hii! i dont know if youve ever done fake text messages, but i really want one w skz members!!
like random ones is fine too ๐
โโ T๐ฒ๐ ๐๐ ๐/ ๐ฆ๐ธ๐!! โฆ
๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐จ: none
๐ผ/๐ฃ: this was soo out of my comfort zone but i tried my best, and also tell me why it was difficult to edit this but hope yall like itt
ยฉ 2025 @fromvarshi โง do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.
๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐จ: none!!
๐๐ช๐ข๐ข๐๐ง๐ฎ: Rookie Leon and your first date at the amusement park โ all smiles, shy touches, and fireworks.
๐ผ/๐ฃ: I'm lowk back into re2 and rookie leon got such a hold of me and sum and this jus came in my head when i was re-watching the notebook :) (these are headcanons btw, might've gotten a lil overboard) ENJOYYY!!!
Before the date
Leon has been counting down the days to your date like itโs Christmas morning.
The day is circled on his little apartment calendar with a bright red marker, he even added a tiny smiley face next to it without thinking.
Every morning when he wakes up for work, he checks the calendar like itโs some kind of lucky charm.
He's so nervous he almost considers buying a new jacket for the date, but then decides he wants you to see the real him.
Practices "casual" smiles and greetings in the mirror โ and hates himself immediately after.
As the day gets closer, his friends at the station tease him about how much he's been talking about it.
Picking You Up
Heโs fifteen minutes early but spends five of them just sitting in the car, hyping himself up.
"Okay, Leon. Youโve dealt with worse. You can survive a date."
When he sees you walk outside, his whole expression softens, like youโre the only thing in the world that matters.
Jumps out of the car so fast to open the passenger door for you, almost tripping over himself.
"Hey! You lookโ wow. Seriously. Wow." he says, scratching the back of his neck, ears burning red.
His car smells faintly like cheap car freshener and anxiety but the playlist he made has all the upbeat songs he thinks youโll like.
Keeps sneaking little glances at you while driving, grinning without even realizing it.
Roller Coasters
In line, he talks a little too much because he's nervous.
"You know, statistically, roller coasters are the safest form of thrill ride. Like... way safer than cars. Or crossing the street. Orโ"
Pretends heโs not scared at all. Total lie. His hand brushes yours and he almost offers to hold it, but chickens out at the last second.
When you both stumble off the ride, heโs laughing, pink-cheeked, brushing hair out of his eyes and panting like he just ran a marathon.
"You scream way cooler than I do," he jokes, nudging your shoulder. (He's also thinking you looked absolutely stunning in the lights.)
Carnival Games
He insists on winning you a prize.
He misses. Repeatedly.
Ends up spending way too much money trying to knock down bottles or land the stupid ball in the hoop, while muttering, "It's rigged, I swear."
When he finally wins, it's something ridiculously cheesy like a huge neon pink bear. He blushes, handing it over but you can tell heโs so proud.
Hanunted House
Talks a big game before going in.
"Donโt worry, Iโll protect you. I'm a cop, remember?"
Five seconds inside: screams at an obviously fake bat hanging from the ceiling.
Accidentally clutches your hand, hard โ then realizes and doesnโt let go, using the excuse, "Y'know, just making sure youโre safe."
Nearly decks a guy in a costume who jumps out too fast.
Afterwards, he's laughing, face flushed, rubbing the back of his neck like, "Okay. Maybe that was a little scarier than I expected."
Still insists it was for your sake that he was jumpy. (Lies.)
Mirror Maze
Disaster. Absolute disaster.
Keeps walking into mirrors and apologizing to his OWN reflection.
"Oh, sorryโ oh. Right. Mirror. Again."
You end up laughing so hard that you have to lean on a mirror to stay upright.
When you finally find him, he grabs your hand quickly, no excuses this time โ holding on like itโs the most natural thing in the world.
"Not losing you again," he says, giving you a shy little squeeze.
Food Stalls
"We need to try everything. Itโs like... a date law or something."
Absolutely gets way too excited about food.
Tries a corndog first, offering you a bite even though heโs half-eaten it already (he blushes when he realizes how unromantic that is).
Churros, deep-fried Oreos, funnel cakes, heโs getting powdered sugar everywhere but grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
Ends up with a stick of cotton candy bigger than his own head.
