#I don't know why I even typed all of this

[fireinmoonshot]

gorgeous | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: You and Joaquín go on a hike together, but Joaquín has more important things to do – like taking a million photos of you instead. Warnings: I don't think there are any. Word Count: 1k A/N: I've had this idea in my notes for a few weeks now and I just had to write it. I just love the idea of Joaquín taking photos of you all the time and having a camera roll full of them. Please enjoy! 💗

“Wait, wait, wait – hold it right there!” Joaquin exclaims, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and taking a few steps backwards from where you’re standing. 

You look at your boyfriend, amused, and shake your head as you watch him snap a few photos of you on his phone. You’d both come out for an afternoon hike, wanting to take advantage of the good weather, but it had mostly ended up with Joaquin taking a million photos of both you and the scenery rather than actually enjoying the hike..

“Has your phone storage run out yet?” You ask, walking towards him.

Joaquin squints down at his phone, trying to see the photos he’s just taken without the glare of the sun on the screen. “No,” he says, distracted. “I have room for a couple thousand more of you.”

You chuckle. “Should be full by the end of this hike, then.”

He holds out his phone to show you one of the photos of you. “I’m gonna print and frame this one to add it to my desk in the office,” he says, smiling down at the photo of you. “You look so gorgeous, as usual.”

You can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach at his words. Even after being in a relationship with him for years, he still says things that make you react this way. The fact that he says them without even really meaning to make you react makes it even better. 

Joaquin reaches down and takes your hand in his, shoving his phone back in his pocket again as he tugs you along to continue the hike. 

You’re used to this – being the model for Joaquin’s photoshoots. He’s always been the type of person to take photos in every situation. He made a folder on his phone for you not long after he became your boyfriend and it quickly filled up. He’s known for taking twenty photos of the same thing but not being able to delete any of them. Whether they’re photos of you or just photos of something he likes the look of.

“Your desk must be overcrowded by photos at this point, right?” You ask as you continue walking along the trail. “I haven’t visited you there in a while but I spotted at least six photos last time I was there. There’ll be no room for your computer soon.”

Joaquin grins. “That’s the way I like it, angel. Why would I wanna look at a computer screen all day when I can look at photos of you and my family? Especially that one of you and my mom last year. I think that’s my favourite.” 

“Hmm, maybe because looking at computer screens are part of your job?”

“Don’t remind me of that while I’m out here enjoying nature,” he laughs, tightening his grip on your hand as you walk over a particularly rocky and uneven part of the trail. 

“You say, as if you haven’t been staring at your phone screen for half of this hike.”

He smirks as he looks at you. “To be fair, what I’m looking at on that screen is better than what I look at when I’m working.”

“As if I’m not in four of the photos on your desk,” you shoot a look at him.

Joaquin laughs again, shaking his head. There is no way he’s winning this and he’s well aware of that fact. He’s more just amused at the fact that you know him so well. Looking ahead on the trail, his eyes narrow in on the perfect spot to take another photo of you. There’s a waterfall in the distance and with the way the sun is filtering through the leaves of the trees, he knows it’ll be a gorgeous photo – mostly just cause you’ll be in it.

He drags you over to the location and lets go of your hand, taking your shoulders to spin you around so you’re in the perfect position for the photo. “I know what you’re gonna say, but please just let me get this photo of you. It’s the last one, I swear.”

You decide to humour him one last time, standing there while he takes a few more photos of you. You’re not about to disappoint the man just because he wants another photo of you. You actually find it really sweet – and you always have. The fact that this man wants so many photos of you always makes your heart flutter. It shows how much he loves you.

“Where’s this one gonna go?” You ask, wandering back over to him when he’s done.

Joaquin is looking down at his phone screen again. “Right here,” he says. He shows you his phone screen – the photo he’s just taken has replaced another photo of you and is now his lock screen. You’ve been the lock screen on his phone ever since you became official.

“Aww, baby,” you coo at him, enjoying the way his cheeks flush a little. 

He reaches down to take your hand again. “Let’s keep going…”

It’s only another ten minutes or so later that Joaquin sees another spot where he’d love to take a photo of you. He spends a few minutes deciding whether or not it’s worth asking you, especially since he’d told you before that the last photo was the last photo of the hike.

“Angel,” he starts.

“Fine,” you cut him off. “But on one condition – you let me take a photo of you as well. If you get a new lock screen photo, I want one too. And I want us to take a selfie together too so I can frame it and put it on my desk at home.”

Who says Joaquin can be the only one to take photos? You’re pretty regular when it comes to taking photos of him as well, but you haven’t taken any of him on this hike simply because you’ve been the one being photographed the whole time. It’s Joaquin’s turn to stand in front of your camera for once.

Joaquin can’t help but grin. “You’ve got yourself a deal, gorgeous.”

[peachylynnie]

what jewelry they like on you

word count: ~300-400 per lead contains: lads men x non!mc reader, established relationship, they all adore you, jewelry descriptions, fluff, suggestive themes (sylus, rafayel, and caleb), and did i mention fluff? make it toothrotting. a/n: it's midterm season so headcanons it is. again, these are headcanons so i'm not saying i'm right. just my silly little interpretations. inspired by my impulsive buy of a bracelet the other day. no, my wallet hasn't recovered. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! tagged: @vvintqz (a little headcanon for xavier, lmk if u want me to stop tagging) lads masterlist

sylus

necklaces all the way

has a preference for silver chains with red or black charms

it's his signature colors on your pretty neck

loves it even more when the charm rests between your collarbones

if you want his nose to bleed, wear a long necklace

yes, the one that goes all the way down to your chest

but if you really want to get him going

wear a choker

doesn't even have to be a chain type or have charms

if it's a choker, he'll fold, like dogs to a bone

you can't blame him

it enticingly accentuates the rest of your neck and collarbones, the two places he likes to leave marks on

don't worry if you're hypoallergenic (like me)

he only ever gets you the finest of materials, even if you point out the cost

not that you mind or anything

"sylus," you whine.

you're going to be late. again. all because of this silver-haired man who's refusing to leave your neck alone.

"sylus!" you gasp when he tugs down the choker, his dewy lips taking advantage of the newly exposed spot.

you're starting to regret wearing a choker (not really). you thought it went well with your outfit. and it did! it added a little pop to your look, and you were excited to wear it for the first time in a while.

"hey!" you squirm in his embrace when you feel the poke of his teeth. "no marks!"

