he continued to play, clearing line after line with growing precision, a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind whispered something different: What if you could?

The flyer for the Pixel Haven Tetris Tournament taunted Jisung from his desk, its bright colors and bold letters shouting promises of prizes, glory, and recognition. He’d stared at it for days, the weight of Chenle’s encouragement and your casual, kind words tipping the scales of his indecision.

“You’d do great,” you’d said just a few nights ago when Chenle joked about Jisung’s reluctance. There wasn’t much to your comment—just a simple smile as you slid quarters across the counter. But it stuck with him, a quiet nudge in the direction he wasn’t sure he could take.

When he finally signed up, his hand trembled so much he nearly misspelled his own name.

The tournament day arrived far too quickly. Pixel Haven was louder than ever, filled with spectators and players buzzing with excitement. The Tetris machine had been moved to the center of the arcade, its screen glowing like a beacon under the dim, colorful lights.

Jisung stood at the edge of the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. His palms were clammy, his legs stiff, and every sound around him felt amplified—quarters clinking, machines chiming, people shouting.

Chenle found him near the snack counter, looking pale and uneasy. “Hey, TetWiz,” he said, clapping Jisung on the shoulder. “Don’t psych yourself out. You’ve got this.”

Jisung shook his head, barely able to meet Chenle’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course, you can!” Chenle’s voice was loud, confident, and exactly what Jisung wished he could feel. “You’re the best player here. No one’s even close. Just… pretend it’s like any other Friday night.”

“Except with an even bigger crowd watching,” Jisung muttered under his breath.

At that moment, you appeared, slipping out from behind the counter to join Chenle. Your presence was calm, grounding. “You’ve got this,” you said simply, your eyes meeting Jisung’s.

His stomach twisted. You were Chenle’s girlfriend.

Off-limits.

But your words carried a strange weight, one that settled the storm in his chest just enough.

The tournament began. Jisung’s hands trembled as he approached the machine, the controls suddenly feeling unfamiliar under his fingers. The room seemed to close in around him as the first piece appeared on the screen.

The opening rounds blurred together, a mix of adrenaline and fear propelling him forward. Each cleared line earned cheers from the crowd, but Jisung barely registered them. His focus tunneled in on the screen, every move a desperate attempt to keep the pieces from piling too high.

By the time he reached the finals, his nerves were raw, his breaths shallow. Chenle stood nearby, shouting encouragement, and you offered a quiet thumbs-up that somehow cut through the noise.

The final match was intense. His opponent was fast, their moves sharp and deliberate. The pieces fell faster than ever, the music speeding up to a frenetic pace that matched Jisung’s racing heart.

You can do this, he told himself, gripping the joystick tightly. He visualized the patterns, the strategies he’d practiced endlessly. The lines cleared one after another, the Tetris flashes lighting up the screen.

When the final piece fell into place, and the victory chime rang out, the room erupted into cheers. Jisung blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

“You did it!” Chenle shouted, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulders. “First place, TetWiz! I told you!”

Jisung stared at the screen, his name flashing in bold letters at the top of the leaderboard. His hands shook—not with fear, but with something new. Pride.

You approached him, your smile soft and genuine. “Congratulations, Jisung. That was amazing.”

He swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. But as the applause continued and the weight of the moment settled in, something shifted inside him. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, he was capable of more.

Jisung wasn’t sure when it started. The way his chest tightened whenever you were near, or how your smile lingered in his thoughts. Maybe it was during one of those small, fleeting moments when you actually listened to him. Not the way most people did, with polite nods and half-hearted attention, but really listened.

You never looked bored or impatient when he talked. Never when he stumbled over his words trying to explain a tricky T-spin maneuver or the satisfaction of a perfectly timed Tetris. Instead, you leaned on the counter, your eyes warm and curious, asking questions that made him feel like his passion wasn’t just valid but worth sharing.

And that was the problem.

Because as much as he admired you, as much as his chest filled with warmth during those rare conversations, there was always Chenle. Loud, confident, and so completely your match.

Jisung couldn’t deny it: Chenle made you laugh in a way that lit up the whole room. He’d see you together. Your arm looped through Chenle’s, his jokes drawing out those bright, unrestrained giggles. All of it felt like a sharp, twisting ache in his chest.

He hated the feeling. The guilt. The jealousy.

Chenle was his best friend, the person who dragged him out of his shell, cheered him on, and believed in him when he barely believed in himself. And you—kind, patient, radiant—you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That was the unshakable truth.

So Jisung did the only thing he could think of to cope. He played tetris.

Hours at Pixel Haven turned into entire evenings, his focus narrowing to the Tetris machine like it was his lifeline. The rhythm of the game, the familiar patterns and strategies, became his escape. When the blocks fell into place, clearing line after line, the noise in his head quieted.

He didn’t have to think about the way his heart raced when you smiled at him or the pang of envy when you rested your head on Chenle’s shoulder.

Chenle noticed, of course. “Man, you’re really going hard lately,” he said one night, watching Jisung rack up yet another high score. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re basically a celebrity here now.”

Jisung forced a smile, his hands tightening around the joystick. “Just… trying to get better.”

Chenle didn’t press further, but Jisung could feel his gaze shift, a flicker of concern hidden behind his usual grin.

And then there was you.

Sometimes, you’d wander over to the Tetris machine during a quiet moment at the counter, watching him play with that same patient interest that made his heart ache.

“You’re amazing at this,” you’d say, your voice soft and genuine.

And Jisung would mumble a shy thank you, barely able to meet your gaze. He wondered if you noticed how fast his hands moved on the controls when you were nearby, or how the screen blurred just slightly because his focus wavered.

He told himself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. You were Chenle’s, and he had no right to feel the way he did.

So he buried it, block by block, line by line, throwing himself deeper into the game as if sheer determination could erase the feelings growing stronger with every interaction.

But no matter how many lines he cleared, the ache in his chest remained.

Chenle wasn’t the type to dwell on things. He lived in the moment, taking life as it came, confident and carefree. But lately, something about Jisung had been bothering him.

It wasn’t just the obsessive way Jisung threw himself into Tetris, though that was part of it. Chenle had always known Jisung to be shy and focused, but lately, he seemed… different. Distracted. Like his thoughts were someplace—or with someone—else.

And then there were the looks.

Chenle didn’t want to read too much into it, but he’d caught Jisung’s gaze more than once when you were around. At first, he brushed it off. Jisung was awkward around everyone—why would this be any different? But the more it happened, the harder it was to ignore.

One night, after another long session at Pixel Haven, Chenle finally decided he couldn’t keep quiet.

Jisung was hunched over the Tetris machine, his face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. The arcade was quieter than usual, most of the crowd having thinned out as the evening wore on. Chenle approached with his usual grin, though this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, TetWiz,” he said casually, leaning against the side of the machine. “Taking over the world one line at a time?”

Jisung glanced at him, his hands never leaving the controls. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

Chenle studied him for a moment, his grin fading. “You know,” he began, his tone light but laced with something sharper, “you’ve been acting kind of weird lately.”

Jisung’s fingers faltered, and the game over screen flashed before he could recover. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping back from the machine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chenle said, crossing his arms, “you’ve been avoiding me, for one. And for another… I’ve noticed the way you look at her.”

Jisung froze, his heart sinking. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb, Jisung. You think I haven’t seen it? The way you watch her when you think no one’s looking? How you act all nervous when she’s around? Come on, man. You’re my best friend. If there’s something going on, just tell me.”

Panic surged in Jisung’s chest. He shook his head quickly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “There’s nothing going on,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t… I don’t feel that way about her.”

Chenle’s eyes narrowed, his usual easy going demeanor slipping away. That wasn’t what he was suspecting. He actually thought you had said something to Jisung that made him uncomfortable. But having feelings for you? Chenle forgot that was even an option. He suddenly felt a surge of jealousy. “Jisung, I’m not stupid. I know you better than anyone.”

“I don’t!” Jisung’s voice rose slightly, the desperation clear. “I—I swear, Chenle. It’s not like that.”

The tension hung heavy between them, the arcade’s neon lights casting sharp shadows across their faces.

Chenle exhaled slowly, his expression softening just a little. “Look, I trust her, okay? I trust you. But if there’s something you’re not telling me… just be honest. Don’t let this mess things up.”

Jisung’s throat tightened, guilt clawing at his insides. He wanted to tell the truth, to admit the feelings he’d tried so hard to bury. But the fear of losing Chenle—his best friend, his biggest supporter—was too much to bear.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said quietly, his hands clenched at his sides.

Chenle studied him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his posture remained. “Alright. If you say so.”

But as he walked away, leaving Jisung alone by the Tetris machine, the rift between them felt wider than ever.

For the first time in years, Jisung wasn’t sure if Chenle still believed in him—or if he even believed in himself.

The state Tetris championship was a dream Jisung never dared to dream. And now, as his name sat proudly on the qualifying list, it felt more like a nightmare.

The arcade was quiet that night, the usual hum of voices replaced by the occasional beep of a forgotten pinball machine. Jisung sat slumped on a bench near the Tetris machine, the glow of the screen casting long shadows across his face. His hands fidgeted with the crumpled flyer announcing the championships, the bold letters seeming to mock him.

State Champion. The words felt impossibly big, like they belonged to someone else.

The weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure, the growing distance between him and Chenle—pressed down on him like a heavy block he couldn’t clear. His chest felt tight, his thoughts spiraling in an endless loop of self-doubt.

He didn’t even hear you approach.

“You okay?”

Your voice was soft, cutting through the quiet like a gentle melody. Jisung jumped, his head snapping up to see you standing nearby, concern etched across your features.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

You didn’t buy it. Instead, you sat down on the bench beside him, leaving just enough space to respect his shyness. You glanced at the flyer in his hands, then back at him.

“It’s a big deal, huh?” you said, your tone light but understanding.

Jisung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s too big,” he admitted quietly. “I… I don’t think I can do it.”

The words felt like a confession, raw and vulnerable. He didn’t know why he was telling you this. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to listen without judgment, or the way your presence felt steady and safe.

You tilted your head, your eyes warm. “Why not?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because… because what if I mess up? What if I let everyone down? Chenle’s been calling me a ‘wizard,’ hyping me up to everyone. People actually watch me now, like I’m supposed to be… someone. But I’m not. I’m just…”

“Jisung,” you finished gently.

He nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. Just Jisung. And I don’t think just Jisung is good enough for this.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The hum of the arcade filled the silence, a soft, steady rhythm that seemed to match his unsteady breathing.

Then, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm. “You know, when I watch you play, it’s not just about the score or the tournament or any of that. It’s the way you light up when you’re in the zone, like nothing else matters. It’s like… you’re in your own world, and it’s incredible to see.”

Jisung blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“You don’t have to know right now,” you said with a small smile. “But Jisung, this isn’t about being a wizard or a champion or whatever anyone else thinks. It’s about you. Your love for this game, your talent. That’s what matters. Not winning. Just you doing what you love.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. Jisung’s heart raced as your words lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a lifeline. He hadn’t expected you to understand him so completely, let alone say the exact thing he needed to hear.

For a brief moment, he forgot about everything else. The tournament, the pressure, even Chenle. All he could focus on was you. The warmth in your voice, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

The weight in his chest shifted, and before he knew it, his thoughts spilled over.

“I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat.

You tilted your head, curious but patient, your expression inviting him to continue.

He could feel it, the overwhelming urge to tell you. To say something, anything, about the way he felt—the way you made him feel. How his heart ached and soared all at once whenever you were near.

But then, just as quickly, reality crashed back in.

Chenle. His best friend. Your boyfriend.

Jisung swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much his heart screamed at him to say the truth, he couldn’t betray Chenle like that.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, his voice barely steady. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. For, you know… everything.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, as if sensing that he wasn’t ready to say more. “Anytime,” you replied, standing up to head back to the counter.

Jisung watched you go, his chest heavy with unspoken words. He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the crumpled flyer in his lap.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Chenle stood near the doorway, hidden by the dim light and arcade cabinets. He had arrived just moments ago, intending to meet Jisung and hang out like they always did. But instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, watching the two of you.

At first, it didn’t seem like much—just a quiet conversation between friends. But the way Jisung looked at you… it wasn’t hard for Chenle to see what was really going on.

It wasn’t the look of someone simply grateful for support. It was something deeper, more vulnerable. Something Chenle had never seen in Jisung before.

His chest tightened, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He wasn’t angry—not yet. But there was a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar, like jealousy’s distant cousin.

He trusted you, and he trusted Jisung. But trust didn’t erase what he had just seen.

Chenle stepped back into the shadows, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the image of Jisung’s expression—the way his gaze lingered on you, filled with something Chenle couldn’t quite name but knew wasn’t meant for him.

For the first time, Chenle felt uncertain. About Jisung. About you. About everything.

And as he walked away from the arcade that night, the unspoken tension between the three of you began to grow, pulling tighter with each passing moment.

The auditorium buzzed with energy, the hum of anticipation vibrating through the air as rows of arcade cabinets lined the stage, each boasting the Tetris logo in bright neon. Competitors adjusted their machines, the crowd murmured excitedly, and Jisung stood frozen at the edge of it all, feeling impossibly small.

The state Tetris championship. He was really here.

Jisung’s stomach churned, his nerves nearly overtaking him. He gripped the strap of his backpack, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. His mind wasn’t just crowded with thoughts of the game but with everything else—Chenle, you, the weight of unspoken feelings.

Before he could spiral any further, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jisung blinked and turned to see a tall, relaxed guy about a few years older standing next to him. The stranger held a can of pop, his messy hair framing a face that somehow managed to look both half-asleep and mildly curious.

“I—uh…” Jisung stammered, caught off guard.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” the stranger said bluntly, taking a sip of his pop. “Big deal tournament jitters?”

Jisung hesitated, but something about the guy’s laid-back demeanor made him exhale a little. “Yeah, kind of,” he admitted.

“Let me guess,” the stranger said, leaning against a nearby wall. “Scared you’ll lose? Or scared you’ll win and, like, your entire life will change forever?”