You tease him about how much heโs eating and he pouts, "Hey, rookie cops gotta keep their energy up."
Wipes powdered sugar off your nose with his thumb, a little too softly, then immediately looks flustered about how intimate that felt.
Fireworks
Finds the perfect spot, slightly uphill and away from the screaming kids and cotton candy stalls.
Sits down beside you on the grass, shoulder brushing yours.
As the first fireworks boom overhead, lighting up the sky in brilliant reds and golds, Leonโs eyes are on you.
You catch him staring, and he just smiles this shy, lopsided smile that feels way too honest. "Youโre way more beautiful than any of that," he says quietly, like he didnโt mean to say it out loud.
When you lean your head on his shoulder, he freezes for a second, then gently rests his head against yours, heart thundering harder than the fireworks.
He swallows hard, he knows the night's ending soon, and part of him is terrified to ruin it. But another part, the braver, dumber part of him that jumped into a haunted house for you, won't shut up: "Do it. Just do it. Sheโs right there."
He turns his head just a little, just enough to see you looking up at the sky, your face lit soft and warm by the fireworks. God, you're beautiful.
Leon clears his throat quietly, and you glance at him, smiling. It hits him like another roller coaster drop. That smile.
You're not scared. You're not uncomfortable. You're... happy.
He leans in, slow, giving you plenty of time to pull away. You don't.
When your lips finally meet, itโs so gentle, like heโs afraid you might break if heโs not careful. His hand finds yours, tentative but firm, fingers sliding through yours until you're laced together...Itโs not a practiced kiss, Itโs soft, a little awkward, noses brushing, but so real it makes his whole chest ache.
When you pull back slightly, Leonโs forehead rests lightly against yours, his eyes fluttering open. Heโs breathing a little harder, grinning so wide he canโt even pretend to play it cool.
"I've been wanting to do that since the second you got in the car," he murmurs, voice rough with nerves and sweetness. Another firework explodes overhead โ but Leon doesnโt even glance up.
Heโs looking at you. Only you.
Dropping You Off
Drives you home slowly, humming quietly to the songs on the radio.
At your doorstep, he stands there a little awkwardly, rocking on his heels.
"Tonight was amazing. Youโre... amazing." he says, voice soft, almost shy.
He wants to kiss you so bad again but chickens out at the last second, instead gently squeezing your hand.
When you step inside, he sits in his car outside your house for a minute, just smiling like a lovesick idiot, staring at the dashboard.
Late Night Text
Leon [11:47PM]: "Hey, just wanted to say thanks again. That was the best night I've had in a long time. Hope you had even half as much fun as I did. Sleep tight."
Stares at the screen, panicking, debating if he shouldโve added more emojis or less.
Then he spends the next hour lying in bed, replaying every moment and smiling into his pillow like the huge dork he is, and when he finally falls asleep with the biggest smile on his face, he's already dreaming about the second date.
โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ
ยฉ 2025 @fromvarshi โง do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.
๐๐ค๐ง๐ ๐๐ค๐ช๐ฃ๐ฉ: 1.2k
๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐จ: Jus pure love
๐๐ช๐ข๐ข๐๐ง๐ฎ: Piers returns from a brutal mission, barely holding it together. You help him come back to himself, with quiet care and the reminder that heโs not alone again.
๐ผ/๐ฃ: Hii! Ty for this req!! I have a soft spot for Piers sm and writing something for him was such a treat. Hope you enjoy this little moment of peace for him & reader๐ค๐ค
Piers barely has time to kick off his boots before youโre on him, arms wrapped around his tired shoulders, your fingers tangling into the back of his hair and showering him with kisses. He melts into the touch, letting out a low sigh thatโs equal parts exhaustion and relief.
โYou smell like shitโ you mumble into his neck.
He chuckles, the sound soft, tired. โGuess thatโs the new cologne.โ
You pull back just enough to see his face. Thereโs dried blood on his collar, a cut above his brow, bruising forming along his cheekbone.
But what gets you most is the way his eyes look, glassy, distant. Like he hasnโt really made it all the way back yet.
โHow bad was it?โ you ask quietly.
He hesitates. For a moment, itโs like heโs somewhere else entirely, back in the field, in the chaos, watching someone else fall. He swallows hard, jaw clenching.