"does it really matter, sweetie?" he asks nonchalantly before continuing his assault on your neck. he loves how his tongue occasionally meets with the smooth fabric of your choker. "this," he tugs on it some more, eliciting a soft whimper from you. "will cover them."

sighing, you make a mental note to apologize to your friends for being late when you meet them.

xavier

earrings

especially studs or the mini drop ones that come in cute graphic designs.

there's just something about the way the adorable little charms hang from your ears

really, he thinks they complement your face shape

and he loves to cup your face whenever

but when you wear the ones that are star-themed

he's looking at you as if you're the one who hung them up in the night sky

seriously, he's never seen anything more beautiful

it also strokes his jealousy (?) in a way (cuz yk he's all abt the stars)

but that's worth like...less than 1% of the experience

he just really loves seeing you wear them

don't worry if your ears aren't pierced

clip-ons are a thing, and he'll make sure to get that ones that are both high quality and comfortable

he also loves watching you put them on

his cheeks hurt from smiling too much. he tries to cover his rosy face when you lean towards the mirror.

you're adjusting the backing of your new star stud. furrowing your brows, you tilt your head to the side for a better look.

xavier swears he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life. here you are, making something so simple as adjusting an earring look so skillful and charming.

"done!" you secure the backing and spin around to show your boyfriend. "what do you think?"

"yeah," he nods softly. "i think you're glowing."

you giggle and embrace him tightly.

"thanks for surprising me with them," you chirp, peering up at him.

the stars on your ears shine. no different from your eyes.

"anything for you, starlight," he whispers, stroking your cheek with a thumb. "anything for you."

rafayel

bracelets

listen

we all know this man is a FIEND for our hands

i may not have all of his five-star cards

but tell me why it is that in all the ones i have, he's YEARNING for our hands at some point

jumps at every chance to help you put one on

has a thing for cuff bracelets

like the metal swirly ones that hold a jewel in the middle

they exude the sense of royalty in a way (he's a god so)

most definitely has designed some for you too

and by some, i mean numerous

what's really heartwarming about that though is that he collects the materials himself

the amount of seashells he has preserved for you

but back to him being down bad for our hands

there's something about the way cuff accompanies the bare skin of your wrist and gently presses against your pulse

he's in heaven whenever he nuzzles against your wrist and feels the cool metal graze his heated skin.

"wait," you squint at the bracelet rafayel just secured around your wrist. "did you design this?"

"yup," he answers with a puffed chest. "good eye, cutie. how'd you know?"

you roll your eyes lovingly.

"first of all, i'm your partner, raf." turning your wrist, you admire the intricate swirls of the cuff. "second of all, your works normally have a trademark."

"oh?" he grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, his lips already tracing your wrist. "and what would that be?"

you try not to shudder when his siren eyes meet yours.

"isn't this from one of your lemuria collections?" you shakily gesture towards the sapphire seashell crested on top. "you always reference lemuria in your works, right?"

"wrong," his tongue darts out, savoring your quickened pulse as punishment for your incorrect answer. "it's not just lemuria i always reference in my works."

he tightens the cuff.

"it's you, cutie."

zayne

rings

he loves the subtlety of them

especially the ones made out of thinner bands

they bring out the beauty of your fingers

he loves the way they shine whenever you move your hands too

let's say the two of you are at a cafe

sitting across from each other and reading novels

except he gets distracted (in a good way) whenever your flip a page

your ring glimmers in the sunlight that's peeking through the window

oh wow, not only is there a halo over your head, there's a halo around your finger too

he can't help but reach out at some point

and trace your left ring finger

imagining what it would be like to gift you one

a simple one that conveys an impactful message

one he hopes you'll say yes to

and bound not only both his and your left ring fingers

but also your souls to each other

"zayne? are you alright?"

he snaps out of his thoughts, lifting his chin from his palm.

"sorry," he apologizes as smoothly as he can. "could you repeat that?"

you smile endearingly. his heart beats rapidly.

"i asked if you were alright."

"yes," he answers before clearing his throat. "yes, of course. why?"

"oh, it's just," you giggle. "you're still tracing my finger."

zayne immediately retracts his hand.

"sorry," he apologizes again. this time profusely. "did i make you uncomfortable?"

"no, no," you immediately reassure. "i liked it. it's just you were doing it for a while..." you pause before continuing. "i thought you were checking for dead skin or something."

zayne blinks.

"you thought i was checking for dead skin?" he repeats incredulously.

you nod slowly. now it's your turn to be flustered.

at that, he chuckles with a shake of his head and returns to tracing your left finger, ignoring your amusing assurances about how you always wash your hands thoroughly.

yes, he's most definitely going to marry you.

caleb

anklets

this totally wasn't inspired by that one scene in the main story where he pins our leg down with his evol

nope not at all

i don't know what you're talking about

he likes the ones that come with dangly charms

this is because he can hear you whenever you move

interpret that however you want

but really, he loves how the sound gets louder and louder

because that means you're moving TOWARDS him

he wants to gift you a whole bunch of charms

specifically apple and sky themed

it's over for him if you wear it while your legs are exposed

that man is on the floor, his hands haphazardly roaming up and down your bare skin

and when he notices the anklet with the charms that he gifted?

it's over for you

his fingers are slipping underneath the anklet, wrapping around your ankle, and pulling you to him

where's his face at?

uhhhhh

you're trying to control your breathing. you really are. but it's hard to when there's a man, an incredibly gorgeous one with lavender eyes deep enough to engulf you whole, settled in front of you, specifically in between your legs.

thankfully (not really), he hasn't done anything yet. he's just kneeling there with his metal fingers snaked around your ankle and his eyes transfixed on the anklet you decided to wear.

"uhm," you start, nervously shifting on the couch. "is there something wrong with my ankle, caleb?"

he finally looks at you. you can't tell if he's angry. definitely not with your foot resting against his broad shoulder.

"nothing's wrong, pips." he speaks after an eternity.

you sigh in relief. eager to get out of this compromising position, you try to put your foot down. keyword: try.

"caleb, what-"

"when did you put the charm on?"

"oh, uh," you notice him looking at the anklet again, but more at the apple charm. it has a snake coiled around it. "a while ago? i think as soon as you gave it to me."

he breathes in sharply.

you think it's over when he releases you. you're proven wrong when he grabs both of your ankles and drags you to the end of the couch, his chin dangerously close to your core.

"you really don't make it easy for me, pips."

[crowwolf]

@vera-king-hrfl - the definition of distraction...

Ok - picture this - tiny 4'11", 90 lbs of elf/fey petite woman who has orc green skin (light), dark green/with lighter green mixed in hair, completely black eyes (sclera, irises), a penchant for large devilkin, sarcasm for days, and a big ass shadow dire wolf.

what will your character be like if they were in your shoes?

They'd be angry all the time...wondering how the fuck they got stuck in my life. She'd hate it.

is your oc the mom friend or the dad or the childish one in their friendgroup ?

HAHAHAHAHA 100% childish, but ready to throw down like a momma bear.

do those "poet, king, soldier" quiz for your oc. im being fr

I used this quiz https://www.quotev.com/quiz/16869551/Soldier-Poet-King/

do the "36 questions to fall in love" quiz as your oc.

A VERY Kitalia response to this would be - not a fucking chance. I had one look at it and my unmedicated ADHD went...uhhhhh....Kit would be the same.

ik your ocs trauma have an impact on their character, but how would they be like, if they hadn't gone through that experience?