“Both,” Jisung muttered.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Yeah, fair. Tetris is wild like that.”

Something about his casual tone loosened Jisung’s tongue. Before he knew it, he was rambling.

“It’s not just the game,” he confessed, the words tumbling out. “It’s everything else. My best friend…he’s been supporting me, but I think I’ve messed things up between us. And then there’s this girl…” His voice trailed off, his ears burning.

The stranger tilted his head. “Oh, so it’s love and Tetris. Double whammy.”

Jisung winced. “I don’t know what to do. I like her, but she’s with my best friend, and I feel like the worst person in the world. And now I’m here, and I’m supposed to play like none of this matters, but it does.”

The stranger stared at him for a moment, then sighed, setting down his soda. “Okay, look. I’m not great at advice, but here’s what I’ve got: You’re not gonna fix your love life today. But this tournament? It’s yours. You’ve got one job—play your absolute fucking best. Worry about the rest later.”

Jisung blinked, the simplicity of the advice sinking in. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” The stranger smirked. “Oh, and maybe stop thinking about her for like, five seconds while you play. Otherwise, you’ll never clear a line.”

Despite himself, Jisung let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks, uh…”

“Sicheng,” the guy said, giving a small wave before walking off with his soda.

Jisung stood there for a moment, the stranger’s words echoing in his head. One job. Play your absolute fucking best.

The announcement of his name jolted him back to reality. Heart pounding, he made his way to the stage, the crowd’s cheers swelling around him.

He spotted Chenle instantly, standing in the front row and waving wildly, his energy uncontainable. “Go, TetWiz!” Chenle yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

Jisung’s chest tightened. Despite everything, the tension, the doubts, Chenle was still there, cheering him on.

And then he saw you, standing beside Chenle. Your smile was quieter, softer, but it carried the same weight of belief that you’d shown him back at Pixel Haven. Your eyes met his, and you gave a small, encouraging nod.

Jisung took a deep breath, his hands gripping the controls as he sat down.

The countdown began.

Three.

The noise of the crowd faded away.

Two.

His fingers hovered over the buttons, his mind sharpening to a single point of focus.

One.

Play your absolute fucking best.

The game began, the familiar shapes dropping from the top of the screen like old friends. His nervousness melted away as he found his rhythm, the blocks slotting into place with satisfying precision.

The crowd roared as he cleared line after line, the tension building with each level. But Jisung didn’t hear it. For the first time in weeks, his mind was clear, his focus solely on the game.

This wasn’t about Chenle, or you, or even the title. This was about Jisung—the quiet boy who found a spark of something extraordinary in the chaos of falling blocks.

Then the final round began, and the stakes had never felt higher. Jisung sat at the machine, his hands steady but his heart pounding as the screen lit up with the familiar grid. Across from him, his opponent—a seasoned Tetris player with years of experience—cracked their knuckles, exuding a calm confidence that only added to Jisung’s nerves.

The crowd quieted as the final countdown began again.

Three.

Jisung tightened his grip on the joystick.

Two.

His gaze locked on the screen, blocking out everything else.

One.

The pieces started to fall, faster than in any game he’d played before. The early levels felt manageable, his fingers moving on autopilot as he cleared lines with precision. But as the speed increased, so did the tension.

His opponent was good. Better than anyone Jisung had ever faced. They kept pace with him, their screen just as clear, their movements just as calculated. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was a test of endurance, strategy, and nerves.

The minutes stretched on, each line cleared pushing Jisung further into uncharted territory. His heart raced as he reached the kill screen level—the point where the game’s speed maxed out, and most players couldn’t keep up.

Most players.

Jisung’s vision narrowed, his world shrinking to the grid in front of him. His fingers danced over the controls, rotating and dropping pieces with a precision that felt almost otherworldly. The crowd was a distant roar, his opponent a vague shadow in his peripheral vision.

He wasn’t thinking anymore; he was flowing.

When the final piece dropped into place, clearing a line and bringing his score to a record-breaking high, the machine emitted a triumphant chime.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the auditorium erupted.

The crowd leaped to their feet, cheering and clapping, the noise echoing off the walls. Lights flashed, cameras clicked, and Jisung sat there, stunned, as the reality of what he’d just accomplished began to sink in.

He’d won.

Not just the championship, but something deeper. For the first time, Jisung felt the rush of pride, not just for the victory but for the journey that had brought him here.

Chenle’s voice cut through the chaos, louder than anyone else’s. “You did it, Ji! He fucking did it!”

Jisung turned to see his best friend grinning so widely it looked like his face might split in two. Despite the tension between them, Chenle’s joy was pure and infectious.

And then his eyes found you.

You weren’t shouting or jumping like the others, but the pride in your expression was unmistakable. You clapped along with the crowd, your smile warm and genuine as your gaze met his.

Jisung’s chest swelled, the mix of emotions nearly overwhelming. He stood slowly, his legs shaky, and accepted the medal from the tournament official with trembling hands. The announcer declared his name, calling him a prodigy, a champion, but none of it felt as real as the faces in the crowd—Chenle, you, and everyone who had supported him.

As the applause continued, Jisung looked back at the Tetris screen, now frozen on his record-breaking score. For the first time, he saw himself not as “just Jisung,” but as someone capable of achieving something extraordinary.

The crowd had finally begun to disperse, the cheers fading into the background as competitors and spectators alike spilled out into the night. Jisung stayed behind, lingering near the now-quiet Tetris machine. His medal hung heavy around his neck, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just a dream.

He turned the medal over in his hands, his mind still reeling. He should have been basking in the glow of his victory, but his thoughts kept circling back to you. How your smile had stood out even among the applause. How your quiet presence had kept him grounded.

“Jisung?”

Your voice startled him, and he looked up to see you standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. The faint hum of the arcade machines illuminated your face in soft, flickering light.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, your gaze falling on the medal around his neck. “Congratulations,” you said, your smile warm but understated, as though you understood he wasn’t one for grand celebrations. “You were incredible out there.”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks. I… I still can’t believe it.”

“You should,” you replied, your tone gentle but firm. “You worked so hard for this. You deserve it.”

The sincerity in your voice sent a wave of emotion through him, and he found himself meeting your eyes. For a moment, everything else fell away. The noise of the arcade, the lingering spectators, even Chenle.

“It means a lot,” he murmured, “that you were here.”

You smiled softly, stepping even closer. “Of course I was. I wasn’t going to miss this. You’re… special, Jisung. You have something really rare. Not just your talent, but the way you put your heart into everything you do.”

Your words hit him like a gentle but powerful wave, and for the first time, Jisung felt like you saw him, not as Chenle’s shy best friend, not as the Tetris Wizard, but as him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he reached up and touched the medal lightly, as if offering it to you.

“This… it’s not just mine,” he said quietly. “You helped me get here. You believed in me when I didn’t.”

You shook your head, your smile deepening. “That was all you, Jisung. I just… reminded you what you already knew.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken feelings thickening the silence. It wasn’t the boisterous, high-energy dynamic you had with Chenle. It was quieter, steadier, like a river carving its way through stone.

You reached out then, your fingers brushing his lightly as you adjusted the medal around his neck. The small, intimate gesture sent his heart racing, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to do even greater things,” you said softly, your voice carrying a certainty that made his chest ache.

For a fleeting moment, Jisung thought about telling you everything. Telling you how much he cared for you, and how much this moment meant to him. But he stopped himself, the memory of Chenle’s unwavering cheers still fresh in his mind.

Instead, he held your gaze and said, “Thanks. For… everything.”

Your smile lingered as you stepped back, leaving a small but undeniable space between you. “You’ve got this, Jisung. Don’t forget that.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, the warmth of your touch still buzzing on his skin.

Jisung let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his hands brushing the medal around his neck. His feelings for you weren’t just a crush. They were something deeper, something that scared and exhilarated him in equal measure.

But for now, he would hold onto the moment, replaying your words in his mind like his favorite song.

As you disappeared into the crowd, Jisung stayed rooted to the spot, the medal’s weight now feeling symbolic of something much heavier. His fingers grazed the cool metal, his thoughts swirling in an uncontrollable storm.

He should have felt elated, on top of the world. And part of him did. But the other part felt like he was standing on the edge of something far scarier than any Tetris grid.

She believes in me. She sees me.

The thought filled him with a quiet joy, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Chenle had been there too, cheering the loudest, always his most loyal supporter. And Chenle was your boyfriend.

Jisung closed his eyes, trying to silence the war inside him. How could he feel this way about you while knowing it wasn’t his place? He’d spent years being the guy who didn’t take up space, who stayed on the sidelines, who let others shine. Was it selfish to want something or someone so badly now?

“Hey, champ.”

The voice startled Jisung, jerking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see the familiar figure of Sicheng standing a few feet away.

“I, uh…” Jisung stammered, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Didn’t know you were still here.”

Sicheng shrugged, “Yeah, well, figured I’d stick around and see how the hero handles his post-victory glow. Looks like you’re more ‘existential crisis’ than ‘glow,’ though.”

Jisung blinked, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.

Sicheng nodded as if he understood completely. “Love and Tetris, man. Both are way harder than they look.”

Jisung couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I didn’t say it was about that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Sicheng grinned, leaning against a nearby arcade machine. “You’ve got that look. You know, the one that says, ‘I’m hopelessly in love and it’s ruining my life.’”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone as wise and experienced as me,” Sicheng said, his tone deadpan.

Jisung peeked at him through his fingers. “What would you do, then? If you were me?”

Sicheng tilted his head thoughtfully, “I’d probably mess it up completely, to be honest. But here’s the thing—you’re not me. You’ve already done the hard part. You put yourself out there tonight. You faced something scary and came out on top. Maybe it’s time you do the same with… other things.”

Jisung frowned, the words sinking in. “But what if it goes wrong? What if I lose what I already have?”

Sicheng shrugged. “Maybe you will. Or maybe you won’t. But if you keep letting fear decide everything, you’re just gonna stay stuck at the start screen forever. And trust me, that’s no way to play.”

Jisung stared at him, the simplicity of his words somehow cutting through the noise in his head. “You’re… surprisingly good at this,” he said, half-joking.

“I have my moments.” Sicheng smirked, pushing himself off the arcade machine. “Anyway, I’m out. Congrats again, champ. And, uh, good luck with… whatever you decide.”

As Sicheng walked off, Jisung found himself standing a little straighter. The stranger’s words had left him with no concrete answers, but maybe that was the point.

Jisung glanced down at the medal one last time before tucking it under his shirt. For now, he’d focus on the present. The victory he’d earned and the path it was opening up.

But deep down, he knew that the harder game was just beginning.

Jisung didn’t see Chenle after the championship that night.

The victory should have been enough. It was everything he’d worked for, proof that he wasn’t just the quiet kid in the background. But his mind kept circling back to you—your smile, your words, the warmth in your eyes that seemed to see right through his fears.

Why does it feel like this isn’t enough?

Jisung sighed, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. He thought about Chenle. The guilt gnawed at him. Chenle had cheered for him louder than anyone, had believed in him when he couldn’t believe in himself. And yet, every time Jisung saw you two together, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. This isn’t fair to Chenle. He deserves better than this.

But the memory of your touch, the way your voice softened when you spoke to him, was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just a crush. It was something deeper, something that made him feel seen in a way he never had before.

“Hey, Wiz.”

Jisung jumped at the voice, turning to see Chenle standing behind him. His best friend’s grin was still as bright as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, something quieter, more serious.

“Oh, hey,” Jisung mumbled, trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions on his face. “What’s up?”

Chenle didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Jisung’s stomach sank, but he nodded, following Chenle out into the cool night air. The buzz of the arcade faded behind them as they walked a short distance to a nearby bench. Chenle flopped down first, his usual energy replaced by a rare stillness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jisung fidgeted with the edge of his medal ribbon, waiting for Chenle to break the silence.

“I saw you,” Chenle finally said, his voice unusually calm.

Jisung froze, his heart lurching in his chest. “Saw me?” he echoed, his voice tight.

Chenle leaned back, his gaze fixed on the starry sky. “You and her. After the tournament.”

Jisung’s throat went dry. “I—Chenle, it’s not what you think—”

Chenle cut him off with a small, tired laugh. “Relax, dude. I’m not mad. And I know you wouldn’t do anything. You’re too much of a pussy to make the first move.” He turned to look at Jisung, his expression softer than Jisung expected. “I mean, yeah, it stings a little. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Jisung blinked, confused. “Thinking about what?”

Chenle sighed, running a hand through his hair. “About us….me and her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great. But... I don’t think we’re great together, you know? We’re fun, we laugh a lot, but it’s not... deep.”

Jisung stared at him, struggling to process the words.

“And then I see the way you look at her,” Chenle continued, his voice quieter now. “And the way she looks at you.” He let out another soft laugh. “I’d have to be blind not to notice it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung blurted out, his guilt spilling over. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear, I tried not to—”

“Hey, stop.” Chenle held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not mad, okay? It’s not like you did this on purpose. Feelings are... messy. Trust me, I get it.”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Chenle’s understanding both a relief and a fresh wave of guilt. “So... what does this mean?” he asked hesitantly.

Chenle shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It means I’m stepping back. You two have something real, Jisung. Something I don’t think I could ever have with her.”

Jisung stared at him, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions. “Are you sure?”

Chenle nodded. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ll probably be a little salty about it for a while. But at the end of the day, you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.” He clapped Jisung on the shoulder, his grin returning in full force. “And who knows? Maybe this means I’ll finally have time to beat your high score.”

Jisung let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Thanks, Chenle. For everything.”

Chenle stood, stretching dramatically. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. Just... don’t mess it up, okay? She’s too good for that.”

Jisung nodded, his heart lighter but still full. As Chenle walked away, Jisung sat for a moment longer, staring at the medal in his hands.

Jisung’s heart pounded like it had during the tournament, maybe even harder. He clutched the edges of the medal still hanging around his neck, his thumb running along the engraved letters as if they could grant him the courage he desperately needed.