โWe made it out. Thatโs what matters.โ
That answer would satisfy anyone else. Not you.
You reach up to brush your thumb gently over the cut above his brow. โYou donโt have to be โCaptain Nivansโ here."
His shoulders sag at that, like the words crack something inside him.
Piers leans into your touch like a man starved for it. And maybe he is. The B.S.A.A. didnโt leave him much room for softness.
โYouโre home.โ you say, quiet, like youโre not sure heโll believe it.
A long pause. Then,
โThings got bad.โ
You nod once, fingers still in his hair. โI figured.โ
Another beat. He exhales through his nose.
โThere was this moment..Everything was fucked. I didnโt think Iโd make it back.โ
You glance at him, but his eyes are somewhere else. Not here. Not yet.
โBut I kept thinking, not yet. Not until I see you again.โ
You donโt say anything. You just guide him to the couch and sit beside him, your thigh against his, grounding.
He leans into you fully now. Heavy. Real.
Thatโs enough.
You donโt press. Just hold him tighter. You know what heโs seen. What heโs done.
โLet me take care of you now,โ you say, voice soft but firm.
You help him out of the heavy tactical jacket, layers that feel more like armor than clothing. His muscles are coiled tight, tension woven deep into bruises and old scars.
He twitches beneath your touch, a reflex born of pain and habit. You press kisses to his shoulder, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
โYouโre not alone anymore,โ you murmur.
Piers exhales shakily and lets himself sink into you fully, eyes fluttering shut for the first time in what feels like days.
And for once, he doesnโt argue. Doesnโt deflect. He just lets himself be held.
You don't realize just how tense he is until you're easing him out of his shirt, the fabric peels away with quiet resistance, sticking slightly to dried blood and sweat.
He winces, but not from the pain.
You kiss the curve of his shoulder, just below a fresh scrape.
โCโmon, soldier. Let me clean you up.โ
He mumbles something under his breathโprobably a protest, but you hush him gently and lead him to the bathroom.
The overhead light flickers softly, catching the weariness in his eyes, the vulnerability he keeps locked away from the world.
You run the water, warm and slow, the steam curling into the air. Piers sits on the edge of the tub, watching you with tired eyes. He looks like heโs trying to commit the moment to memory.
โYouโre staring,โ you say, reaching for a clean washcloth
He hums. โJust... didnโt think Iโd make it back to this. Feels surreal.โ
You kneel in front of him, cupping his cheek with a wet, warm cloth, dabbing carefully at the cut above his eyebrow.
โBut youโre here now, with me.โ You stress the last part out.
โYeah,โ he murmurs, voice raw. โBut some of them arenโt.โ
There it is. The guilt. It sits in his throat like a stone.
You pause, letting the cloth rest against his skin.
โYou did what you could. I know thatโs not enough to make it easier. But itโs the truth. You fought to get them home. That matters.โ
He closes his eyes, breath hitching.
โAnd now,โ you whisper, brushing your hands against his cheeks, โlet someone fight for you for once.โ
He doesnโt answer, not with words. Just a quiet, broken sound as he leans forward and rests his forehead against your shoulder.
You hold him there, cradling the back of his head, your palm pressed flat against his spine.
After a while, you coax him into the bath, letting the water soothe away what the battlefield left behind. You sit beside him, sleeves rolled up, knees against the tiled floors, massaging shampoo through his hair with slow, gentle strokes.
He sighs like heโs never known peace before.
โYou donโt always have to be the one holding everyone else up,โ you murmur into the steam. โAtleast not when I'm here."
He doesnโt say much after that, but the way he leans into every touch, the way his hand reaches for yours beneath the water, it says enough.
โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ
Later, after heโs dried off and youโve dressed his wounds with careful hands, he eats something simple at the kitchen counter, silent, chewing slow, like every bite takes effort.
You sit across from him, your foot resting lightly against his beneath the table. Itโs quiet, but not empty.
When he finishes, you take the plate from him and nudge his knee gently.
โBed,โ you say. Just that.
He doesnโt argue. Doesnโt try, or offer some half-assed excuse to stay awake. Just follows you wordlessly, each step heavier than the last...the kind of exhaustion that lives in your bones.