It had a massive impact on her entire being. If she hadn't gone through it, she'd probably have been a lawful neutral/neutral good being instead of the complete chaos gremlin she is.

does your oc have similar tastes as you do? (music, art, fashion, coffee/tea etctetc)

Nope! Well, some, but mostly no. She will not ingest any mind altering substances, but she does love a good chai. Her music taste are extremely varied - so that is similar to me. She has zero love of fashion and only dresses fashionable when others make her/ask her nicely lol! Art - meh. She lived history, why would she want to read about it. Speaking of reading, aside from being very intelligent - she never learned to read. Her life was chaos and, even though she a few hundred years old, she focused on language and music and SURVIVING over reading.

will they "i only live once so I'll do it for the plot." or will they "i only live once ffs, i don't wanna die." ?

Kit's more - I'll live a long fucking time and can't die so LET'S DO THIS!

what is your ocs opinion of love? how is/was their love life on a scale of 1-10?

Kitalia loves the idea of love, but has an extremely low opinion of herself, so ends up with a dude who is a mother fucker, until she find the guy that treats her like the princess she is. So her sex life is a 10 - wildly a 10...her love life...eh...3 until princess dude then an 8 (nothing's perfect, except the sex).

will your oc let go of someone precious to them when they know they're putting them at danger?

Always. She would sacrifice herself a million times over to save those she loves and would never let them know because she'd die if something happened to them.

around whom does your oc lets their guard down?

@vera-king-hrfl's Oc Ryldinn in the modern AU. Damays later on, Raphael. In BG3 verse Vera's OC Max the orc!

are they romantically constipated or a hopeless romantic?

She's a bit of both. Can't say the words outright unless it's life or death (nearly), but lavishes the romance on the ones she loves.

what type of music does ur oc like?

All music - she's a bard in BG3 (well part bard) and a DJ in mordern AU - she loves music.

write a lot about your oc if you're struggling to get to know them. find a drabble prompt, and write what they'd do.

uh....not today.

do they trust others easily or do they get trusted by others easily?

Absolutely not. It takes forever for her to trust. She only trust Ryl in modern AU after following him around and learning more about him (much to his surprise). She isn't easily trusted either. Her eyes freak people out.

what is something your oc will never talk to anyone about? (their answer can be deep, like some emo trauma or like smthng like back when they shit their pants or smthng yk)

Her trauma - it started at birth with her mother viciously rejecting her (literally as a newborn), carried on to witnessing the murder of her father and subsequent abduction/enslavement to the murderer. Long life, lots of awful shit.

do they give off golden retriever energy, or a black cat energy? (or both?)

Black cat 100%

what will THEIR opinion be on YOUR current life? will they be ur friend? will they trust you?

They would trust me but only cause my life is such utter banality and chaos that she'd know I'd have nothing to hide or reason to betray her. She'd be that one fun aunt friend.

will your oc survive in a fantasy setting, a war setting, a dystopian setting, a futuristic setting, a medieval setting? will ur oc survive after getting stranded on an island, or a forest?

Kitalia has extremely good survival skills that have been honed for a few centuries of off and on again homelessness. She had to learn to hide extremely well, to the point that even a drow couldn't find her. She a survivor, whether she wants to or not.

does your oc like their parents, do they like how their life is, do they feel like they're born in the right gen?

HATES her mother (to be fair, Mother has tried to kill her). She can't remember her dad, but he was a good man. She's ambivalent about her life. It is what it is.

if they are ever to get one wish definitely granted, what would they wish for?

To no longer be afraid.

how did they react to their first kiss? (if they have had it by now lmao)

wellll...first voluntary kiss - shocked and pleasantly surprised.

what's an ideal day for your oc?

Sitting in a peaceful wood, with Hexxus nearby, her head in the lap of her beloved while being read to. Just at ease and unafraid.

lastly, who does your oc go to when they've fucked up?

In modern AU, Ryldinn or Raphael. In BG3, Max or Astarion cause he can cope with her chaos.

How to get to know your characters better?

(feel free to add your own thoughts to this list, hope it helps!) req by @miricalebabyy44 <3

what will your character be like if they were in your shoes?

is your oc the mom friend or the dad or the childish one in their friendgroup ?

do those "poet, king, soldier" quiz for your oc. im being fr

do the "36 questions to fall in love" quiz as your oc.

ik your ocs trauma have an impact on their character, but how would they be like, if they hadn't gone through that experience?

does your oc have similar tastes as you do? (music, art, fashion, coffee/tea etctetc)

will they "i only live once so I'll do it for the plot." or will they "i only live once ffs, i don't wanna die." ?

what is your ocs opinion of love? how is/was their love life on a scale of 1-10?

will your oc let go of someone precious to them when they know they're putting them at danger?

around whom does your oc lets their guard down?

are they romantically constipated or a hopeless romantic?

what type of music does ur oc like?

write a lot about your oc if you're struggling to get to know them. find a drabble prompt, and write what they'd do.

do they trust others easily or do they get trusted by others easily?

what is something your oc will never talk to anyone about? (their answer can be deep, like some emo trauma or like smthng like back when they shit their pants or smthng yk)

do they give off golden retriever energy, or a black cat energy? (or both?)

what will THEIR opinion be on YOUR current life? will they be ur friend? will they trust you?

will your oc survive in a fantasy setting, a war setting, a dystopian setting, a futuristic setting, a medieval setting? will ur oc survive after getting stranded on an island, or a forest?

does your oc like their parents, do they like how their life is, do they feel like they're born in the right gen?

if they are ever to get one wish definitely granted, what would they wish for?

how did they react to their first kiss? (if they have had it by now lmao)

what's an ideal day for your oc?

lastly, who does your oc go to when they've fucked up?

[ladyfocalors]

Trappola's Guide To Winning (Your Heart)

summary: Ace overhears that you have a crush on someone, and for whatever reason, it bothers him. His solution? Offering to "help" you impress your crush, all while acting like he doesn’t care. His advice is half-serious and half-sabotage, but as time goes on, you notice his mood shifting.

pairing: ace trappola x gn!reader

warnings: miscommunication(?).

word count: 2.3k

ace trappola time! he is such a lying liar and a big denier. writing him was a bit tricky so i went a bit with my gut here. i will just have keep writing/reading about him until i get it! also thank you so much for the love on the riddle fic. i promise i read all your replies and reblogs! they make my day <3

Ace Trappola wasn’t the type to get so hung up on things (that was debatable). So when he overheard you telling Deuce and Grim that you had a crush on someone, he should’ve just let it go.

But he didn't.

"You have a crush?" he had repeated, standing behind you with his arms crossed.

"Were you eavesdropping?" You had turned around, startled.

"Not my fault you were talking so loud," he had shot back, avoiding the question. "Who is it?"

You had pressed your lips together, glancing at Deuce and Grim for help. Grim just cackled and said, "Why do you care? You jealous or somethin', Ace?"

Great question. Why does he care? And no, he was not jealous. Imagine being jealous of an idiot you liked! (He actually didn't know why he cared. Maybe because he was curious. Yeah. That was it.)