He found you sitting at the counter in Pixel Haven, a quiet lull settling over the arcade now that the evening rush was over. You were tinkering with a small machine part, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten at the sight.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the arcade lights.

You looked up, surprised but smiling as soon as you saw him. “Jisung! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your big win?”

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I needed to talk to you,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly.

You set the part down, giving him your full attention. “Is everything okay?”

Jisung nodded, but the lump in his throat made it hard to speak. He took a deep breath, the memory of Chenle’s words earlier that night giving him the final push.

“I—there’s something I need to say. And I don’t know if it’s the right time, or if I’m even allowed to feel this way, but I can’t... I can’t keep it in anymore.” He paused, his hands gripping the medal tightly. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know Chenle’s your boyfriend. Well, was—but I had to tell you.”

Your eyes softened, and you stood, closing the space between you. “Jisung…”

“I’m sorry if this is too much,” he continued quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I just... you mean a lot to me. More than I can explain. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just—”

“Jisung.” Your voice was steady but gentle, cutting through his nervous rambling.

He stopped, his breath hitching as you placed a hand on his arm.

“I like you too.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. He blinked at you, his mind struggling to catch up. “You... you do?”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re kind, thoughtful, and ridiculously talented. And more than that, you have this quiet strength that I admire so much. I’ve been drawn to you for a while now, even when I didn’t fully realize it.”

Jisung’s cheeks flushed, his heart soaring as your words sank in. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your smile widening. “But we’ll have to take things slow. This is all new, and I want to make sure we’re both ready.”

Jisung nodded quickly, his nervous energy giving way to a shy grin. “Of course. Slow is good.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the quiet arcade. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Jisung’s blush deepened, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to hide it.

As the two of you stood there, the arcade lights casting a warm glow, Jisung felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t just the joy of hearing you say you liked him too. He’d taken a risk and won.

And this victory? It felt like the best one yet.

This was it.

The moment he’d worked toward for months.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, “Park Jisung is on the verge of breaking the world record for highest Tetris score! Can he do it?”

Jisung’s heart thundered in his chest, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was adrenaline. Focus. Determination.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of you and Chenle in the crowd. You were leaning forward, your hands clasped tightly in anticipation, your eyes shining with pride. Beside you, Chenle was shouting encouragement so loudly it drowned out the rest of the noise.

“Come on, Wizard!” Chenle yelled, his grin so wide it could’ve split his face. “You’ve got this! Show ‘em how it’s done!”

Jisung’s lips twitched into a small smile. Chenle’s voice, your presence, the energy of everyone around him, all pushed him forward.

The final minutes were a blur of movement and sound. The blocks sped up to an almost impossible level, but Jisung’s hands didn’t falter. His brain worked in overdrive, every decision precise and calculated. He could feel the rhythm of the game in his bones.

And then, with one last perfect Tetris, the machine let out a triumphant chime.

The words NEW WORLD RECORD! flashed across the screen, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze.

Then the crowd erupted. Cheers and applause filled the arcade, the sound almost deafening. Jisung sat back, his hands trembling as he let out a shaky breath. He’d done it.

You were the first to reach him, weaving through the crowd with your face lit up in a beaming smile. “Jisung, you did it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

For a moment, he froze, still overwhelmed by everything, but then he relaxed into the hug, his face flushing as a shy grin spread across his lips. “I... I guess I did.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still on his arms. “No, Jisung. You didn’t just do it. You literally broke a world record. That was fucking incredible.”

Before Jisung could respond, Chenle burst through the crowd, practically tackling him with a clap on the back. “That was insane, dude! You’re officially a legend!”

Jisung laughed softly, his nerves easing as the weight of his friends’ support sank in. “Thanks, Chenle. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Chenle scoffed, his grin turning playful. “Obviously. I mean, who else would’ve dragged your sorry butt to the arcade every week?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “And who else would’ve cheered louder than the announcer himself?”

Chenle puffed out his chest dramatically. “It’s called dedication. But seriously, man.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something softer. “I’m proud of you. I always knew you had it in you.”

Jisung blinked, his throat tightening with emotion. “Thanks, Chenle. That... that means a lot.”

“And me,” you added, your gaze locking with Jisung’s. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Jisung. You deserve every bit of it.”

Jisung’s face burned, but he managed a small, grateful smile. “I... I couldn’t have done it without you either. Both of you.”

Chenle grinned, clapping Jisung on the back again. “Okay, enough sap. Let’s go celebrate! First round of drinks are on me!”

“Chenle, you’ve never paid for drinks in your life,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Today’s a special occasion!” Chenle shot back, already heading toward the counter. “Besides, I’ll just borrow some cash from Jisung’s prize money.”

Jisung chuckled, the sound lighter than it had been in months. He looked between you and Chenle, his chest tightening with a strange mix of gratitude and joy.

In this moment, he realized that no matter how far he went. No matter how high he climbed in the Tetris world. He wouldn’t be alone.

He had Chenle, his loud, chaotic best friend who always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. And he had you, the person who saw him, really saw him, and made him feel like he could be more than just the quiet kid in the background.

For the first time, Jisung felt like he wasn’t just playing to win. He was playing for the people who mattered most.'

Though it stung at first, Chenle proved himself to be the supportive and selfless friend Jisung had always known. It didn’t take long for him to bounce back—literally. A chance meeting at a K-TV bar introduced him to a bubbly, energetic girl named Yizhuo, whose laughter was as infectious as his own. Their chemistry was instant, and soon Chenle was filling the arcade with stories of his new escapades. He still teased Jisung relentlessly, but it was clear he harbored no ill will.

The trio’s bond remained intact, stronger than ever, though their lives began to diverge.

Jisung, now a bona fide legend in the gaming world, found himself swept into a whirlwind of tournaments, sponsorships, and interviews. Though he remained shy and soft-spoken, his quiet charisma and undeniable skill won over fans around the globe. He still made time to visit Pixel Haven, the arcade that had started it all, but his visits were less frequent now, as his journey took him to stages he’d only dreamed of.

You, on the other hand, had left Pixel Haven behind for a new chapter of your own. Inspired by the energy and community of the arcade, you decided to pursue a career in game design. Late nights were now spent sketching out ideas for games that combined strategy and storytelling, with a little bit of heart and soul, something you’d learned was just as important as the mechanics.

Jisung was your biggest cheerleader, always eager to hear about your latest ideas, even if his input sometimes boiled down to, “As long as it’s not as stressful as Tetris.”

Chenle, ever the social butterfly, had shifted his focus to broadcasting. His infectious personality made him a hit on television screens, where he’d commentate on retro games, pull off absurd challenges, and occasionally rope Jisung into appearances. “The TetWiz and Lele Show,” he called it, though Jisung mostly just sat there, looking flustered as Chenle stole the spotlight.

Still, every once in a while, the three of you would reunite at Pixel Haven, now under new management but still holding its nostalgic charm. You’d share snacks, reminisce about the good old days, and maybe even challenge each other to a game or two—though no one dared to take on Jisung in Tetris.

And as Jisung watched you and Chenle laughing over some ridiculous bet, the soft glow of the arcade lights reflecting in your eyes, he realized that life was a lot like Tetris. The pieces didn’t always fall the way you wanted them to, but with patience, a little bit of courage, and the right people by your side, you could make something beautiful out of the chaos.

GAME OVER.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct fluff #park jisung #nct jisung #jisung park #park jisung fic #park jisung fluff #jisung fic #nct fic #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #nct dream imagines #jisung fluff #jisung angst

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solsticehymns · 3 months ago

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walk me home?— campus part 2

james potter x shy!f!reader / college au / fluff / first date

summary: James has escalated his pursuit of you, including waiting outside your classes every day this week and cornering you for coffee. You're not too bothered.

a/n: i just have to preface this by telling everyone: sadly this is not the american college experience at all. i did a coffee date w some dude on campus before and it was insanely awkward idk why people say it's a good idea i felt trapped like fight or flight. not with james hehehe <3 enjoyy!! love, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1453

Somehow—against all odds, logic, and personal preference—you've acquired a persistent shadow. A tall, perpetually disheveled, insufferably charming shadow who, in just one week, has embedded himself so thoroughly into your routine that you're starting to suspect he’s memorized your class schedule.

You're barely a few steps out of class when James Potter materializes beside you, falling into step as if he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

"James," you say, shaking your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"What? Not even a hello?" he asks, feigning offense, hand pressed dramatically to his chest.

You lower your gaze slightly, feeling the warmth creep up your neck already. "Hello, James."

His grin stretches wider, as though you've just given him a rare prize. "See? That wasn’t so difficult. Now, let’s talk business."

You glance at him warily. "Business?"

James gestures broadly. "Your schedule is looking suspiciously empty. It’s Friday. No more classes. Which means, by my calculations, you have exactly zero valid reasons not to come get coffee with me."

You open your mouth to argue, but James is already steamrolling ahead. "Now, before you refuse—consider the benefits. Free caffeine. Excellent company. Life-changing conversation."

You shift on your feet, suppressing the small smile threatening to form. "Life-changing?"

James nods solemnly. "I have testimonials."

You exhale a quiet laugh, looking away. His eyes gleam at the sight of your amusement.

"There it is," he murmurs, triumphant. "You like me."

Your head snaps up. "I do not."

"Oh, but you do," he counters smoothly, tilting his head. "You're trying so hard not to smile. It’s adorable."

You fold your arms, stubbornly attempting composure. "I haven’t agreed to anything."

James raises his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn’t dream of forcing you, love. Just… strongly encouraging."

You glance at him, then at the path ahead, then back at him. He’s waiting, hopeful, expectant.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t mind as much as you did last week. It’s a strange feeling, letting someone like James Potter weave himself so effortlessly into your routine. He’s overwhelming, yes, but he’s also… fun. And it’s been a while since you let yourself have fun.

"Fine," you sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "One coffee."

James beams. "Ah, sweet victory. Off we go, then."

The coffee shop hums with soft chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine blending with the murmur of conversation. The air smells of roasted coffee beans and warm vanilla, and the lighting is just dim enough to feel cozy. James, unsurprisingly, does not do things halfway.

Before you can even reach for your wallet, he’s already ordering—for you.

And not just anything. Your order. Exactly right.

Your lips part slightly in surprise. "How did you—?"

James waves a hand. "Lucky guess."

You narrow your eyes at him, but there's no real suspicion—just a quiet, fluttery sensation unfurling in your chest, something light and impossible to ignore, like the first pull of a current beneath still water.

James grins, clearly pleased with himself, handing the barista some cash before you can protest. "See? This is why you keep me around. I'm thoughtful."

"You're relentless."

"That's a secondary bonus."

You both settle into a small corner table, the wooden surface slightly worn beneath your fingers. James stretches his arms behind his head, impossibly at ease, like he belongs here, like he belongs anywhere. Then, with a wicked grin that does very little to put you at ease, he leans forward, eyes gleaming.

"All right, now’s the perfect time to tell me your entire life story. All your deepest fears, secrets, insecurities. Lay ‘em on me."

You let out a quiet laugh, stirring your drink. "That’s a lot of pressure for coffee conversation."

James nods, unbothered. "I believe in efficiency."

You shake your head, the smile still playing at your lips. "I think I’ll stick to the basics."

"Fine, fine. I'll lower my expectations." He rests his chin on his hand, watching you with an exaggerated intensity. "Start with your major."

You tell him what you study.

James blinks. Then, as if processing, his mouth falls slightly open. "Wow." His tone isn’t teasing—it’s genuine, almost reverent, like he’s truly impressed.

You frown slightly. "What?"

"You're, like, way smarter than me."

You let out a short, surprised laugh. "I doubt that."

James shakes his head, pointing at you as if making a grand declaration. "No, no, no. See, I do… numbers and spreadsheets and networking. But you? You actually know things. Like, real, impressive things. I'm a fool in comparison."

You feel the warmth creep up your neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I think you're being dramatic."

"I think you're underestimating how impressed I am right now."

You roll your eyes, but it's hopeless—James is grinning at you like he's already won. And, honestly? You can’t remember a conversation ever flowing this easily, a date—if you can call it that—ever feeling this natural. You don’t really mind at all.

James leans in slightly, studying you, then smirks like he’s thought of something brilliant. "You know, I think this is fate. You feel these sparks too, right? Might as well start brainstorming names for our firstborn."

You nearly choke on your drink. "Excuse me?"

James tilts his head, completely unfazed. "I’m just saying—planning ahead is key to a successful partnership. What do you think? Something classic? Or are we going bold?"

You stare at him for a beat, then, with a completely straight face, say, "Oh, I’ve actually thought about this. Three kids. Probably two boys first, then a girl."

It’s James’ turn to blink. "You’re joking."

You stir the ice around your drink, unbothered. "I don’t joke about the important things."

James runs a hand through his hair, looking utterly delighted. "I knew I was right about you."

You huff, shaking your head, but there’s no hiding the way your smile lingers. James watches you, a little too closely, his expression flickering just for a second—like he’s caught on something more important than just teasing you.

He huffs a laugh, drumming his fingers against the table as you take the last sip of your coffee and stand. You hesitate for just a second, your heart kicking up a beat, knowing full well what you’re about to do. But you’re enjoying this—enjoying him—far too much to stop yourself now.

Without overthinking it, you extend your hand toward him, tilting your head with an easy smile—one that feels just a little too bold but not unwelcome. "Walk me home?" you ask sweetly; the sugar rush nearly stops his heart.

James blinks, caught off guard for the briefest moment, before his entire face lights up. His grin is immediate, wide, and entirely unfiltered—like you’ve just handed him the world on a silver platter. "Oh, absolutely. Best offer I’ve had all day."

His fingers wrap around yours, warm and steady, as he rises to his feet, still beaming like an idiot.

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away as he falls into step beside you, his usual effortless confidence radiating off of him. The walk back is unhurried, the conversation dipping into easy, meaningless things—complaints about professors, half-hearted debates over the best late-night food spots, James’ ongoing theory that the campus squirrels are running some kind of underground empire.

When you finally reach your building, he rocks back on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

"So," he muses, eyes glinting mischievously, "any chance I can charm you into another date?"