Now heโs in your bed. On your side of the bed, actually. Wrapped up under the covers like itโs a shield, or maybe like itโs the only thing tethering him to here, to now, to you.
The lights are low, the kind of soft yellow that makes everything look like a memory.
You sit at the edge of the bed, brushing your fingers through his hair yet again as he blinks slow, heavy-lidded.
โMโgonna crash,โ he says, voice barely above a whisper.
You smile. โI know.โ
He reaches out, catches your wrist lightly. Doesnโt open his eyes. โStay.โ
โI wasnโt going anywhere.โ
He exhales. A soft sound. Relieved.
You crawl under the covers, and he shifts immediately, tugging you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Heโs warm. Not the heat of adrenaline or blood, just the kind of warmth that says alive.
You feel him breathe, slow and deep, like heโs finally letting go of all the noise
โYโsmell likeโฆ cookies,โ he mumbles sleepily, already halfway gone.
You snort. โYou ate three.โ
โ...Was four.โ
You laugh under your breath, fingers ghosting over the nape of his neck. โSo dramatic.โ
But he doesnโt answer.
Heโs asleep.
Just like that.
Mouth parted slightly, hand resting against your waist, the weight of his body loose and trusting and all yours
And for the first time in a while, youโre the one keeping him safe.
And if heโs safe, then maybe you can breathe too.
โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ
ยฉ 2025 @fromvarshi โง do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.
Hi love!! Can I please req some domestic Chris Redfield headcanons ? I just think this man deserves peace and a little love ๐ฅบ maybe some silly moments too
๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐จ: Established relationship and Chris being absouletly in love with reader!!
๐ผ/๐ฃ: Thank you for the req!! I love this man, and this was the perf excuse to bring out my rusty headcannons ab him๐ฃ๏ธ๐ฃ๏ธ
Heโs a walking contradiction.
Built like a tank, acts like a soldier, but loves you with this quiet, unwavering intensity. Doesnโt always know how to say what he feels, but youโll feel it in everything he does.
Overprotective, but not controlling.
He trusts you, but the world? Not so much. If you're out late, he checks in with a "you good?" text. Subtle but not overbearing. But if you donโt respond within 20 minutes? Heโs tracking your location and ready to throw hands.
The slowest burn.
Chris doesnโt fall fast. He falls hard. It took him a while to admit he liked you, and it took longer to act on it. But once you're his? Thatโs it. Youโre his anchor. His home.
Acts of service is his love language.
Not great with words. But he'll fix your shit without you asking. Change your oil. Carry you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. Make sure you eat. He doesnโt say โI love youโ as often as he should, but heโll show it every damn day.
His Nightmares.
He wonโt tell you when he has them. But youโll wake up and find him sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. All it takes is a hand on his back, and heโll lean into your touch like heโs trying to breathe again.
Tension relief = you or working out.
If heโs stressed, heโs either at the gym or dragging you to bed. Sometimes both. Rough hands, soft mouth, and a desperate need to feel something real.
He needs someone who grounds him.
Youโre the one who brings him back from the edge. The one who reminds him heโs more than what heโs lost. And even if he doesnโt say itโฆ heโs terrified of losing you.
Pillow talk is rare, but golden.
Heโs vulnerable when he's half-asleep, fingers tangled with yours, voice all gravelly. Thatโs when he tells you the stuff heโs too afraid to say in the daylight. That you make him feel safe. That you're the only thing in his life he doesn't regret.
Mornings with Chris?
Heโs up before you. Always. Sometimes itโs work, sometimes just habit. But if heโs not on duty, heโll make coffee and sit on the edge of the bed, watching you sleep with this dumb, lovesick look on his face. Occasionally whispers, โHow the hell did I get this lucky?โ
He does laundry like heโs defusing a bomb.
Follows every step exactly. Separates colors like itโs a classified mission. But once, he shrunk your favorite sweater and felt genuinely devastated about it. Bought you three new ones and wouldn't stop apologizing.
Cuddles like a furnace.
Chris sleeps hot and wraps himself around you like youโre a damn body pillow. Big arms, warm chest, hand always on your waist or under your shirt. If you try to get up, good luck, heโll grumble, pull you closer, and mumble, โFive more minutes.โ
He talks to plants like theyโre soldiers.