"I don't," Ace lied immediately. "I'm just shocked, that's all. I mean, really, Prefect? I thought you had better taste."

You narrowed your eyes. "You don't even know who it is."

"Exactly!" Ace threw up his hands. "I'm already questioning your judgment. What’s so great about this mystery person anyway?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I don't know. They’re just… fun to be around, I guess. They always know how to make me laugh."

"Sounds like an idiot." Ace scoffed.

"I like idiots."

Ace scoffed but found himself momentarily stunned into silence. That was the kind of thing people said when they were absolutely down bad, wasn’t it? His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Gross.

"Prefect, you should just ignore him," Deuce advised, probably sensing trouble. "He's just messing with you."

Ace was messing with you, sure. But also, not really. Kind of. His stomach was twisting in an unfamiliar way, a strange discomfort settling into his chest. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Why did you have to go have a crush? Most importantly, why did he feel like he was losing to someone?

But he was Ace Trappola, and Ace Trappola didn’t lose. Not even to some mystery crush of yours. So he grinned, masking whatever this weird feeling he didn't want to feel was, and said, "Well, whoever it is, you’re in luck. Because, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m willing to help you win them over."

You gave him a questioning look. "Kindness? You sound like the Headmage with that talk."

"That hurts, Prefect. Comparing me to Crowley of all people?" Ace looked very offended.

"Well, forgive me for not trusting your kindness."

"Wow. No faith in me at all, huh?"

"Yeah, ‘cause you're totally not up to something shady." Grim snickered.

Ace shot Grim a withering look before turning to you. "Listen, I'm a romantic genius. Who better to help than me?"

You gave him a flat look. "I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head."

"Wrong," Ace said, leaning in with a grin. "You won't find better advice anywhere else."

"Okay, fine. I will take your so-called advice." You said with a defeated sigh.

Ace had won. Well, sort of.

Winning would be getting you to drop this whole crush thing entirely—something he was starting to want more and more as each minute passed. But for now, he’d settle for the next best thing: being the one you turned to for help.

That meant he had the advantage. That meant he could steer this however he wanted.

(And definitely not in the direction of some other loser getting your attention.)

"Alright, first things first: you gotta get their attention." Ace said, laying on your couch as you busied yourself with assignments, while Deuce peeked at your notes and Grim laid flat on the bed. "Make them notice you. You know, stand out."

You frowned at his words. "I feel like I already stand out. I'm the only magicless student in the whole school."

Ace waved that off. "Yeah, but that’s not the right kind of standing out. Make them curious about you. And you make them jealous."

"What?"

"You heard me." Ace said, tilting his head smugly. "Nothing gets people to realize their feelings faster than a little jealousy. Trust me, works every time."

Deuce looked dubious. "That sounds kind of–"

"–like bad advice?" you finished.

Ace scoffed, sitting up on the couch now. "C’mon, it’s basic psychology. If they see you getting cosy with someone else, they’ll start thinking, ‘Oh no, I’m gonna lose them!’ and boom, feelings unlocked."

"And how’s the Prefect s’posed to do that, huh?" Grim asked.

Ace shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe flirt with someone cool and charming." His grin widened. "Like me, for example."

You felt uneasy. It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Ace didn’t know he was your crush, which meant you had no right to be upset. Still, hearing him offer you advice even if it sounded terrible and also offer himself so casually made your stomach sink.

You forced a laugh. "How noble of you to volunteer."

"What can I say?" Ace grinned. "I’m a giver."

Deuce frowned. "I don’t think lying is the best way to-"

"Okay, okay, plan B then," Ace cut in. "You should act a little harder to get."

"Harder to get?" you repeated.

"Yeah. Make them work for it." Ace leaned forward with an amused glint in his eye. "I mean, you’re not easy, right?"

Grim made a noise of disgust, and Deuce turned pink. "Ace, that sounds–!"

"I mean personality-wise, you weirdos," Ace huffed, cutting Deuce off for the umpteenth time. "Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter."

Ace ignored him and then turned to you. "But yeah, you should be a little distant. Y’know, act like you don’t care too much."

Act like you don't care too much. The words echoed in your mind. If he liked you, he would be jealous and wouldn't try to help you. Right?

It was fine. You would just take his advice and use it on him. After all, he was your crush. And if he really didn’t feel the same way, then at least you’d have your answer.

For the next few days, you followed Ace’s advice to the dot.

And Ace didn’t catch on. At first.

You made sure to get his attention, like he had said. Not in an over-the-top way, which would be very weird for you, but just enough to throw him off. Like sitting next to Deuce more often during lunch. Smiling a little too enthusiastically at other people. Being just out of reach whenever Ace tried to tug you into whatever ridiculous scheme he had cooking up that day. When he complained, you shrugged and told him, "I’m busy, Ace."

"Oh, busy now, huh?" Ace had scoffed, but he didn’t seem too bothered. Not yet.

The jealousy part took a little more effort, mostly because you weren’t great at flirting and Grim had outright refused to help you with any ideas, calling the whole thing "a pathetic excuse for a love scheme." But you had to be committed to the bit, so you pushed on, casually dropping compliments around Ace—never to him but always near him.

"Deuce, your hair looks nice."

"Jack is really strong, don't you think?"

"Isn't Silver so pretty? He looks like a prince."

Ace didn’t think much of it at first.

Well, he thought about it, but not in the way that meant anything. It was just weird, that’s all. A little annoying. Maybe a tiny bit irritating. But not because it bothered him. No, he wasn’t one of those weirdos who got all jealous just because their best friend was paying attention to other people. That would be ridiculous.

It was just that… who even complimented Deuce’s hair? Deuce had the most normal hair. And Jack? Sure, the guy was strong, but you sounded way too impressed about it. And Silver? Pretty? Like a prince? Okay, maybe, but why did you have to say it out loud?

And why were you so out of reach?

It wasn’t a huge difference, not really. Just enough that made him confused. He’d reach for your sleeve to drag you somewhere, and you’d slip away with some excuse. He’d call your name, and sometimes you’d brush him off.

It didn't matter, he told himself. (He told himself a lot of things lately.)

Things didn't change until Deuce had to smack him (not physically) out of the denial phase.

"You’re so obvious."

Ace blinked out of his daydreams. "What?"

Deuce stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive, which Ace took immediate offense to. He was not dumb. He just… hadn’t figured out whatever Deuce was talking about yet. Which wasn’t his fault, obviously.

"You like them," Deuce said, as if that explained anything.

Ace scoffed. "Duh, I like them. The Prefect is my friend."

"How do you know I was talking about the Prefect?"

Oh… crap. When did Deuce get so smart?

"Because who else would you be talking about?" He tried to play it off, but the heat rising to his face betrayed him. "You’re making weird assumptions, Deuce."

"You like them," Deuce repeated.

Ace let out a sharp laugh, crossing his arms. "You're insane. I don't, I helped them. With their crush. You think I'd do that if I actually liked them?"