You arch a brow. "Since when was this a date?"

James gasps, pressing a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. "Hey—unfair. You let me buy you coffee, we had riveting conversation, and I made you laugh at least four times."

"Three times," you correct, though you both know it was more.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Should’ve been four. I’ll have to try harder next time."

You scoff, but it’s half-hearted, the corners of your lips twitching upward. "You never actually declared it to be a date."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping into something smoother, something undeniably teasing. "I can declare the next one, if you’d like. Make it official."

Your stomach flutters, traitorous. "I’ll think about it."

James beams like that’s a victory. "I’ll take it."

He steps back, tossing you a wink as he starts down the path. "Don't miss me too much, love."

You linger at the door for just a second too long, watching him go before finally slipping inside—warm in a way that has nothing to do with the coffee.

And maybe, just maybe, already looking forward to the next time he tries to charm you into another one.

☀️🌻 masterlist

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prettylilyanime · 5 months ago

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Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 05

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

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

˚✿˖ Authors note: subtle yn lore gets dropped here…

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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After Bakugou had been generous enough to help haul in your endless pile of boxes—a consequence of your admittedly irresponsible spending—it seemed he decided to spare you further torment by announcing his departure.

Something about heading to the training arena to "get some real work done."

Not that his presence was bad.

No, it was torturous in the best way possible!

The I-want-him-to-stay-in-my-room-forever-and-keep-calling-me-princess kind of way.

Did that sound crazy?

Even with your ever-growing crush on the blonde, you couldn’t deny the wave of relief that washed over you at his exit.

He’d seen you like this—flustered, fumbling, barely holding yourself together—had even insisted you put on those stupid glasses, and yet…

Somehow, it wasn’t as horrible as you expected.

A warm flutter settled in your chest at the realization. He hadn’t cared about your appearance, hadn’t picked you apart like so many others had. It was a refreshing change from the judgment you’d grown used to.

You never quite understood why people felt so comfortable talking about your looks.

You barely felt comfortable talking to people, period.

And yet, strangers—people who didn’t know a thing about you—felt entitled to comment.

Your figure was amazing. Your hair looked great. What diets had you gone on?

God…

Bakugou didn’t seem to care about any of that.

His focus had been on your vision—or lack thereof. A stupid little thing, but the fact that he didn't seem to care about your looks made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Now, left alone in the quiet of your room, you sat cross-legged on your bed, manicured fingers scrolling through your phone.

Your official account, @OfficiallyFlora, gleamed on the screen. The blue checkmark beside your username felt more like a weight than an accomplishment.

Your profile picture, an overly polished shot of you in your glittering hero costume—stared back at you. The flawless image, taken against a pristine white backdrop, was the product of your mother’s money and marketing efforts.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Too pretty. Too refined. Too far from the girl sitting here now, sock clad in her bedroom, still reeling from the lingering scent of caramel and smoke that Bakugou had left behind.

Are your teeth really even that white in person?

You don’t know…

Your bio reads: Official Page of Pro-Hero Prospect Flora, making your hearts bloom with every step towards justice!

You sighed, rolling your eyes hard enough to strain something. The bio had been written by your mother’s PR team, dripping with saccharine energy that made you cringe every time you read it.

The rest of your feed wasn’t much better: high-definition shots of battles, cherry blossom-themed merch promotions, and glamorous magazine features.

It was a glossy, manufactured version of you that bore little resemblance to the person staring at the screen, glasses perpetually sliding down her nose.

Growing bored of the staged content, you switched to your private account.

Your followers on this one are, well. Your classmates, surprisingly enough, and one of your mother's pool boys who had asked for your Instagram years ago before you ever even had an official page in hopes of getting to talk to you more?!

You can't help but quirk a brow, you should really get him off your page...

Here, the photos were more personal: snapshots of your travels, close-ups of meals you’d enjoyed, and a random assortment of things that caught your eye.

The likes rarely climb beyond single digits, but it was real and a better representation of yourself than the other page.

A pang of curiosity struck as your fingers moved on autopilot, typing in Bakugou’s name.

His official account, curated by Best Jeanist’s team, popped up first. His posts were as structured as yours—action shots, hero promotions, and carefully orchestrated PR moves.

But unlike how you felt about your feed, his action shots were breathtaking.

One image, in particular, caught your attention: Bakugou holding a tiny kitten that had been stuck in a tree. His sharp features softened as he cradled the fluffy creature, his biceps bulging against his hero suit.

You snorted, amused by the juxtaposition. No matter how intimidating he looked, the sight of him with a kitten was almost too much.

Shaking your head, you scrolled through some of your classmates’ accounts. Their updates showed them at the beach, enjoying pizza nights, and huddled around a glowing campfire.

Seems like without Bakugou around to act as head chef, they had to order takeout instead.

You frowned, an unshakable pit forming in your stomach.

You drop your phone onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. Maybe what you needed was a nice meal—something indulgent to shake off the restless energy.

The thought of heading to the nearest convenience store for another pint of ice cream crosses your mind, the idea warm and tempting. But no.

Not this time.

Instead, maybe you could make an effort. Doll yourself up a bit, put on some makeup, and head out into town. Who needs a big group when you’ve got yourself?

Determined to follow through, you sit up and scan the endless boxes of your new purchases. Finally, you land on a little buttercup-yellow tweed Chanel set, complete with a mini skirt and cropped blazer.

You slip it on, the fabric hugging your figure perfectly and highlighting your silhouette in all the right places.

Hell, for this price point, it better do all of the above!

You turn to your vanity, reaching for your makeup bag. You opt for a soft, casual look—subtle yet radiant, with just enough shimmer to catch the light. Twinkly in all the right places.

To complete the look, you sling a new ivory-colored purse over your shoulder. A cute yellow dandelion charm clipped to the side adds just the right touch of cuteness.

Standing in front of the mirror, you take a moment to admire your reflection. You look polished, confident, like someone ready to take on the evening—even if it’s a solo adventure.

Maybe you’d check out that new sushi spot closer to home!

Yeah, it’s fine that your classmates wouldn’t join you! They'd probably just make you more anxious anyways.

But as you’re heading downstairs and toward the door, you suddenly freeze. A realization dawns on you.

Hajime has the weekend off.

You groan out loud. How are you going to get there? You can’t drive!

Frustration bubbles up, and you slap your forehead. Were you really this helpless? The thought makes you wince, embarrassment creeping in at the edges of your thoughts.

"If I speak, you gonna jump and scream again?" A voice, an irritatingly familiar voice announces his presence.

The familiar gruff voice startles you, and admittedly, you do almost scream. Holding it back though, you whirl around to see Bakugou having just walked out of the elevator behind you.

He seems freshly showered, with his hair still a bit damp, out and pushed back from his handsome face. You could smell him from where you're standing.

Ugh, delicious as usual.

“You did kind of surprise me,” you admit, voice sheepish as your eyes dart away from him.

His eyes roam over your figure quickly, though you don't notice the action over your own mourning of the evening.

“You’re going out?”

The question leaves his mouth before he can stop it, and if he could, he’d smack himself upside the head. Why the hell did he even ask? It’s obvious you are. And more importantly—why is he even starting a conversation in the first place?

Up until literally yesterday, you were just another classmate. Background noise. But these back-to-back interactions are becoming unavoidable, and unfortunately, you’re slipping out of the backdrop and into his world.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a soft, resigned smile. “Well, I was going to, but… I just realized I don’t have any way of getting there.”

“Hah? Can’t take the train?”

Heat blooms across your face, creeping down your neck. “Oh, well… I’ve never taken public transportation.”

There’s a beat of silence—just long enough for you to see the exact moment Bakugou short-circuits.

“Is that some shitty joke?”

You thought your cheeks couldn’t possibly burn hotter, but—oh, look at that! They can!

“I- um, well, no. It’s not.” You swallow, fiddling with the strap of your ivory purse. “Hajime’s driven me everywhere since I was little.”

He blinks, slowly. More in disbelief than anything.

“Hajime?”

You nod. “Yeah, um… my personal driver.”

For a second, you think he might actually roll his eyes. On anyone else, the whole spoiled rich kid routine would piss him off. But with you, it’s different.

Maybe it’s the way you look so flustered, like you’re embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe it’s the way your voice dips, like you’re apologizing for just existing.

Either way, it leaves him feeling something weird—something dangerously close to wanting to help. Again.

Twice in one day. A world record, if he says so himself.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

You wince, shoulders curling inward. “I know! It’s bad, okay? But it’s just how I was raised…”

How you were raised?

Bakugou’s brow lifts slightly. So what, you were raised to be a stay-at-home daughter? Spend money like it’s a full-time job?

He knows about your family. Everyone does.

A mother who inherited an entire hero firm from your grandparents—a dynasty so powerful its stocks and investments practically fuel Japan’s economy. And a father who died in the field before you were even born—a rising star in the hero world, gone far too soon.

Your mother, a young heiress to millions. Your father, a pro hero at the height of his career. Expecting their first child. A baby girl—you.

And then, just like that, it all came crashing down.

A mission gone wrong.

A hero lost.

Your father’s death sent shockwaves through the country, leaving Japan in mourning—not just for the man he was, but for the legend he never got the chance to become.

He doesn’t say anything right away—just stares at you with an unreadable expression that makes your stomach churn.

Then, without warning, he mutters, “Get your stuff. We’re going.”

Your head snaps up. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” He’s already pulling on his sneakers, his movements brisk and determined. “No way in hell am I letting you graduate from U.A. without knowing how to take a damn train. That’s pathetic.”

“Bakugou, you really don’t have to—”

“Second time today.” He cuts you off with a sharp look over his shoulder. “It’s already happening. Move it, princess.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue—but the words die in your throat when you see the set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze. He’s not going to back down.

You’re not sure what’s more overwhelming—the idea of taking your first train ride…

Or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one dragging you along for the ride.

You gulp, hurrying after him as he strides out of the dormitory, his natural pace effortlessly long and brisk. You almost trip trying to keep up, the heels of your boots clicking against the pavement.

God, why does he walk so fast?

“We’ve got a station down the block from the UA gates,” he says, barely glancing at you. “We’ll go to that one.”

You nod, stiff as a board. “Gotcha. So, um… where did you want to go?”

His blonde brow arches, the side of his lip curling like you just said something unbelievably stupid. “What? This isn’t about me. This is about teaching you how to get on a damn train.”

You wince, embarrassed. “Right. That makes sense.”

The two of you walk in relative silence, the crisp evening air settling over you like a thin veil.

The streets leading to the station aren’t crowded, but there are enough people out that you can feel the occasional passing glance—whether they recognize you as a hero-in-training or simply because you look like you don’t belong in a place as mundane as a train station, you’re not sure.

Your perfectly tailored blazer, Italian leather purse, and neatly manicured nails feel almost too polished for the scuffed pavement beneath your feet.

Bakugou, on the other hand, fits in seamlessly.

His hands are shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his comfy sweatpants loose around his legs and tight at his waist.

He looks completely at ease, like this is just another part of his day—meanwhile, your heartbeat is rattling in your ears at the thought of navigating a train station for the first time.

After a few minutes, you reach the station entrance, the underground stairway yawning open before you. A few commuters shuffle past, swiping their cards at the turnstiles, moving like they’ve done this a million times.

You, however, stay frozen at the top of the stairs.

Bakugou doesn’t notice at first, too busy pulling out his own train pass. But when he looks up and sees you still standing there, brows drawn tight with hesitation, he sighs.

“Seriously?” He tilts his head, exasperation flickering in his red eyes. “It’s just a staircase, princess.”

“I know it’s just a staircase,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing down at the tiled steps leading into the station.

You’ve never been in one of these before, never had to navigate the organized chaos of public transport, never had to think about swiping a train card or picking a route.

A ridiculous thought hits you—you’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you don’t know how to take a train… or the fact that Bakugou Katsuki is the one who has to teach you.

You bite your lip, it's silly and you know it. “What if I mess up?”

Bakugou stares at you for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he snorts.

“With that attitude, you’re definitely gonna mess up. Sour face you got going on”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

His smirk is almost smug. “But that’s the whole damn point. You mess up, you figure it out, and then you won’t be a clueless dumbass next time.”

You scowl. “Your motivational speeches suck.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes before nudging your shoulder—just a small push, barely enough to make you step forward, but it’s enough to shake you out of your own head.

“Come on,” he mutters, starting down the stairs. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You inhale sharply and, with no other choice, follow him down.

The air shifts as you descend—cooler, tinged with the metallic scent of rails and the distant hum of an approaching train. Your grip tightens around the strap of your purse, nerves bubbling in your chest.

Why is everything so loud down here?!

Bakugou moves ahead, seamlessly navigating through the turnstiles. He scans his card with an effortless flick of his wrist, stepping through without hesitation.

You, on the other hand, stop in front of the machine, frowning at it like it’s a puzzle you weren’t given the pieces to.

Bakugou turns, watching you expectantly.

“Well?” he drawls.

You glance at the screen, then back at your card. “Do I just… tap it?”

“No, you rub it on the damn thing and hope it opens.”

Your glare is sharp, but you say nothing, instead hesitantly pressing the card against the sensor. The gate beeps, unlocking with a mechanical click.

You blink. That’s it?

“Wow, you did it.” Bakugou’s tone is mockingly slow, like he’s congratulating a toddler for taking their first steps.

You don’t know how, when, or what possesses you with a sudden surge of confidence, but before you can stop yourself, your hand reaches out, shoving his shoulder.

His muscled frame barely budges under your touch, solid beneath the fabric of his hoodie.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He snorts, a short chuckle slipping out as he steps toward the platform, the train’s arrival chime ringing through the station.

Then, as you approach the edge of the platform, a realization slams into you like a ton of bricks.

“…Wait.” You stop in your tracks, eyes widening. “How do I know which train to take?”

Bakugou exhales so deeply it sounds like his soul is actively trying to escape his body.

“God help me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw tightening as if he’s physically restraining himself from saying something he’ll regret.

For the first time today, you swear he actually looks pained.