You bought a succulent. Chris named it โPrivate Green.โ He gives it pep talks and watering instructions like heโs briefing it for combat. You caught him saying, โYou got this, soldier,โ once. He denies it to this day.
He has a โhouse voice.โ
You know the one. Deep, a little raspy, but softened when heโs home with you. Like heโs still figuring out how to talk without shouting commands. Sometimes you catch him whispering little nothings when he thinks youโre asleep,
โYouโre the only good thing in my life.โ
โI donโt know what Iโd do without you.โ
Random forehead kisses.
You could be brushing your teeth or reaching for something on a high shelf, doesnโt matter. Heโs always sneaking in a kiss somewhere: your temple, shoulder, the top of your head. Itโs instinct for him now.
He 100% keeps a photo of you in his wallet.
Even if heโs not on active duty anymore. Itโs worn around the edges from how often heโs looked at it. Once you found it and teased him, and he said, โThat pictureโs gotten me through some of the worst days of my life.โ You never joked about it again.
Sunday mornings are sacred.
No alarms. Just tangled sheets, soft kisses, and the quiet realization that Chris Redfield, the man whoโs faced more horror than most, looks at you like youโre a miracle.
The man CANNOT cook.
He tries. God, he tries. But the moment thereโs more than two steps in a recipe, his brain short-circuits. Heโs used to structure, to orders, recipes that say โa pinch of saltโ piss him off. How much is a pinch? What does โuntil goldenโ mean? Golden like a medal? Golden like a sunset? He burns toast because he forgets it's in the toaster, too focused on watching you move around the kitchen.
Heโs a kitchen liability, but he wonโt give up. Heโs your slightly dangerous sous chef chopping veggies way too precisely.
He does push-ups in the kitchen while waiting for the microwave.
One time he bumped the counter and knocked over an entire bowl of cereal. He tried to blame it on the โuneven floor.โ It wasnโt.
He thinks TikTok food hacks are genius.
โBabe lookโthey put mac and cheese in a waffle iron.โ He says this while already plugging yours in, no warning. The house smells like regret in 5 minutes.
He makes the most atrocious smoothies.
Like spinach, protein powder, one sad banana, andโฆ chicken broth??? You took one sip and nearly cried. He drinks it like itโs holy. โItโs good for recovery.โ Sir. It tastes like betrayal.
He narrates chores like heโs in a survival game.
โDay 47. Supplies are low. The subject (u) grows restless. Moraleโฆ is questionable.โ All while doing dishes and wearing your pink โKiss the Cookโ apron.
He has something against self-checkout machines.
Every time, without fail, โUnexpected item in the bagging area.โ Chris glares at the screen like it just insulted his bloodline. โI scanned it, you piece ofโโ
Makeup shopping w/ him?
Youโre swatching concealers, trying to find the right undertone, and this man just holds out his massive hand like itโs protocol. Doesnโt even flinch. Youโre painting little lines of it across his knuckles, comparing shades, and heโs just standing there.
โWhich oneโs closest?โ โThat one looks kinda warm, do you want warm?โ
Heโs never had this kind of peace before.
And he doesnโt take a second of it for granted.
ยฉ 2025 @fromvarshi โง do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.
๐๐ค๐ง๐ ๐๐ค๐ช๐ฃ๐ฉ: 820
๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐จ: romantic tension, suggestive but SFW, post-breakup longing
๐๐ช๐ข๐ข๐๐ง๐ฎ: He said it was over, but his hands never learned how to let go. Tonight, in the dim hush of your apartment, he proves he never really left.
๐ผ/๐ฃ: I LOVE Janet Jackson and this song has been stuck in my head like crazy, i had an itch to make sum ab Leon..(NEED HIM SOOOOOO BAD)
The rain tapped steady against the windowpane, soft and unhurried, like it had nowhere else to be.
You didnโt expect anyone at this hour. Not with the rain coming down the way it was, like a lullaby meant only for you and the night.
The city outside your window was a blur of lights and wet streets. You sat by the window, a robe loosely tied at your waist, warm skin kissed by the dim glow of a lamp humming low behind you.
The candle on your table flickered lazily, wax pooling at its base, scenting the room with something soft and a little sweet like honey.
And then came the knock.
Slow and Measured. Like a memory tapping back into place.