Deuce gave him a long, exasperated look, then exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Let’s say you don't like them. Then explain why you have been sulking so much and acting so bothered?"

"I am not!"

"You nearly bit my head off when they complimented my hair."

"Well, maybe I don’t like lying," Ace shot back. "Your hair is just hair, Deuce."

Deuce’s eye twitched.

"And anyway," Ace went on, louder, "you’re ignoring the important part here. The Prefect has a crush. Not on me. So whatever you’re implying is wrong."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Ace burst out. "What happened to backing up your friends?"

"You’ve been helping them impress their crush, right?" Deuce asked. "Then why does all your advice sound like sabotage?"

"That’s not–" Ace began, then stopped. The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, unwilling to come out, because… well.

He liked you.

Ace felt the world shift uncomfortably. That gross twisting in his stomach he had been ignoring for days? The irrational irritation every time you looked at someone else for too long? The fact that he had been so convinced that you having a crush was some sort of personal loss?

Everything made sense now.

"This is bad." he stuffed his hand into his pocket, turned on his heel and left his dorm, setting off on a long, aimless walk. Maybe fresh air would clear his head. Maybe it would make this realization feel less like a punch.

You didn't like him. You never told him who you liked and he was so caught up in denial that he didn't even bothered you to ask.

No, no. That wasn't fair. He liked you and made you follow his terrible advice (you didn't have to but you did). He already came so far and he didn't want to pretend he didn't like you.

The least he could do was be honest with you.

And, Ace Trappola wasn't a coward.

(Okay, maybe he was. A little. But not about this. Not about you.)

So after what was possibly the longest walk of his life, he turned back toward Ramshackle, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Ace had already spent enough time being an idiot. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

You had just finished dealing with Grim’s latest round of whining about dinner when a knock at the door made you pause.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Grim was still sulking about his empty stomach, so with a sigh, you moved to open the door, only to be met with the last person you expected.

"Uh," you started. "Are you in trouble with Riddle–"

"I like you." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He looked vaguely horrified, like he hadn’t planned on saying it so fast. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. "Like, really like you."

You froze at the admission.

Ace sighed but continued. "Look, I get it, okay? You like someone else, and I already dug my own grave, but I had to tell you. Because, because if I didn’t, I’d be lying, and it sucks, and–"

"Ace–"

"–I mean, I probably made things worse by trying to help you and made you follow bad advice, which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and–"

"ACE!"

He finally shut up.

You exhaled, heartbeat loud in your ears. "You are my crush. I used your advice on you, idiot."

He stared at you, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Huh?" he said, very eloquently.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. You moved ahead to pull him in a hug. He immediately froze, standing stiff as a board. It took a few seconds for his brain to finally catch up to him and he returned your hug with a laugh.

"So all of that–"

"–was me following your advice." you finished his sentence, pulling back enough to look at his face. "You sabotaged yourself without realising it."

Ace groaned dramatically, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I played myself. I actually played myself!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "But at least now you know I like you back?"

Ace looked at you, then his usual cocky grin came back to his face. His hands settled awkwardly on your arms. "Yeah… yeah! Of course you like me. Who wouldn't fall me?"

You smacked his arms away. "Don't get too smug about it. Just be grateful I like idiots."

He could only smile at you, happy to have you back again.

He felt lighter, his heart fluttering with joy.

© ladyfocalors

[enwoso]

How about a lovie angst where harrison kinda breaks alessias teust and does somerhing she wouldnt approve of? x

FRACTURED | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

alessia had always been cautious when it came to harrison, she was still a little wary. but she had no choice but to co-parent with him now that you knew about him and you wanted have your dad apart of your life.

but trusting him was still the main reason why alessia was wary as he hadn't fully earned that badge yet.

alessia was sitting on the couch, unwinding after training. you'd having been with harrison since yesterday afternoon when he’d picked you up from nursery. it being his night, for you to stay at his for the night.

something alessia was still trying her best to get used to.

it still being early days since harrison was able to have you for long periods of time without alessia being present and she'd be lying if she said she didn't have a heavy heart every time you weren't with her.

but so far harrison had been trying really hard to not mess up and it did make alessia happy to see but he still had a long way to go until she trusted him fully.

alessia being just  about to move from the comfort of her couch and make herself some dinner before you got home a little later on, her phone buzzed.

glancing quickly at it, expecting it to be from one of the girls maybe making plans for after the game but the second she glanced at the name and saw harrison's name flash across the screen, her stomach dropped slightly.

harrison | ‘less, can you call me. please.’

her heart thudded against her ribs just that little bit faster as she sat up straighter, her fingers tightening around the phone.

harrison | ‘i don't think it's a big deal but i feel i should probably let you know’

that alone was enough. his uncertainty in her voice was enough to send a sharp bolt of unease through her entire body.

harrison | ‘she's fine, i swear. we’ve had a great day. just need to talk to you. maybe face to face is better.’

a shiver ran through her entire body. she's fine. no, no he wouldn't be saying that unless there was something to not be fine about.

alessia didn't hesitate, shooting up from the couch grabbing her keys with shaking hands. kyra who had been lounging on the opposite end of the couch, immediately sitting up her brows furrowing, "less, what's wrong?"

alessia didn't even stop to explain, too busy shoving her feet into her runners, "harrison, that's what wrong."

kyra was up in an instant, already grabbing her own jacket, "right, let's go."

the drive to harrison's apartment was suffocating, alessia driving in silence, jaw clenched as her fingers tapped against the steering wheel impatiently. kyra knowing better than to try and lighten the mood with a joke, so she just sat tight lipped.

"you want me to come in with you?" she asked when they pulled up outside harrison's place.

alessia shook her head firmly, "no, i'll be okay." kyra hesitated before nodding, "i'll wait here, just in case you need backup"

alessia didn't bother responding—she was already halfway out of the car.

—

harrison barely had time to even register who it was at the door before alessia was shoving past him into the flat, her eyes scanning the room frantically.

you were curled up on the couch, your tiny frame being swallowed by a hoodie that was far too big for you. your hair all tangled and your face puffy from exhaustion but other than that you were unharmed.

alessia let out a shaky breath, just enough to stop her heart from hammering out of her chest, but relief was short-lived.

"mummy?" your voice was small, groggy as you looked up at alessia as she forced a smile moving to crouch down in front of you. "hey lovie, you okay?"

you nodded, rubbing at your eyes. "daddy let me stay up really, really late! we watched loads of movies, and then we went to see uncle jamie!"

silence. the kind that made alessia's blood run cold. jamie. well he was just not the type of person you wanted around your kids. he wasn't to be trusted.

alessia remembers the first time she met him, back in the states the boy staring an argument with a harmless stranger cause in his eyes he looked at jamie funny. alessia didn't like him, and she certainly didn't want her daughter around him and his activities.

harrison shifted behind her, clearing his throat. "less—" alessia stood slowly, turning to face him. "you what?"

harrison had the audacity to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "we went to see jamie, i didn't think it would be a big deal."