Oh lord. Oh good grief. If you were just about anybody else right now, Bakugou wouldn’t just be snapping—he’d be out of here so fast, you’d be left choking on smoke.

The fact that a pro-hero-in-training, someone who’s supposed to be saving lives, has never taken a damn train is the kind of thing that should be illegal.

So why is he still here?

Why hasn’t he turned on his heel, thrown up his hands, and left you to fend for yourself like any rational, self-respecting person would?

He blinks, his gaze lingering on your face, and for a brief moment—so fast you almost miss it—you swear there’s something unreadable flickering behind those sharp red eyes.

Maybe it’s the way your lashes frame your doe-like eyes, dark and long, casting delicate shadows across your cheeks. Curse you and your stupid, stupid eyes. Is this some kind of second quirk? A hypnosis ability?

Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the way you fidget without realizing it.

Your hands twist together, fingers tangling like they’re trying to hold onto something steady.

Absentmindedly, you twirl the diamond-encrusted eternity band on your index finger, turning it over and over in a nervous rhythm. It catches the dim station light, flashing every time you spin it.

Bakugou’s gaze follows the movement, and something about the unconscious gesture makes his scowl deepen.

“…Tch.” He clicks his tongue, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You really are helpless, huh?”

The words are gruff, edged with frustration, but he still doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he takes a step toward you, nodding toward the digital display overhead. The glowing letters flicker slightly, listing station names, times, and train lines in a way that makes your head spin.

“C’mon, dumbass. I’ll show you how to read the damn schedule before you get yourself lost in the middle of the city.”

Relief washes over you as you quickly follow his lead. “Ah, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me… just pay attention.”

And you do. You pay such good attention that by the time you finally grasp how the whole system works, you’re practically bouncing on your heels in excitement, a bright grin stretching across your face.

You stand on the platform, buzzing with a newfound confidence, while Bakugou—looking as perpetually unimpressed as ever—waits beside you with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

Then, the distant hum of the train grows louder, and soon enough, the sleek cars pull into the station with a sharp metallic whir.

The doors slide open, and you eagerly step forward, your heeled boots clicking against the platform as you move inside. Bakugou follows closely behind, scanning the interior in one quick glance.

The train is relatively full—enough that only one open seat remains near the doors. Without hesitation, Bakugou nudges you toward it.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, grabbing onto the nearest safety pole as the doors begin to close.

You shake your head, brushing him off. “I’m okay.”

He scoffs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “The train moves fast and isn’t super smooth. I’m sure you don’t wanna go through all that with those on.”

You glance down at your shoes—sleek, heeled boots, stylish but sturdy. Your lips curve into a small smile.

“I’ll have you know my hero costume boots are even higher than these.”

His brow arches slightly, the hint of sarcasm sparking in his eyes. “Yeah? I’m impressed, considering how fast you ran away from me on day one.”

Oh, hell.

Heat creeps up your neck at the reminder, your confidence faltering for a split second. But you recover quickly, squaring your shoulders with a dramatic huff.

“Wow, Bakugou Katsuki, impressed? By little ol’ me?” You place a hand over your heart, feigning exaggerated awe. “It’s an honor.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but there’s something unreadable in the way his gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer.

Then, the train lurches forward.

Despite all your earlier bravado, you do wobble slightly—just enough for Bakugou’s smirk to return in full force.

“…Told you to sit, dumbass.”

But you can’t.

Not because you’re too stubborn. Not because you’re still trying to prove a point.

But because—oh.

A singular, large hand is suddenly tight on your waist, steadying you with an effortless grip.

Oh my.

Who needs a safety rail when Pro Hero Dynamight is holding you like this?!

You internally scream, the realization hitting you all at once. The touch itself isn’t anything crazy—it’s barely even a thing, just a reflex, something automatic, instinctual. Nothing compared to the absolute torture of this morning’s, uh, straddling situation.

And yet, this feels just as bad—if not worse.

Why? Because Bakugou, in all his brash, loud, obnoxious glory, doesn’t even seem to realize he’s still holding onto you.

His grip is firm, warm even through the thick expensive fabric of your clothes, and worst of all? It lingers.

Still there.

Still present.

Still burning through your skin like a brand.

Oh, hell.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #my hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugo katsuki #x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #blooming hearts #bakugo x y/n #bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader #my hero academia x reader

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solxamber · 8 months ago

Note

I really love your writing. If it is possible could you write about an ignihyde reader that has a crush on Rook, and leaves him flowers, poetry, and stuffed animals. As Rook is an excellent hunter, it shouldn’t take him long to find out who the reader is, but there’s a catch. The readers UM is shape shifting. They can change everything about their appearance. Thus, puzzling Rook to no end. How long till he figure it out, and what does he do when he finally catches the reader?

Rook x Shape-shifter! reader

Ahh it's my first request!! I hope you like this!

Your love life has always been like an unfinished video game: full of potential but perpetually stuck on “pause” because talking to people is hard and you have a knack for turning invisible (literally) whenever you get nervous. But lately, you’ve found yourself in a completely different sort of situation—one that involves Rook Hunt, the most poetic hunter of Night Raven College and the object of your not-so-secret, shape-shifty affections.

And when you say not-so-secret, it means you’ve been leaving a trail of gifts that practically scream, “NOTICE ME, YOU HANDSOME WEIRDO.”

It all started innocently enough. A flower here, a cute stuffed animal there, and, of course, the occasional badly rhymed poem you stayed up way too late crafting. You know, typical middle-of-the-night crush behavior. The thing is, you didn’t sign your name. Nope. You decided to go full stealth mode, and using your Unique Magic to shapeshift every time you left a gift. One day you’re a tall, mysterious student from Pomefiore; the next, a shy sophomore from Savanaclaw. It’s the perfect plan!

Except… this is Rook Hunt we’re talking about. He’s a hunter, a tracker. He could probably find a needle in a haystack with his eyes closed, blindfolded, and reciting French poetry. So it didn’t take long before Rook realized someone was very much into him—and that someone was playing hard to get (catch?).

But here’s the twist. You’ve made yourself the ultimate puzzle. Every time Rook thinks he’s close to figuring you out, you shapeshift into a completely new person. One day he follows the scent of roses, thinking it will lead him to his admirer, only to find an Ignihyde student carrying around a bouquet of tulips. The next, he tracks down a trail of tiny stuffed animals, only to spot you as an unsuspecting Idia lookalike casually sipping tea in the courtyard. (You panicked, okay?)

“Ah, mon amour, you are like the wind—impossible to catch, yet always present,” Rook muses one day as he stands in the middle of the school courtyard, staring wistfully at a lone stuffed squirrel you’d left behind. Meanwhile, you’re hiding behind a hedge, shapeshifted into a first-year Octavinelle student, silently praying he doesn’t sniff you out like some kind of love detective.

But you can’t help yourself. Every time he gets close, your heart pounds, your magic flares up, and—poof!—you’re someone else again. It’s been weeks of this now, and Rook is officially stumped. He knows it’s you, but at the same time, he doesn’t know it’s you. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.

One day, you think you’ve outdone yourself. You leave Rook a stuffed owl—because, you know, symbolism—and a particularly sappy poem about how his eyes are like “two radiant moons lighting the darkness of your soul.” (Cringe-worthy, but heartfelt.) You shapeshift into an Ignihyde student again and casually start making your exit, congratulating yourself on a job well done.

But then, as you’re about to sneak back to your dorm, you hear it: “Ah, I see you at last, my elusive muse.”

Oh no. OH NO.

You freeze, half-transformed between yourself and the random character you picked that morning. Slowly, you turn around, and there he is. Rook. Smiling. Not just any smile, but that knowing smile, the one that says, “I’ve been onto you this whole time.”

You’re caught. And not in the cool, romantic way. More like the “rabbit caught in a snare” kind of way.

“I must say, you’ve been quite the challenge, mon cher,” Rook says, walking toward you with the confidence of someone who’s won every game he’s ever played. “But even the most skilled of hunters can’t resist a mystery. And what a mystery you’ve been!”

You try to play it cool, but your brain is currently doing the equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death. Do you transform again? Disappear? Fake your own death?

Nope. You’re paralyzed.

Rook stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly as if sizing you up. “I’ll admit, it took me longer than expected. Every time I thought I was close, you slipped away… like a wisp of smoke.” He steps closer, and you feel your heart about to explode. “But now that I’ve found you, I must ask—why all the hiding, my chérie?”

He knows. He knows.

With a nervous laugh, you finally drop the act—literally. Your transformation fades, leaving you standing there, fully you, cheeks burning. “Uh… surprise?” you manage weakly.

Rook’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ah! Magnifique! I knew it! My instincts were correct, but what a splendid revelation!” He takes your hand dramatically, and you swear he’s about to launch into a sonnet. “All this time, it was you—you—my mysterious admirer! The one who leaves me such lovely tokens of affection! And yet, you kept me in the dark, playing this delightful game of cat and mouse…”

You’re still trying to process the fact that Rook actually figured it out, while he’s over here going full monologue.

“I must say,” Rook continues, still holding your hand, “your talents are impressive. To evade me for so long—c’est incroyable! But why, mon cher? Why not reveal yourself sooner?”

“Well, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck, completely flustered. “I thought you’d think it was weird?”

“Weird?” Rook blinks at you, clearly baffled. “Why would I think that? You have done nothing but shower me with affection in the most creative ways! Why, I am honored by your attentions!” His grin widens. “And now that I’ve found you, I can return the favor, oui?”

“Return the—wait, what?” You blink at him, your brain short-circuiting again.

Rook leans in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Did you think the hunter would not also become the prey? My dear, you’ve caught my attention as well… and I must say, I’m quite taken with you.”

Your heart skips approximately fifty beats. “You… what?”

“Ah,” Rook sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “You truly are a marvel. But now that I’ve caught you, I won’t let you slip away so easily.”

You’re still standing there, trying to process the fact that Rook Hunt, Rook Hunt, the walking poetry machine, is flirting with you. And not just in a casual way.

Wait why is holding his bow like that? Is he trying to serenade you with just his bow as his accompaniment?

“So,” Rook says, his smile widening, “shall we continue this game of ours? Or perhaps… a new adventure, together?”

You stare at him, your face about to combust from sheer embarrassment and disbelief. “Uh… sure?”

And just like that, Rook laughs, a joyous, carefree sound, and pulls you into a hug. “Magnifique! The hunt is over, but the journey has just begun, my chérie.”

As for you? You’re pretty sure this whole situation is a fever dream.

But hey, at least you finally got your guy. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive his endless poetic declarations.

Maybe.

Masterlist

#rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst

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axeeglitter · 5 months ago

Text

Christmas exchange 2024: An odd meet and greet

It was Christmas morning, and Evan couldn’t believe his luck. After weeks of entering an online giveaway hosted by none other than Jake Andrich, he’d received the grand prize: a jockstrap worn by his idol. The package had arrived just in time, wrapped in plain brown paper with no return address, adding to its mystique.

Evan was an ordinary guy; someone you might pass on the street without a second glance. At 28, he had a lean but unremarkable build, the kind that came from walking to work and occasionally hitting the gym, though never with much consistency. His dark blonde hair was perpetually messy, no matter how much he tried to style it, and his hazel eyes often seemed to wander, reflecting his shy and introspective nature. Evan wasn’t the life of the party, nor was he the wallflower, he existed somewhere in between, a middle ground of normalcy. He had always been kind-hearted, if a little awkward, and his track record in relationships reflected his struggle to put himself out there. Forever single and hesitant to take risks, Evan spent more time admiring from afar than engaging.

As Evan unwrapped the package, his hands trembled. The jockstrap was immaculately clean but carried a faint, musky scent, a tangible link to the man he admired and fantasize about. An enclosed note, written in Jake’s bold handwriting, simply read, “Enjoy.” The casual tone sent a thrill through Evan; it was as if Jake had personally acknowledged him.

Evan sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the item. His heart pounded with excitement and nervousness. This was more than just a piece of clothing, it felt like a gateway to something greater. Unable to resist the pull, he decided to try it on. The fabric felt strange against his skin, warm, almost alive, as though it were pulsing with energy. Evan was getting hard just thinking about his cock touching the fabric Jake’s cock had touch and cum inside. It was a dream came true.

As he as getting more and more chubbed up inside the way too large jockstrap, Evan felt a thirst growing in him, getting stronger and stronger. He got up and went to the bathroom to grab a drink before fully settling in to admire his prize. He wandered into the abthroom, his mind still buzzing with the surreal reality of owning something so personal from Jake Andrich. Reaching for a glass, he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. His head spun, and he clutched the counter for support, blinking rapidly to clear his vision as the glass fell from his hand and shattered on the ground.

"My head…" he muttered, shaking his head. But as he took a step to grab a groom, a sharp, searing pain shot through his feet. He yelped, stumbling back as an audible crack echoed through the room. Tilting his head down, he stared in horror as his feet began to contort, the bones shifting and stretching beneath the skin. His arches lifted, his toes lengthened and straightened, and the once-average feet became broader and more defined, veins snaking along their surface.

The pain was excruciating. "What’s happening?" he gasped, his voice trembling. The skin on his feet darkened, taking on a deep, even tan, and unfamiliar tattoos began to etch themselves across the tops. The transformation wasn’t gentle; it felt as though his very bones were being crushed and reshaped, only to reform in a grotesque mimicry of someone else’s. Tears streamed down his face as he clung to the counter for dear life, his legs trembling under the strain.

His feet continued to crash and change. The arches lifted, the toes lengthened and straightened, and his once-average feet became broader and more defined. Evan screamed as the sensations surged upwards, his legs trembling. The muscles in his calves began to swell, veins snaking to the surface as his skin darkened to a deep, even tan. His thighs thickened, cords of muscle forming as his body involuntarily flexed, showcasing a power he had never possessed.

“What is happening to me?” Evan cried, his voice cracking with desperation. His pleas were met with silence as the transformation continued relentlessly.