You didnโt move at first, just sat there, heart already climbing up your throat.
The way the rain paused in its rhythm, the way your skin prickled like it remembered something before your mind could.
Still, your feet found the floor. You stepped toward the door like you were being pulled, not pushed.
And when you leaned in to peek through the peephole...
Yeah.
You already knew.
That knock wasnโt just familiar. It was his โ the one your soul had been trained to recognize in silence.
You opened the door slowly.
Leon just stood there, damp from the rain, jaw tight, eyes darker than you remembered. His shoulders were tense like he was holding something in. Maybe words. Maybe regret. Maybe the weight of all the shit he never said before walking away.
Water slid from the ends of his hair, down his jaw, dripping onto the collar of his shirt. His eyes met yours like a confession.
You remembered the last time he looked at you like that, when he said he couldnโt keep choosing between saving the world and loving you right.
You didnโt say anything.
Neither did he.
He stepped in. You let him. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, and suddenly the rain felt miles away ...just an echo outside your little world.
He was still staring at you.
Like he couldnโt believe you were real.
โYouโre drenched,โ you whispered, barely able to breathe.
โI couldnโt wait.โ
You moved past him slowly... fingers grazing the edge of his jacket as you slipped it off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a quiet thud. He let you. Watched your hands, watched the way you touched him like muscle memory, like nothing had changed.
โThought we said we wouldnโt do this again,โ you murmured.
He stepped closer.
โI lied.โ
Your breath hitched. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then lower... tracing the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, the way your robe had started to slip off one shoulder.
โIโve been thinking about you,โ he said, voice rough, low. โToo much. Too often.โ
You didnโt speak. Just reached for his shirt, fingers curling into damp cotton, tugging him gently toward the couch. The soft shuffle of your feet, the candlelight dancing between you. No rush. Just that slow, sweet tension settling deep in your bones.
He followed.
When he sat, you straddled him like it was nothing new , as if youโd done it a hundred times before. Like the ache had always been mutual.
Your hands moved to his jaw, thumbs brushing the raindrops away.
He was so warm underneath the chill, so solid under your touch. His hands landed on your hips, gentle at first , he didnโt know if he was still allowed.
โYouโre here,โ you whispered.
โI shouldnโt be.โ
โBut you are.โ
He kissed you then.
Soft at first, like he was testing a memory, then deeper, fuller, like he needed to sink into something familiar.
His lips parted against yours, tongue brushing the edge of your bottom lip, tasting you like a secret. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent.
You sighed into his kiss, soft, barely there, and felt the way his hands gripped you steady.
โStill feel the same about us?โ you asked, breath ghosting across his jaw.
โNo,โ he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck. โFeels worse now.โ
โWorse?โ
โI know what I lost.โ
Your nails pressed gently into his shoulders. His mouth returned to yours, hungrier this time. His kiss wasnโt frantic; it was deliberate, he wanted to memorize you.
The way you tasted. The sounds you made. The way your breath caught when he slid a hand under your robe and felt the heat of your skin.
You rocked against him, slow, nothing rushed. He groaned into your mouth, voice breaking like gravel soaked in syrup.
Maybe this was all you were ever good at; the in-between. The warmth between disasters. The comfort after the chaos.
He left, but he never let go. And neither did you.
There were no promises.
No apologies.
Just two people who couldnโt stay away from each other.
โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ . ใโบ ใ . โฆ
ยฉ 2025 @fromvarshi โง do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.
๐๐ค๐ง๐ ๐๐ค๐ช๐ฃ๐ฉ: 860
๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐จ: jus fluff and awkward tension
๐๐ช๐ข๐ข๐๐ง๐ฎ: It wasnโt a date, not really, just coffee after school with the boy who gets under your skin more than anyone else. It wasnโt even supposed to be a dateโat least thatโs what you kept telling yourself.
Just coffee. Just him asking you if you wanted to go after school and you saying yes as if it wasnโt a big deal.
It wasn't, right?
Still, youโd changed your outfit three times.
You get there first, which annoys you a bit because now youโre the one awkwardly pretending to scroll on your phone. But then you hear the door chime, and his voice cuts through the low cafรฉ chatter.