"not a big deal?" alessia repeated, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "you took our daughter to see your brother—without asking me?"

harrion sighed, exasperated he could see just why alessia was so upset about it. "less, he's my family."

alessia let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "family? you mean the same brother who's been arrested more times than i can count? the same one who drinks himself stupid and picks fights for fun? that jamie?"

"he's not like that around kids," harrison argued, but even he didn't sound too convinced.

"you don't know that, you don't know how he's gonna be from hour to hour." alessia snapped. "because you don't know him anymore. and you sure as hell don't get to use our daughter as some kind of excuse for a bonding experience with him."

harrison's jaw clenched. "she is my daughter too, alessia."

"then start acting like it!" alessia's voice cracked, her hands shaking, alessia seeing nothing but anger. "because a real father doesn't make reckless decisions and then text me after the fact like it's nothing. a real father thinks before he acts. a real father asks before putting his child in a situation that could be dangerous."

harrison exhaled heavily, his hands moving to his hips. "ok, i made a mistake, alright. but nothing happened. she's fine, she's happy."

"that's not the point haz!" alessia's voice broke, and for a second, the anger slipped, replaced by something far more painful. "you just don't get it, do you? you weren't there. you weren't there when i was pregnant, when i was terrified and alone. you weren't there when i held her for the first time and promised to keep her safe. you left, harrison. and now you think you can just walk back in and do whatever you want? like none of that ever even happened?"

harrison's face paled, his mouth opening, but no words came out. the past truly starting to catch up on him, quicker than he could imagine as he'd spent years trying to get rid of it.

"you haven't earned my trust," alessia continued, quieter this time, but no less sharp in the way she spoke. "and you sure as hell haven't earned the right to make decisions for her on your own. not without consulting me beforehand"

you watched them with wide eyes from the couch, your little fingers gripping the fabric of the hoodie as you tried so hard to concentrate on the film on the screen. alessia swallowing hard, forcing herself to pull it together.

she turned back to you, kneeling down again. "lovie, go and grab your things, okay? i think it's time to go home."

you hesitated, glancing at your daddy before nodding. "okay, mummy." you slid off the couch and padded towards your bag, your small frame weighed down by exhaustion.

alessia turned back to harrison, her voice dangerously low. "if you ever, ever do something like this again, i swear to god, you will not be seeing her without me there. do you understand me?"

harrison nodded slowly, guilt flashing across his face. "loud and clear."

you returned with your tiny backpack slung over your shoulders, your stuffed esme the elephant clutched tightly in your arms as you looked up at your daddy with tired eyes. "bye, daddy. i love you."

harrison's expression softened instantly just at the innocence of your words. he crouched down, opening his arms. "come here, little one."

alessia's body tensed. she wanted to tell you no. she wanted to scoop you up and walk out without looking back. but she knew that would only hurt you more, and no matter how angry she was at harrison, she couldn't do that to their daughter. so instead with a deep breath, she gave a small nod.

you didn't hesitate, stepping into your daddy's arms. harrison holding you tightly as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. his eyes shut, as his grip lingered just a second too long, like he was afraid to let go.

"i love you, princess," he murmured against your curls. "you'll always be my little girl, okay?"

you pulled back slightly, your tiny hands resting on his shoulders. "promise?"

harrison swallowed hard, nodding. "promise."

alessia looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. because promises weren't something harrion had ever been good at keeping. but for your sake, she hoped—just this once—he meant it.

[ddejavvu]

hii i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something with bassist!remus where hes like suuper flirty with reader in the backstage and the rest of the boys sort of tease him😭😭 tysm💗💗💗

Remus is typically the strong, silent type on stage, much preferring a stony expression to the goo-goo eyes James makes at whoever takes their top off in the pit. After all, he's taken, and his detachment from their band's rather forward fanbase has led to conclusions that he's not exactly Mr. Romance.

But five minutes before he'd been bathed in stage lighting he'd been slouched forwards in his chair, your lithe hands trailing feather-light lines across his back. He's wearing a t-shirt, not a lazy outfit choice but a simple one, and the points of your nails feel heavenly through the thin fabric.

"Lower." He commands, gently, kindly, but still a command, and he arches forwards in his seat to let your nails scrape lower towards his waistband.

He groans as you scratch lightly near the base of his spine, and you're surprised that his right leg doesn't shoot out from under the chair like a particularly happy dog's.

"That's it." He mumbles, letting you scratch the rest of his itch before he straightens in his seat, "Y'know my back's always itchy when you're not here before a show? Three hours on stage with an itchy back, 's murder."

"Sirius could itch it. He's got nice nails."

"No. He'd try to lift my shirt up and flash the audience. Can't have the masses seeing my abs, y'know."

"'Cause they're mine." You conclude, nodding thoughtfully, "Will you lift your shirt up and flash me?"

"Here? In front of all the lighting and sound guys?" He gestures to the gaggle of technicians all proceeding with last-minute prep for the show, "That's pretty racy. Sort of defeats the whole point of keeping them to yourself."

"Later, at home." You bargain, "Please?"

Fans' voices kick up from beyond the stage, meaning the lights have gone off and Sirius, James, and Remus needs to get out there before a riot breaks out. You grab hold of Remus's hand, though, waiting until he gives in with an amused smirk, "Fine. I'll take off my shirt for you later."

"Good luck." You release him, squeezing his hand once before doing so, "I'll be watching."

You are watching, and Sirius knows that, which is surely why he calls attention to your boyfriend mere minutes into their set, "We all heard you cheer extra loud for Remus, you traitors. I'll have you know he's not as dark and brooding as he seems. Jus' promised his lady backstage that he'd be stripping for her later."

"Yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger," James laughs, a deep chuckle that's barely heard over the instant rise in volume from the crowd, "Mr. Mystery over here was begging for a back scratch not ten minutes ago."

You don't need to be up close and personal to Remus to notice the rouge suddenly flaring over his cheekbones, but to his credit his face is still set in a confident smirk. He takes it like a champ, even though you're sure he's dying inside as fans tease him.

"Say whatever you want." Remus finally speaks, eliciting a round of cheers from the crowd, "But you boys don't get your backs scratched before a show, so I know you're just jealous."

[avonsdrabbles]

Don't forget that you can do your part.

I'm directly working with kids each day, and my curriculum treats them like dumbasses. We're reading about fears and phobias right now, and (along with all of our lessons it seems like,) the big idea is that you can overcome your problems and get through things with courage and perseverance!!!!!! :) (stars and rainbows yay)

... Yeah these kids don't respond to that. They are traumatized. It feels like the equivalent of telling those who are depressed that they'll get over it with enough yoga.

So... I take what I read, and I ask them, "What is the author's purpose? What are they trying to convince you of."

Eye rolls. "That perseverance gets us through everything," mumbled replies.

"Okay. Why?"