The pain intensified as his bones began to stretch and shift. His hips narrowed, his pelvis realigning and felt totally alien to Evan. His body was changing at high speed and Evan couldn’t stop this from happening. Everything in him was hurting before soothing into pleasant numbness. Evan’s torso lengthened, and his spine arched unnaturally, forcing him upright as his chest expanded. The faint hair on his chest fell away, replaced by the smooth, ink-covered skin Jake was known for. Tattoos emerged like ink bleeding through paper, etching themselves onto Evan’s body with a burning intensity. Each line and shadow mirrored Jake’s intricate designs, and Evan’s screams grew louder.

“Please, stop this! I don’t want this!” he begged, clawing at his skin as if he could peel away the changes. But his hands, now broader and calloused, only betrayed him. His arms swelled with muscle, veins bulging as his biceps and forearms grew to intimidating proportions.

Evan’s face was the next to betray him. His jaw cracked and widened, his cheekbones sharpening. His nose reshaped itself, and his lips plumped, forming a cocky smile he’s seen thousands of times but couldn’t remember where. His eyes shifted, the irises darkening to a piercing shade. Even his hairline receded slightly, reforming into a manly and attractive style. The pain in his scalp was unbearable as his hair thickened and darkened.

“No! This isn’t me!” Evan sobbed, his voice deepening mid-sentence as he heard a faint Canadian accent appearing. The sound startled him; it was no longer his own. The rich, resonant tone was unmistakably Jake’s. He clutched his throat, but the transformation was complete. Evan opened his new eyes and scream in horror as he now recognizes who these features belonged to. He tried to grab the jockstrap to take it off but he couldn’t. It was glued to his newly tanned and perfectly groomed skin. Tears started to fall down his cheeks. Sure, Evan fantasized about Jake Andrich pretty much every single minute of every day, but he loved himself and his life, he didn’t want to be Jake, he just wanted to touch and get fucked by him. As Evan kept on trying to get the jockstrap off, his head started to spin again and he almost fainted out because of dizziness.

The changes became even more excruciating as they swept through the rest of his body. Evan’s skin began to glow with a sickening vibrancy, the tan spreading evenly and unnaturally across his body as if being burned into his very cells. Each pore seemed to sting, a fiery sensation engulfing him as the skin took on Jake’s flawless tone.

The agony intensified as hair sprouted in new places. Evan screamed as his armpits itched unbearably before thick, dark hair pushed its way through the tender skin. The same happened on his forearms and chest where a happy trail grew between his sculpted abs, every follicle erupting with coarse hair that wasn’t his own. He clawed at the hair in desperation, but his nails, now broader and harder, only skimmed the surface. The musky, masculine scent of Jake’s body began to seep from him, overtaking the faint soap smell he’d had moments before.

Evan’s sobs turned to shrieks as his skin felt like it was being pierced thousands of times simultaneously. The intricate designs of Jake’s tattoos began to etch themselves onto him, each line burning like molten steel being drawn across his flesh. He watched in horror as the ink bloomed over his chest, arms, and back, perfectly replicating Jake’s iconic patterns. Tears streamed down his face as he begged for the pain to stop, the sensation unbearable as it spread to every corner of his body.

"Please! Stop! It hurts!" Evan cried. His chest heaved as the tattoos continued their assault, wrapping around his ribs and crawling down his sides. His abdomen tightened and hardened into a perfectly sculpted six-pack, the tattoos framing the muscles like artwork.

Finally, the transformation reached his groin. Evan’s screams turned into gasps of raw shock as his hips realigned, the bones cracking and grinding into a broader, more imposing shape. His penis throbbed painfully, growing thicker and longer with every pulse, while his balls swelled to an almost unbearable size, filling with an unfamiliar weight. The skin there darkened and tightened, matching the rest of his newly tanned body, and a thick patch of dark, wiry pubic hair erupted around the base before regressing back in his skin, proof of regular shaving to maintain it properly. The physical transformation was complete.

Evan collapsed to the floor, his body shaking with the residual agony of the changes. Every inch of him was now alien, an exact replica of Jake Andrich. His tears dripped onto the polished tiles as his mind raced, the pain beginning to ebb but leaving a raw, burning ache in its wake. The transformation wasn’t just physical; the remnants of his identity felt as though they were being smothered by the overwhelming compulsion to obey. A faint but insistent voice in his head urged him to rise, pose, and perform, drowning out his own thoughts. He whimpered softly, knowing he had lost not only his body but perhaps his soul as well.

The transformation moved to his mind. Evan’s thoughts fragmented, his will eroding as an overwhelming compulsion to obey Jake surfaced. Desperately, he fought against it, but his body betrayed him completely. His hands moved upward, seemingly of their own volition, brushing over the hard, sculpted pecs that were no longer his own. The sensation was overwhelming, each touch sending jolts of foreign pleasure through him, yet he could only watch in helpless horror. His fingers traced the edges of his tattoos, lingering on the intricate designs etched into his skin as if savoring their presence.

Tears continued to streak down his face as his hands slid lower, their movements deliberate and teasing. They dipped beneath the waistband of the jockstrap, the fabric stretching as his fingers wrapped around the imposing length of his new, hardening shaft. A wave of shame and arousal crashed over him, his face betraying him as a cocky smirk began to tug at his lips. His reflection stared back in the mirror in front of him, the expression oozing confidence and control, a stark contrast to the terror roaring in his mind.

"No, stop! This isn’t me! I don’t want this!" Evan’s inner voice screamed, but it was muffled under the growing haze of dominance radiating from his new form. His hips rolled forward slightly, his movements sensual and practiced, as though he had done this a thousand times before. Even his breathing changed, deep and steady, punctuated by low, satisfied grunts. His body seemed to revel in its new strength and masculinity, completely ignoring his mental protests.

The compulsion to obey surged stronger, pulling him into a series of practiced poses. Evan’s broad hands explored every inch of his transformed physique, flexing and showcasing muscles that rippled under his flawless, ink-covered skin. His mind screamed in rebellion, but the alluring, commanding presence that now occupied his body silenced it with ease. Slowly, his hand returned to his groin, cupping his newly enlarged balls and stroking himself with an expertise that wasn’t his own.

As he stared at his reflection, his body began to spasm uncontrollably, his muscles flexing and posing as though directed by an unseen force. Evan watched in horror as his hands moved on their own, sliding over his pecs, lingering on their firm curves before dipping lower. He could feel every humiliating moment as his hands brushed against his jockstrap, the tight fabric now stretched taut over his hardening length. His reflection smirked, Jake’s smirk, as his fingers pressed into the bulge, and the overwhelming sensation made his body arch involuntarily.

His mind screamed for it to stop, but his body betrayed him further. His hips bucked, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips as waves of pleasure pulsed through him. The scent of his musky armpits filled the air as his arms lifted, his face burying itself in the crook of his elbow. The mixture of sweat and raw masculinity overwhelmed his senses, and the final thread of his resistance snapped as his body convulsed violently.

A deep, primal growl rumbled from his throat as he came hands-free into the jockstrap, the sticky warmth clinging to the fabric. His reflection flexed again, each pose radiating dominance, and the cocky grin widened. Evan’s thoughts dissolved into static, his identity erased in the haze of submission. In that moment, he forgot who he was, his mind now filled with one purpose: to serve Jake. Evan, or rather Jake, grabbed his phone and a black cap that he put backwards before taking a picture and sending it to an unknown number. He then added it to his contacts as Master.

Miles away, Jake’s phone buzzed. He opened his phone and smiled. A notification read: “Jake v04 is ready to serve Master’s will.”

Evan, now the perfect replica of Jake Andrich, stood before the mirror. He totally forgot who he was, for him, he was a servant to Jake and has to obey his every order in order to make Jake’s life easier. Evan was gone and replaced by Jake. As Evan kept on flexing his biceps and humming his armpits while his cum was drying in his jockstrap, he received a notification from Master: “Film new content. Post it by tonight.”

Evan’s reflection smiled back at him, but it wasn’t his smile. It was Jake’s. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Here is my contribution to the Christmas story exchange 2024. This year I was honored to write for @tf-lover. Sorry for the waiting, life got ahead and I got a flue so yea ^^ got me pretty much behind on every schedules ^^ Wish you guys a Happy New Year 2025 and I'll see you soon with lots of new stories!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

#male transformation #my writing #mental change #male tf #reality change #tf #gay #personality change #Christmas Story exchange #Jakipz #Jockification #Jock tf #dumbification #dumb tf

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astrologyvas · 10 months ago

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some virgo notes in honor of virgo szn

୨ৎ [18+] ˚˖𓍢 🦢✧˚.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

virgo moon — this placement is so brat. sheer tank tops, cigarettes, making questionable decisions at 3am. the sign of virgo is notorious for being clean and neat, but this placement is so beautifully sloppy. (ex. charli xcx, lorde, madonna, zoe kravitz)

virgo rising — little fawns drinking from the stream. but also the type of people you make awkward eye contact with. virgo risings are so observant of their surroundings, and i've noticed that if they see someone paying attention to them too, they can get super flustered

asteroid eros in virgo (433) — their heart is won with a heartfelt compliment. also the type of people who watch 18+ videos just to take notes. they may come across shy & reserved, but when they open up, these native's want to look and perform perfectly. they want to be everything their partner finds attractive. definitely captivated by intellect and wit

lilith in virgo (bml) — these people are on a mission for knowledge, and they might find a lot of healing through it. the kind of person who is completely consumed by their craft. i've also noticed they have a lot of shame and guilt when it comes to being wrong, they want to be able to prove their point no matter what

virgo in the 2nd house — very coy when it comes to discussing finances. probably refuses to share how much they make or what their salary is

virgo mars — virgo is the fashion sign. with virgo mars, i've noticed they're usually the "executive" fashion placement. these people are gifted visionaries when it comes to high fashion and outfit composition (ex. princess diana). mercurial energy in general meshes well with the fashion world— but virgo mars specifically have a very refined and chic personal style

virgo venus — while virgo mars have an eye for fashion framework, virgo venus is the muse. these people are able to pull off clothing extremely well, a lot of things just fall on them in a visually pleasing way. so many fashion icons w this placement

chiron in virgo — being "the wound of perfection," these people tend to have a never-ending feeling that something is wrong with them, and i've noticed they can easily fall victim to the toxic self-improvement mindset. (ex. chiron in virgo in the 4th house— pressure from family to be flawless, family could have placed intense standards and restrictions on them)

. ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹ ⋆.˚ ⋆ ˚⋆౨ৎ˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚⊹ ⋆ ˚⋆౨ৎ˚ ⋆.˚

virgo descendant — these native's want someone to cook for them, someone who wakes them up so they don't have to set an alarm. perpetually yearning to frolic in the forest with their partner

virgo mercury — the FBI. their bullshit detector is crazy, and arguing with them is literally terrifying. the negative aspect of this placement i've noticed is that they can struggle with being taken too seriously, even if they're trying to be funny or lighthearted. i've also noticed that they get immense relief from journaling, it's a good way to release all the energy in their head

virgo sun — one of the more intimidating virgo placements from my experience. they can be similar to virgo risings, however i've noticed virgo suns are a little bit more intense and aloof upon initially meeting them

virgo rising — every virgo rising i know gets super carsick. either that or they have such sensitive stomachs in general, like getting nauseous from eating anything. also a recycled take, but i swear they really are prone to lactose intolerance

virgo degrees 6°, 18° — placements in virgo degrees can give the planet/celestial body an entwined energy of rigidity and reservation, and can higher your standards revolving the themes of the planet. (ex. sagittarius rising at 6° could manifest as someone who can be obsessive and nitpicky over their body, or is more shy than typical sagittarius ascendants. may even slightly resemble physical virgo traits)

asteroid lust in virgo (4386) — i've noticed that these people feel like they can't fit into their own standards, especially regarding sex. deep insecurity can stem from physical intimacy, may have a lot of anxiety around how their body looks while in the act

virgo midheaven — these people obtain the important roles of society and crush them. i've noticed that these native's can handle the pressure from vital and demanding roles like doctors, dentists, or manager positions because of their personal desire for perfection—specifically revolving their career

virgo sun — this placement has such an infamous reputation in music. they're the blueprint for so many genres and types of sound, the people you think of when you think of "music" (michael jackson, beyoncé, freddie mercury, amy winehouse)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

#virgo #virgo sun #virgo moon #virgo placements #virgo rising #astrology blog #astrology tumblr #astro #astro notes #astro observations #astrology #astro community #astrology placements

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ovenproofowl · 3 months ago

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I loved the conversation ms cobel had with mark s this episode. call it scientific fascination, infatuation or obsession, but by placing herself directly into both marks' lives, she was the only impartial party shy of the audience itself. she doesn't try to win mark over by selling him fantasies about how he can still have a life afterwards, she's the one who told mark's outie about his innie's relationship with helly, she knows that won't work. instead, she tells him the cold hard facts. that his entire purpose at lumon was to create the very consciousnesses that are keeping gemma trapped in her own perpetual hell. his job has been the direct cause of her suffering, and whether he likes it or not, once his job is over, so is his life. there is no out for him. she isn't appealing to him through his outie's love for his wife, she's appealing to him as a person. a person who is being used, just like she was. a person who will be discarded, just like she would've been if she'd gone with helena that night. she's not waving a secret third option in front of his nose, but making him swallow a cold reality that she's only barely sipped on herself. ulterior motive or no, in that moment she became desperate to save him from making the same decision that kept her trapped beneath lumon's thumb for all those years. she knows what he is, her mind made his. but just like her, he wasn't ready to hear the truth. just like her, he turned his head and ran straight back into lumon's arms.