โHey,โ Seungmin says, stepping in with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. His hairโs a little messy, like he didnโt bother fixing it after school. Typical.
โYouโre late,โ you say, because teasing is easier than admitting your pulse just picked up.
He grins, eyes dropping to your drink. โI didnโt think youโd actually show up early.โ
โDidnโt think you would actually show up,โ you shoot back, and he lets out this breathy laugh, like he didnโt expect that.
Thereโs a pause that somehow is comfortable, weirdly enough.
He orders the same drink as you without even asking. Says itโs to test if your taste is any good. You just raise an eyebrow. He shrugs.
โYou talk a big game. Thought Iโd see if it holds up.โ
Heโs annoying. But when his knee bumps yours under the table and he doesnโt move it. Neither do you.
โSo,โ he says eventually, โare you gonna pretend this is just about โcoffeeโ the whole time?โ
You blink. โIsn't it?, You invited me afterall.โ
He smirks, leaning back in his chair a little, eyes on yours.
โSure,โ he says. โIf thatโs what helps you sleep tonight.โ
You donโt say anything right away. You just look at him, lips pressing together to hold back a smile you donโt want to give him. Not yet.
He taps his fingers on the cup, eyes still on you. โYou always stare this much?โ
You scoff. โYouโre the one staring.โ
He doesnโt deny it.
And you donโt look away.
You fall quiet again, but this time itโs diffferent... your knees still touching, drinks barely touched, the air between you feeling warmer than the coffee
He doesnโt say anything either, and you wonder if you hit a nerve.
Good.
But then he shifts, like heโs leaning closer. โYou know,โ he says, voice lower now, โI wasnโt expecting you to say yes.โ
You glance at him. โWhat, because we hate each other?โ
He shrugs. โHateโs a strong word.โ
โJust last week you called me unbearable.โ
He tilts his head. โYou were unbearable.โ
You shoot him a glare. He just smiles into his cup.
Thereโs a pause once more, even heavier this time.
โSo whyโd you ask me?โ you ask, before you can stop yourself.
He doesnโt answer right away. Just drums his fingers on the table once, twice. Then he says, without looking at you.
โโฆFigured Iโd stop wondering what itโd be like.โ
You blink. โWhat?โ
He finally meets your eyes. His gaze doesnโt waver this time.
โThis,โ he says.
You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat like you're done with this. Like your heartโs not racing. Like your leg hasnโt been bouncing under the table this whole time.
He watches you, silent for once. His fingers tap against his cup. Once. Twice.
Then he leans inโquick, no warning.
His lips hit yours fast, almost careless. Itโs not slow or soft or anything youโd imagined, if youโd even let yourself imagine it. Itโs a little rough, a little awkward, and completely out of nowhere.
His mouth is warm. You taste coffee and something like cinnamon. His hand brushes the edge of your jaw for half a second.
And then itโs over.
He pulls back like it was nothing. Like he didnโt just short-circuit your entire brain.
You stare at him. โWhat the hell was that?โ
He shrugs, casual, lifting his cup to his mouth. โCoffeeโs mid.โ
You donโt answer.
Because now all you can think about is how badly you want him to do it again.
You stare at him.
Your lips still feel the press of his. Your heart's going so loud you swear itโs echoing through the ceramic coffee mugs and clinking cutlery around you.
Heโs not even looking at you anymore, just sipping his drink like he didnโt just casually tilt your whole world off-axis.
โYouโre such an asshole,โ you mutter.
He raises an eyebrow, finally glancing at you. โBecause I kissed you?โ
โNo. Because you kissed me like that.โ
He smirks, setting his cup down. โDidnโt hear you complaining.โ
You glare, but itโs weak. Your face is hot and he knows it.
The silence stretches again, only this time itโs loaded.
โWhere did that even come fromโฆโ you start, then trail off.
โKiss you?โ he finishes for you. He tilts his head. โYeah. Me neither.โ
You snort, rolling your eyes. โGreat. Love that for us.โ
โYou do,โ he says, like he knows something you donโt. โYouโre just scared.โ
โOf what?โ
He leans in again, not to kiss you this time, just to make you look at him. His voice is low.
โOf how much you like me.โ
Yeah. You're so screwed.
ยฉ 2025 @fromvarshi โง do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere.
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
yousharknotpass
titsay
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