Immediately, that gets them more engaged. The kids who are more dead inside -- often the ones abandoned by the education system already -- typically don't engage, but those who do perk up listen. And we talk.

Like, yesterday, we read about fight or flight. ":o Fight and flight are the instant reactions of your brain! Your fears try to protect you and tell you to run or fight dangerous things. But when fears are over things that aren't dangerous, that's when they're unhealthy. Wow :o"

I stopped.

"Of course, there's loads of other types of fear responses -- like freeze, or fawning." Immediate perk, because they know fight and flight. I mention fawning and those two kids that knew what an amygdala was already look up, shocked. I smile. "I'm a freeze responder, myself, when it's something that physically threatens me. But sometimes I also run away, or sometimes I try appealing to something -- that's fawning -- so that I can convince it not to hurt me."

"Oh, I'm like that," a student says. "At a haunted house, I begged a guy not to chase me."

"Were you scared?"

"Yeah."

"So that might have been your brains way of responding to the fear!"

Cue an entire class period where I explained to the kids various trauma responses and how we experience them due to chemical changes in the brain.

Today I talked with them about how those trauma responses are only negative if we find them negative, and while it's always a good idea to work on healing and growth, we don't need to devote our energy to it 24/7, and we're allowed to wait to fix our "problems" if they're not distressing. I tried my best not to look at a child who was staring me down, who had been glaring at the textbook while it called a fear of public speaking -- a phobia that has debilitated her at school -- "unhealthy" and recommended therapy for. I tried not to look at her directly as I said, "If you aren't distressed or dysfunctional by being unable to do something due to your phobia, then it doesn't need to be addressed yet. Just like my phobia of bees doesn't need to be addressed yet if I don't want to, you can wait to figure out your problems too."

"Even my phobia of clowns?" One kid asks.

"Are you planning on working at a circus?"

"No!"

"So, do you deal with clowns regularly in your life?"

"No."

"So you don't need to worry about it right now. What's more important -- dealing with your phobia of clowns, or studying for tomorrow's quiz?"

The kids aren't alright. They're scared. They're bored.

But we can help. We can at least give them the information they need to thrive.

watching gen z and millennials make fun of gen alpha has been torturous. "But they're actually stupid" 1. theyre middle schoolers 2. isn't that what older gens said about us? don't you remember being 11?

it truly is just "impulse reaction to cringe <- has not yet unlearned shame"

the cycle continues let me out of here

guys. guys I think we should kill cringe culture

[ruinix]

Quinn being all clingy after you came home from a business trip. Can I ask for...no smut...or not... idk

Hello, lovely. I don't mind writing no smut. ����🥹 I fear I have written this with slight angst… I don’t know why. I’m sorry if you don’t want that. [Anyway, there is a bonus content for this with your POV (it's the voices, i swear), but you don’t need to read it.] Hopefully, you’ll like this. 🧎🏻‍♀️

TW/CW: None, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), showering together (conserve water jk), a dash of separation anxiety Quinn so a bit of Angst, Comfort

Count: 1483 words (+ 483) | Masterlist

You’re still not home. Quinn paces again and again. You still haven’t messaged him when he told you to text him if you landed. He wants to pick you up in the airport, but you refused him. Now, he’s here stressing because you still haven’t messaged him.

He's not used to you going on a business trip. You go on vacation, sure, but he’s usually there with you. He’s not used to not seeing you next to him when he wakes up. Not used to the silence of his—and your—house anymore.

He can cope when it’s him on a road trip, because he is not here. He doesn’t see your clothes, your towels, your perfumes, your trinkets, your plants, and everything else in a hotel room. There are no hints and memories of you there. He calls you every time. He sees you doing your stuff—work or hobbies—with yourhome in the background. It eases his soul.

But not this. Not this house with your things and no you. No soft hums. No walking and pacing, just because. No you on lazing on the sofa with whatever show on one TV, reserving the other for him. No keyboard sounds of you typing. No you eating dinner with him. He hates it.

It's the worst. The worst week of his life.

Everything is not right when you’re not here.

His home is not a home without you. He needs you here.

His heart squeezes. Tears glaze his vision. You’re just gone for a week and he’s losing it. He’s usually gone for a couple for his road trips. You must be enduring this. You are so much stronger than him. You are patiently waiting for him while also cheering him on every time. Unlike him who is being all pathetic because you’re just gone for a week—

Quinn hears the front door open and close. He immediately turns and sees you with your suitcase and a huge bag of chocolates…and flowers? Whatever, because relief is flooding his body.

You’re here.

“Quinn, I’m home!” You dash towards him.

You’re home.

Quinncatches you in a tight embrace. He says, “Welcome back.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and takes a big inhale. Roses, today.

He misses you so much. He misses this. Holding you. Feeling how perfect you feel in his arms. Basking in your warmth.

It doesn’t matter if you didn’t tell him your plane landed. You’re here. That’s enough.

“Quinn,” you giggle, pressing a kiss on his neck, your hands pushing him off.

It makes him swallow a whine. He doesn’t want to part from you. Even an inch distance is making him want to cry.

“I got you chocolates and flowers.” You push them to his arms. “I need to shower,” you say, kissing him on the lips, walking towards the bedroom.

He blinks at the gifts. He thought it was yours. It’s…for him? His heart speeds up. His spirit that was down in the depths of loneliness lifts. You brought him flowers. Him. Flowers. And chocolates.

He feels nothing else but giddy as he places them on the counter and hastily puts them in a vase. He needs to trim up the stems. Put water in it. Research what these flowers are. He has no clue. Later. He’ll do that later.

Now, Quinn wants to be with you. The smallest distance from you right now is making his head spin, his heart ache. He can’t not be with you right now. He’ll die.

He stands at the bathroom door that’s ajar. He can hear the shower running, can feel its steam, can see the trail of clothes on the floor which he knows you’ll put away after your shower. Just one of your silly quirks.

“Can I join you?” He asks, knocking on the doorframe.

“Yes please,” you reply.

He’s so quick to undress. He joins you in the unexplainably hot shower. It doesn’t matter to him even if it’s scalding to the point of burns—it’s not. It doesn’t matter. No hot water can come between him and you. He hugs you from behind, humming when you say you want to shampoo your hair. It can wait.

“Just wanna hug you.” He kisses your temple. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Quinny.” You turn your head and smile so lovingly. “But I really need to shower. I came from the airport. It was a long flight.”

He's so mesmerized with the water cascading your skin. With the lightest pout on your lips when he doesn’t let go. With your lips still stained by your lipstick. With how your wet lashes group together. With the curves of your eyebrows. Every feature he has memorized, dreamed about, and kissed. You’re marvelous.

Why did the week rob him of you? Why did it feel like you were gone for much longer? Why did it hurt so much this time?

“Quinn?” you calls in worry, spinning to face him, hands on his cheeks. “Why are you crying, my Love?”

“Not crying,” he shakily says. “It’s just water.”

“Don’t lie to me, Quintin.”