#severance #severance spoilers #harmony cobel #mark scout #mark s #i know a lot of people are fighting over the love story aspect but i'm on a whole other train rn #for me it's still what it always was. a cultist capitalist hellscape that mark has unwittingly drawn himself back into #the audience are given impartial rights by knowing the full story of mark's innie and outie being able to sympathise for both sides #but ultimately by knowing all that we know no matter what mark will be holding a part of himself captive if he chooses one version of #himself over the other #mark's outie might learn how his innie truly feels through this experience and it might give them better ground to approach each other #but mark will always be a slave to lumon if he chooses either life over his whole self #ms cobel was right imo - reintergration is the only way

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1-49 · 7 months ago

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bare sugars

╰► that’s my baby, that’s my sugar, i don’t need no honey on the side . . . that’s unconditiona-nal.

pairing: f!reader × jaehyun ⁝ tags: motel. lotta tension. jae likes to show skin lol. history i allude to but never explain sry. short scenario inspired by this teaser photo. diabetes keep away 5k

It ’s a place in between places, on the outskirts of some sunbaked desert town. What began as a hopeful promise, somewhere in the chaos of the last seven days , has faded into obscurity.

When this road trip kicked off, the entire crew was pumped on the : ‘No one’s getting ditched; everyone ’s got to be part of ─── no matter how intense the next adventure gets.’ Yet, here you are , left behind with the one person you were hoping to dodge.

A velvety green sofa sets the scene & the honey glow of golden hour falls on wood - panelled walls ─── Lying on his back , Jaehyun rocks yet another one of his 250+ crumpled print tees, retro lettering in: ‘The Grateful Dead.’ Its fabric hiked up , intentionally or not , giving his casual style a little extra edge.

─── This specific old shade of blue denim jeans, those grey Calvins, the belt that struggles to keep the outfit together ... His belly that just kind of vacuums in whenever it wants ... A plush land really ... The faux freckles on his cheeks which mimic sunflower seeds, and his hair that shines like a field of gold ...

A babe , though the design guilt he wears in his dark eyes remains as you capture yet another moment with your camera.

The two shy cuties in his cheeks and his keys lying abandoned on the pink carpet. His languid binks & perpetually movey lips. His Converse’s loose laces.. The unhurried. The lazy. The slow...

It’s all captured on film & as you pull the camera away from your face, he still keeps an eye on you, not necessarily looking for a reaction but...

Well, you better... drop that feedback, or things might...

take a turn for the worse...

And—

And they do... with him tucking his hand under his head & his shirt riding up thoughtlessly even more...

And it’s bad. It’s—It’s like he’s in charge of how you feel and is directing the scene. Like as if he’s your television & there’s no turning him off.

This almost ever so present paradoxical quality to him—a blend of approachability and impenetrability that’s hard to elaborate. Or his lazy attractiveness which simply defies logic: for he’s simultaneously doing nothing and everything, drawing you in completely without lifting a finger.

Or... how these are just a few of the countless reasons why you’ve never asked him to bring you the horizon, or, hell, dared to dream about having him.

Of how the four walls and the door close on you and how looking at him strikes you with a funny fear, making you want to melt deep into the contents of the floor.

Oh, to fuck with that...

Gently, you adjust the fine black lace along the hem of your brown silk dress; draw in the fluffy cardigan tighter around you; and to escape the perfect features of his perfect face, you walk up to the window.

Yet, no matter how hard you search for a way out, the four walls of this claustrophobic room offer little in the way of escape. You’re fucking stuck... Counting your fingers anew whenever gets nothing done, and flipping through the channels on the tiny TV does nothing to clear the monotony. The minutes drag on endlessly, and no matter how many board games you play or photos you take, the clock seems to mock you. Each moment drags as if the world has hit the pause button, leaving you with him in this quiet space.

“Uuggh, coome oooon!” You stomp your feet, looking out the window. “The losers promised they’d be back by six!”

Jaehyun blows a bubble that bursts with a loud snap, grinning at you. “Ummm—You realize promises aren’t really being kept here anymore, right?”

Yeah, right... Fuck promises! You told yourself you wouldn’t get attached to him but look at you now...

Rolling your eyes, you glance out the window again, right as he asks,

“Why? Are you hungry?”

And sure, they were supposed to be the ones bringing the food, but it seems their adventure has taken a detour into yet another town at the end of the world; said, ‘This is what happens when you skip out—So, you two sort it out.’

“Some sweets would be nice. But no, um,” you tensely pull at your cardigan’s sleeves, clenching the ends in your fists. “Are they okay? I’m a little nervous.”

Though all he does is just casually burst another ridiculous bubble...“I’m sure they’re fine.”

Right… So next you’re left to watch him scrape bits of pink gum from his lips, and before you know it, a wave of irritation pulls you back to his side.

You’re barely balanced on the edge of the sofa, aiding in his clumsy efforts. Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, and the air around him gets to your head just instantly, thick with the sugary scent of the sticky residue that you find yourself obliged to help remove... It’s so sugary that it borders on being revolting! Or perhaps it’s your sweet tooth that’s igniting this feeling?

Silly, cause you feed into this quirky theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum, and now that notion takes on a funny twist, well... considering the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

As you pull your fingers away from his lips, a rush of blood roars in his ears and he quickly adds, “Might have something in my bag, let me see.”

And totally! The bag that somehow collected a ton of pendants during this road trip does sit by the sofa, and with Jaehyun lounging back, stretching his arms overhead to grab it, his shirt gets pulled up even higher, & just like that, it becomes the cause for another thing you wish you never said.

Definitely not the sight you were hoping for... The tee hiked up, way above his ribs, exposing a good portion of his slim waist as he giggles, showing off that boyish grin while rummaging through the bag behind... still looking at you.

The eye contact ****

The fcking gum that just so erratically becomes his plaything, getting relentlessly crushed beneath the pressure of his teeth, repeatedly transforming into a sticky mass that fills his mouth, stressing the rugged contours of his strong jawline...

His fucking belly...

The happy trail...

Godsent personal hell!

Your heart is thumping away in your chest and your ribs aren’t exactly doing much to protect it. The stressed thing seems ready to pop like one of his balloons and leave you in an ever-sticker mess...

“Mmmmm...” he hums, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling a handful of candies from the bag behind him. “Let’s see what we have.”

Placing each treat onto his stomach as if the world were about to erupt in a frenzy of sugar-fueled chaos, Jaehyun carefully begins to arrange each piece, making sure they’re spaced out just right and sorted into rational portions in case such an outbreak actually happens. In no time, a vibrant array of treats sprawls across him and his funky-ridden shirt, everything from lollipops, chewy gums, gummy bears, and sour candies, to little chocolates.

Imagine a carnival! The flashy colors are super distracting, and those chocolate bars are practically begging you to grab them. Still, you can’t help but tease him a bit to annoy him, specially since you’ve been going back & forth for the past three days.

“Really,” you pout cynically, “You took this many?? You’re such a…”

With a burst of laughter that is hearty & sweet, Jaehyun sends the poor candies resting on the very sides of his waist to tumble down onto the sofa as if that earthquake had REALLY made its presence felt.

“Mmmmm- Why would I want to spend money on fancy treats? Besides...” He spaces out for a bit... then remarks with a smirk, “My theory is basically sweets are sweets.”

And he tightens his lips to seem all serious, but honestly, it just makes everything worse. The dude doesn’t even lift a finger to be funny; it’s like humour just radically appears around him, and the stuff he comes up with...

Poof! A total goof or a creative thinker? It really just comes down to your mood at the time.

You grimace once more, shaking your head at him, and subtly shift your weight to your legs rather than sitting on the sofa, your body ready to leap away at the slightest hint of contact.

With an adorable, surprised expression his eyes grow round as he stares at you, “What!?” His brows shoot up too in effort to justify himself.

“That piñata was there for everyone to go wild and, umm- grab whatever they could!” Lifting his hands defensively, he pouts, “Not my fault!”

Aaaand that fucking shirt of his?

Isss at it againnnn!@#£%^*

Your mind is reeling as the candy mountain spills over in a fun avalanche.

No, because why go through all that trouble to arrange them perfectly just to wreck it himself!?

Yeah,

anyway, you find nothing to match that, indeed it was up to anyone to snatch whatever they wanted, it just looks like he had deeper pockets than the rest of you idiots to stash all that stuff, that’s all there is to it. So you give in to the urge to ‘screw it,’ let out another eye roll, and grab a tiny bag of gummy bears.

As if he’s achieved something, Jaehyun’s hands find their way back beneath his head, and the flirtatious smile continues in his eyes. He just basks in the moment until your frustration—the sting of yet another cheeky defeat—causes you to fumble to open the bag and so all the gummy bears go flying everywhere.

Add chaos?

Check!

Is he into it?

Also, check.

The pack is but what that piñata was a few days ago, bleeding in beautiful colors and gushing all things sweet.

“Ugghhh!!” Tossing your head back, you groan dramatically.

And understandably so!!! While Jaehyun?

He beams as he sticks his tongue in his cheek, and snatches the empty bag from your hands. He casually spits his spent pink gum inside it, takes a pair of gummies from his abs, and gently runs them against his lips before sliding them in...

And t

And it’s so fucking frustrating that this guy has no clue about the importance of breaking eye contact! You’re always left searching for a word that’s stronger than ‘insufferable,’ but really, the dude just constantly goes all out with everything. Legit!

It drives you crazy. He—

Munching on them playfully, Jaehyun thinks for a moment, swallows, & then quirks an eyebrow, smirking,

“Wanna hear what the gummies just whispered into my mouth?”

What the gummies have what??

You shake your head at his nonsense but arch a brow back. Because if you had to be honest, those jelly babies aren’t the only thing looking to spill some secrets in his mouth... So, yeah, you’re JUST listening! As a matter of fact, you’re all tuned in to catch what absurdity he’s about to dish out next.

Pushing his lips together, a bratty shape that just begs to be kissed, he sits with his answer. There’s something very precious and terribly frustrating about how he keeps his responses close like they’re the best puns ever. Then he eventually smiles, “Thank you for releasing us.”

........ Woaah, they’ve at least been honest with him! Which is... cool...

Cool! Great! Awesome! You next!

“Mmm-hmm,” for dummies, some skeptical eyes and a cynical head nod are all you have...

When the magnitude of his languid x menacing should be studied!!!

Really, a quirky cotton candy man! A sugar. A delicate toxic substance.

Like, fuck! He—He’s just- unbeatable.

That’s an overwhelming amount of power for him to have... Like, that’s too much hot... Too much sweet… It’s no good…

Like-

Like the doses got all jacked up when he was made... Accidentally spilled too much of each, and now he’s just a walking health risk.

Catch it!

The disease spreads just like it always has—quickly and definitely. This earthtone babe just knows exactly how to get under your skin.

So hard to resist... So hard to not take a bite...

It’s just how it goes, you know?

Things...

Eyes...

Fingers...

& before you realise it, your fingertips glide past his jeans, over to his skin, igniting a rush of sensations with each line you draw across his abs.

Inevitably, the air gets charged with an energy... that’s not innocent. You feel the sparks. Not the good kind of sparks, but the sinful ones... The—

It’s like a dream at first, experiencing the thrill of someone yearning for your touch so badly.

Jae is every bit as tough as he looks, but the moment your fingers brush against him, that narrative shifts entirely. It feels like he’s been craving your touch, and those days without it have been an unbearable! fucking! stretch!

Gentle, sensual skin, a supremely royal shade of luxury milk. Everything that’s connected with a beautiful sweet, sweet & touching is associated with him.

He’s just spot on! And your stomach is growling. And you’re looking for a bite to eat...

In fact, you’re so down bad, your sweet tooth’s at an all-time high; honestly, you’d probably go as far as to start licking him right now.

In a straight line? Curved? In any manner that sparks your creativity? Anything real—

...The hot transference from his skin onto your hand? The way he teases his lip!?? The way he shyly and discreetly raises his hips against your touch as if silently pleading for

Thisss baddieee!!

Reading into all these crazy action bits has you all jittery that you completely jump when his hand lands on your bare thigh, right at the lace border.

nononono-

With a gulp, you instantly! rise from the couch. How—Just why did you end up falling back so e

Fast, desperation kicks in- just- again like those moments ago... and you’re back to pacing this same motel room, seeking an escape from him. Except every aspect now feels as if it’s been cranked up to ten times the difficulty.

The reddish-brown timber panels on the walls give off tough prison steel, and the pink carpet feels all squishy and weird under your bare feet right when you need a stable solid... All while Jaehyun is- just- there... planted in place, now seated, legs all spread, on the green sofa. There’s really nothing you can do but hope he stays right where he is.

But! once something’s set in motion, it stays in motion. Like a wildfire racing thru dry lands, fierce and unstoppable. And you just happened to let a match slip past your fingers a heartbeat ago, screwing everything up...

Naturally, he gets up. Also, that belt of his really accomplishes nothing... it’s just there to be there, so he’s just got to pull up his baggy jeans himself before he can even take a step forward.

& what his rising does is kick off a frantic chase as you two whirl around the room in a relentless spiral, & he’s hot on your tail... The very thought of him catching up on you sends dopamine through your veins, making your pulse quicken.

Plus that stunning smile? Plus his unconditional happiness? Well, both make him even more irresistible but both also complicate things for you. The excitement mounts as he approaches in the chase, each heartbeat making the thrill even stronger; that once he abruptly stops, the sprinting exertion takes its toll.

His breath comes in heavier gasps, his cheeks are flushed with a pinch of peach, and his bangs are a tousled mess, dancing around him like dandelion fluff does in the wind. Just a pure, natural and effortless elegance. He’s so incredibly attractive it almost hurts to look at him.

The tension though peaks as his words build to a sharp climax of a fact.

“You-um- You’ve been avoiding me this whole trip.”

...That sinking feeling in your heart like a rock just hit it? Yeah...

Yeah, you wish that voice of his didn’t resonate through your very being, scraping against every nerve ending, but that’s what it always does. It freezes you in place, making you overwhelmed and powerless.

It’s kind of wild how bringing up a heavy topic during a playful moment can make it feel that much more sincere. With so many choices, he went right for the thing that drives him crazy, and that should show you what’s on his mind... at least-

But, you-you

Instinctively, you pull the same fuzzy cardigan around you, clinging to it as though it were a barrier against him, and softly slide your hand from your sleeve, unveiling a lollipop—the only item you managed to pocket earlier.

And this should sweep everything away, right?

“Mhmmmm,” Jaehyun hums, back on trend —

acting like he didn’t just mention something that could spark a whole conversation...

— though this time he picks up the bat resting by the bedstand which at the beginning of the week tore through that heart piñata...

And currently, with the sun set, the moon in the sky, and the desert sky glowing a delicate lilac blue, his eyes narrow and his sly grin comes in the same old style as he twists the knob of the yellow lamp, teasing, “So... a thief, huh?”

...It’s as if he’s putting you in the spotlight, pointing out your crime, and calling you out for being a naughty girl.

& sure, he’s got you in that tight spot he wants you in, okay? But you still tilt your head and nibble on your lip, still going at it, “Maaybee.”

& as you start to walk backwards, everything is still beside your breath and the gentle thud of the bat as he taps it against different surfaces. Only muted noise of what seems to be Spanish drifts in from the neighboring room, but neither of you pays it much mind.

His hands fist around the bat tightly, consumed with angry adrenaline, & veins bulge along his smooth skin, sending filthy pulses up his arms.

It’s a sight that attracts goosebumps all along & across your skin, igniting a warmth that curls from your legs to your belly. The same very electrifying rush of adrenaline wraps around you as if he’s pulling you into the grip of that wooden bat...

Hiss, twist, loosen, and turn, just like how his hands manipulate that wood...

And you know... it doesn’t take much to find yourself backed up against that mahogany wall.

At once, ‘trapped’ takes on an even greater weight than what it meant before. You feel twisted and turned in advance, completely taken apart by the sheer passion in his deep brown eyes.

Jaehyun lifts a brow. He’s all about this vibe. That big toothy smile of his. The way he’s locked in on you. The ‘Just a couple of steps away, baby.’

Uh-huh, but what about that horrible, horrible crave you’ve told yourself you CAN’T have!??

The itch sits on your tongue, fruity in flavour—perhaps strawberry or raspberry—you aren’t sure. A tang that lingers in your memory, the same as of candy gum that had been in the air around him earlier and one which grew bolder with each step he took toward you. This sickness makes you wish that your tongue is already wrapped in his, tightening for a deeper inspection.

Yikes! Please, let’s just avoid that!

To drive away the feeling, you look down to your toes in the cotton carpet, shift your weight, and then peel away the wrapper of the lemon lolly, seeking a bitter flavor to replace the trace of his scent.

Then eventually, accept the proximity between you two as it is - as you let your back land against the wall, hoping the tension will melt away.

Feeling the lolly along your lips, you grimace at the acid but take it...

And as you look down, even in your peripheral view, it’s clear that Jaehyun is still watching you, & you realize he’s focused on your mouth. & after giving the lollipop a couple of spins on your tongue, you proudly look up, thinking you’re good and that you’ve totally neutralized the crave for him...

Because the suddenly too sure of itself face?

Your neck, your collars, the hard candy prodding at your cheek?

The sleek brown silk and the intricate black lace trim which ascends higher on your thigh as you shift your weight to one leg, elegantly placing the other in front as you find your stance? And then the glossy black polish on your toenails as you draw them from a point in the carpet, just barely hovering above it, & in a straight line with him... As in ???

Yeah, absolutely not; that’s far from a quiet invite...

No! You’re totally not just ‘asking for it.’

On the spur, the dynamics shift... As you let the lemon hang in your mouth, Jaehyun abruptly brings his bat up & uses it to delicately move a piece of your hair aside, and then the very tip of the bat makes a gentle tap at the heart of your collars.

Your breath catches in your throat, a fragile spectacle he zeroes in on as your cords constrict, and then, with knitted brows you swallow in the sour juice of the sucker.

Really!?? What more does he want of your sorry soul when you’re just trying to get through each breath?

But no! You certainly didn’t ask for it… Just remember he’s not one to give up when told to quit. So, either pack your things or choose a better design, Sugar.

Though that’s the very thing... You can’t deny the magnetic pull of Jaehyun’s game...

Sure, you’re feeling the heat from your toes to the top of your head, but let’s keep things in check, yeah?

Feeling the groove, as you pull out the lollipop to give your lips a little lick, your eyes wander down to what could be seen as a ‘dangerous tool’, and you smirk.

Jaehyun sucks in on his lip, very slowly, very cheekily. The guy’s clearly amused with you.

“Are you seriously just going to keep looking at me like that?” you ask eventually, taking a moment before adding, “I’m not a fan of it.”

“Mmmmm,” he gives his hundredth low hum, tilting his back head just so, & flexing that tight jawline that always seems to be up for something... something explicit and offensive.

However you pout and slide the lollipop right back in your mouth.

“Tasty?”

...You had to know that was coming, right? And so, as the duel continues, you shrug, allowing a slight grimace to escape your lips, piquing his curiosity about the taste he’s missing out on.

& it runs like a charm.

As Jaehyun lets his eyelids droop in the slowest blink imaginable, &, in his infamous deep voice, says, “I waaanna taste.”

Nuh-uh, even if you tried to reject, it wouldn’t make a difference since he’s right in your face; his mouth hanging agape, eager for absolutely, really absolutely! anything you might have to offer... Cause, there’s always room for a shift in sentiments, wouldn’t you agree?

Though the ‘weapon’ somewhat still stays pointed at you...

Take notes!

For sure! But being the fantastic person you are you tap into your generous spirit & pull out the candy with a satisfying pop while Jaehyun stares at you, mischief even spilling out of his open mouth.

With only inches between you, you gently slide the bad sugar in, pushing it along his tongue and unconditionally savoring the moment and the view.

His slightly downturned, sultry eyes as you still hold onto the other end of the white plastic, & he keeps sucking on the lemon in his mouth.

Those damn sunken cheeks of his. The tiny scratch on his nose from a few days ago which has mostly healed, but you can still see it.

The dense, dark brows in disagreement with his bleached hair with a still lingering odor of ammonium hydroxide... Really, a look born from a reckless bet on a chaotic road trip—a decision that seemed utterly foolish but now is somehow working in his favor...

In a way, it’s even funny how the flashy hair is soooo out there… but it’s there, being just one aspect of him. Still, you have to admit its impact is real. A gutsy choice that jazzes him up a notch. This new arc he’s projecting, where it seems, he’s flirting a bit more with his impulsive side? Yeah...

Somewhere between handsome and creamy tabby cat... He’s just bursting with the most obnoxious playfulness, and he’s paired with a smile that raises up his dimples.

The way he’s making you curious and wild >>> He’s so sexy, it’s unmatched...

And you understand the gravity of wanting such a fine man! The—

(!) The despite knowing, yet failing... or at least in what you think you know and what you think is better.

You’re completely focused on his lips, and in an instant, reality just seems to melt away like it’s under a spell.

Tis a state... A mood! The ninth cloud where you can’t feel the air or the ground... All there is is his insane eyes scrutinizing your reaction to what he does to the lolly, and it’s honestly the worst kind of pressure.

Finished savouring, Jaehyun’s tongue casually circles his sensuous lips, collecting all possible leftover like he’s just finished you in style.

“Ummm…” Scrunching his nose at the flirty, piquant taste, he takes a step back. Mulls over the candy choice; pushes his cooked bangs; and hesitates before he says, “Nah, this isn’t the one... I-um... I bet there’s something better out there... It’s likeee” suppresses smile in advance of saying it, “It’s just on the tip of my tongue.” His brows flatten too, mans serious! “Help me think?”

OH, Sir!

A treat that can out-beat this bittersweet taste? A goodie that packs an even bigger surprise?

Your always rambling mind goes thoughtless, & that burning need to press on drops off like a light switch. The coming panic. Your gotcha moment. You go quiet. It hits you that this is the first time your playful teasing has backfired and that maybe you can’t be bailed out of what’s to come.

Worse, as it’s one of those silences that just hangs in the air, making things feel more tense. Your self-imposed rules about ‘what you think you know’ and ‘what’s better’ dissolved, leaving you fully present and stimulated.

& Jaehyun digs right in, spreading the cavity...

He lifts the bat again, its tip gently pressing into your belly, and it’s like you can almost feel his warmth seep through it, then past the fragile silken fabric to your skin.

You get so hot. This bizarre ripple from your legs to your tummy as you tightrope between pleasure and unease, joy and hesitation... It’s like you two are finally on the same wavelength, knowing what the other is about to say before the words even come out.

A delicate crease develops between his bushy brows which deepens as he tenderly whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Jae- don’t.” you murmur, your lips curving into a sorrowful pout as you gently shake your head ‘no.’

Needless to say, something nuanced only you and him know...

The result of everything that’s happened...

The ‘this whole trip has messed up the trajectory of our friendship.’

The reason why he chose to hang back today...

The tactics which kicked in since everyone piled into that Jeep truck this morning & sped away.

The from ‘getting schooled’ in all the board games to the countless Polaroids he let you snap of him, to that little “I’m sorry” hand peck he gave you that had you making the death stare, and the “Don’t ever try to do that again!”

The rude ‘skin-feeding’ masked behind the pretense of a ‘generous’ food provider.

And how you slipped past every move, pushed back, and resisted until he has put you up against this wall... and now ‘the-no-escape’.

Still and all- your pushback’s like a sport. Be afraid of what follows...

For Jaehyun gnaws into the very walls of your sensitivity as if sensuality were his chosen medium. Each deliberate motion of the bat becomes a brushstroke in the masterpiece of your downfall...

He glides it along the contours of your waist, teasingly skimming over your curves, trails it down your legs and inners, and even lifts the hem of your dress just enough to make your skin hurt in anticipation.

Then, it finds its way to your stomach yet again, as if to indicate something deep & unexpressed, before tracing a direct path up your sternum, sweeping along your collarbone until he’s made your cardigan slip down your arm, taking the delicate strap of your dress with it...

So much of ‘Jae, don’t,’ huh? Oh, sweetheart…

Certainly, the last thing you hope he avoids is the very thing Jaehyun does...

Trailing the bat along your jawline, ultimately he rests it under your chin... Something something about a ‘clear display of dominance.’ His insane eyes about render you completely motionless as he insists on glancing between your eyes and your lips the way one searches a dictionary for definitions. Again and Again... And then gravity happens...

In an instant, the bat slips from his grasp and tumbles to the floor, making you flinch as his lips finally find their way to your bare shoulder, where seems like he’s achieved something.

Oh, the bite-

An insidious heat stroke as you moan the most promiscuous hiss there is.

“Jaee, we shou—”

“Baby-”

Vibrationssssssssss...

It comes out even more whiny as he gets all of that word muffled against your neck. It roughly cuts into your focus, seeps into your ears, and goes straight to the wrong place.

The very last thing you feel yourself do is slide left against the wall, scraping for any last escape routes, but he just moves in sync with you.

Up to the moment he—

The sound of yearning?

Jaehyun’s palms slamming into the hardwood, spreading out like wings on either side of you, creating a cage of flesh. Brushing off the idea of consent, his hot body presses against yours.

With his hands up, that whimsical teddy bear tee yet again peels from his jeans. It constricts around his arm sleeves, flexing the impressive curve of his biceps. His veins, too, scrumptiously pushed in motivation: ‘All mine! You can’t outrun this, baby. I’m keeping you right where I want you.’

Really, the rest it’s all in your perception—either a trap or a safe spot.

A little motel inside a world of sand... you’ve never felt smaller than you do now with him towering over you—not literally, size in drive and ambition.

You watch yourself fade&wilt in his unsettlingly lazy eyes like Valentine’s flower petals from their vase falling onto the white desk dirtied with graphite from pencil shavings and candy wrappers.

It’s so desertly calm, that your nails accidentally strike a chord in tune as your hands casually fall past his belt buckle...

A beautiful melody that makes his dimples grow deeper, though he still tilts his head, frowning adorably as he perpetually continues to figure things out just for the sake of figuring things out...

Yeah?

Cos, what is the motive here? As your hands do settle gently at the hem of his jeans, fingers teasingly dipping into the softness of his navel?

Hook + Pull = Gravity.

Oh, man, do you make him feel insane things? Cause you’ve been on your guard for the whole day, some goals are hard!

Are you coming ahead of all his sneaky schemes? Are you a baddie too?

Cause now you’re just holding up a higher card like you’ve been doing in every game today. Maybe you... are... on top of your game... The candy of victory is better when it’s hard...

Gravity... Your lips inch closer.

Your slightly parted lips & that parched swallow might just give Blondie a hint of how desperately you want him to melt on your tongue. And you’re over worrying about it. You even yank at his necklace.

The way his hair falls over your lashes creates a delightful distraction as your noses nearly collide. And the best you can pretend in this intimacy is filthy, “I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“Ummmmm...”

On brand! Disturbingly sexy hum that flows like honey—a sugary glaze, coating your lips in a deliciously gooey way. You’re hit with the sting & the toxin even before Jaehyun has a chance to consider kissing you or taking any steps. He smiles, he’s just that awful...

“You will.”

Alas,

the abrupt grating noise of tires screeching to a stop cuts through the dull ambience outside. A lively group seems to spill out of the truck, loud and as if they’ve just been recharged. A voice you both instantly recognize calls out, saturated with sarcasm and clearly wanting to grab ‘someone’s’ ears.

“Greeat! We’ve just rolled into ‘Losers Place!’”

What a Dullass Bullshit Scenario... for Losers.

Jaehyun scoffs lightly, giving a flimsy half-eye roll, his lips pursed in a way that shows just how unimpressed he is with the moment... Inexplicable urgency drives his body into yours one last time, likely a final act of connection.

He hadn’t even had the chance to pin your hands above your head or hold your jaw in a way that would leave you feeling completely—

There was no pulling of hair, nor did you wrap your arms around his neck to-to—

Nor did your tongue map out the crossroads on his stomach...

Or—

Clear anger paints your temple, too, each line bearing frustration... Just there’s something about keeping it a secret that bodies the danger factor, making everything feel so much more smoky and intense.

& you pout as much, nudging your nose against his as to where you feel all deprived but electrified by simply- just- doing that, softly whispering against his lips, breath all drenched,

“Do you think they know?”

Girlie, Fuck! Do you know what you do to him?

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