He shudders, leaning against the wall, taking you with him. “You weren’t home.” It sounds so pathetic, his voice breaking. “I know it’s work. I know. I understand but you weren’t home. It was so quiet. I’m not used to quiet anymore.”

You turns of the water, hugging him. One hand around waist. One hand on his nape to hold him, forehead to forehead. You let him sob. Every tear feels like release of every chain weighing him down. Every broken breath comes easier and better. All because of your touch, your warmth, your presence. God, he misses you.

“I don’t want you to think you can’t go on another trip, because of this, because of me. You can. I just…It hurts,” he admits.

Your lips capture his. A small, chaste kiss that eases his soul. You rub your hand over his chest where his heart slowly mends itself just by being with you.

You gently say, “I’ll always come home to you, Quinn.”

“Please do.” He tightens his hug. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab his cheeks. “Do the same for me?”

“You’re my home.” Quinn presses a kiss on your palms, murmuring his promises and affirmations, capitalizing on your touch. “You complete me.”

Quinn knows you would retort that you two are complete pieces that perfectly fits together. But you don’t today. You only smile as you repeat his words. Oh, his love for you just grows day by day. Moment by moment.

After a few more minutes of just hugging each other, you shower. Quinn just stands there, while you do your routine. He helps when you need to scrub your back and your legs—he doesn’t mind going on his knees to do so—or wash away the suds from your hair.

Even if he gets soapy, he remains there with a hand constantly touching you. Your hip. Arm. Back. Shoulder. Your finger. The tips of your hair. He can’t not touch you. You let him, perfectly understanding how to soothe his need.

He's happy just helping you shower. Then you turn on him and wash him. He already took a shower this morning, but shamelessly, he can’t turn you away. He’ll spoil right back…later. Now, he likes your attention. He relishes your touch, your stories about your trip, your new skincare finds, and most of all, your smiles. You’re so beautiful. So gentle when you condition his hair.

“There we go. Now both of us are clean.” You brush your nose against his. “Boop.”

He misses that. Your silliness. He’s not making it up when he says you complete him. It’s real. So real because you make him happy. You make him feel loved. That’s enough for Quinn. You’re enough.

Oh, he loves you so much.

When both of you are dry including your hair, you cuddle together on your bed, wearing matching sweatpants and sweatshirts. Both of your hands casually slides underneath your shirts, drawing circles on each other’s backs.

Quinn shares what he did during the week. He tells you about the white socks he mistakenly included with the colors which made it an ugly gray. About the media he’s done for the Canucks’ social media. About the potatoes he stupidly burned this morning because he was out of it. About the dinner with his teammates.

He tells you different things.

Simple things.

But you stare at him with sparks in your eyes. Your gentle voice resonates in his chest as you ask and share too.

It spurs him on to ramble.

On and on.

Until both of you are yawning and blinking slowly. Quinn swears he can hear your heartbeats seemingly in sync. Strong for one another. A little lullaby that pushes you two to slumber.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You stare at Quinn. His hands are all wrapped up around your middle. His legs are tangled with yours. His soft exhales tickle your face, but you let it. You want to tug on his long eyelashes. No, you are going to tug on them when he suddenly murmurs your name. It stops you from pestering him, but it doesn’t stop you from slipping your arms beneath his so you can hug him. He does the same, pulling you further into him. All while still sleeping.

He’s so pretty when he sleeps. So adorable. Pressing a ghost of a kiss on his nose, you continue to silently gaze at him. 

You two has slept from yesterday’s afternoon through today’s morning. Quinn is still sleeping, but you’ve been awake for an hour. It’s a long sleep but not surprising. It happened many times before. Just the two of you sleeping though everything. Too comfortable in your private bubble.

Your heart tugs. You’re so comfortable with him. So deeply in love with Quinn.

His cuddles are something you always miss whenever he’s on the road. Even more when you were on your trip. When he cried yesterday… your heart squeezes. It hurts to see him cry—hurts to think about it.

Although, Quinn being so clingy makes you warm all over. It’s his need for you. Not his pain. Never his pain. It’s the way he keep touching you even when you were showering. The way he melts into your touch. You like that. You love that, because you also cling to him. So. Much.

You bought him chocolates and flowers because he deserves them too. Deserves to know your love. He’s always been working so hard.

The shower with him is great, but you can top that. Stealthily, you slip from his hold, replacing yourself with a nearby pillow and a stuffed toy—a bear with a small Canucks jersey and a number 43—for good measure.

Quinn likes baths. He always joins you, so to spoil your beloved, you start a bath. Vanilla sounds great today—

“You were gone,” his panicked voice made you jump more than his sudden touch.

It hasn’t been five minutes. “Just preparing us a bath, Quinn.”

“I wanna do that with you. I’ll do it with you.”

Quinn doesn’t really need to panic or be desperate. You’ll do whatever he wants. You guess your Quinn is still needy and hurt. Good thing, you’re here to make him feel better. You hold his hands tightly, nodding before kissing him. The small shudders that wreck his body thrums your soul.

Well then, you need to call for a day-off tomorrow.

For your Love who needs reassurance that you will be with him forever.

For your Quinn who desperately yearns for your touch.

Well, you also feel the same way, so it’s no big deal. Not at all. Never at all.

[suiana]

yandere! loser who's chronically online and thinks that the world is ending because he can't find love. or rather, can't get a lover because wdym he's had a crush on you for five years and is STILL single!!!

bro's the type of guy to complain on reddit about being single and not do anything afterwards even if people give him advice. bro's the type of guy to say he's going to die alone and continue sitting in his room while watching lego building videos. bro's the type of guy that... also stalks you intensely after one single conversation where he thinks you're his one and only.

this guy probably thinks he's tough shit or something but cannot for the life of him, ask you out on a date like a normal person. forget that! he can't even get out of his house!

he lives off of his parents money (thank goodness they're rich) and doesn't work. why? because he says his dream job is to be rich and unemployed (successfully done btw). sooo no, he's probably not gonna be inheriting his father's company and be the hot rich alpha ceo you were dreaming of.

you'll get this weirdly obsessed loser though.

he's the ultimate loser! and in this ultimate loser pack you have gacha addict, fucked up sleep schedule, virgin, 70 different hyperfixations, reddit user, stalker, 4chan user, compsci graduate, have i mentioned stalker? yeah, definitely stalker.

stalking... heh, guess you could say he has a job... that is, if you count stalking and watching over you 24/7. yeah, that's right. the feeling you get that you're being watched even at home? that's him.

sure, he might be jacking off to surveillance footage of you, watching gf/bf asmr and pretending it's you talking to him... oh and also he might've built a mini shrine with things he 'borrowed' from you...

but really, you should just be glad he isn't doing more heinous things. for all you know he could be doxxing or manipulating you to be with him! god, that would be horrific. especially because we all know what 4chan and reddit users can be like.

like he's... weird to say the least. but it could be worse than just obsessed, crazy, and delusional. yeah, so what if he's thinking of scenarios that don't exist? scenarios that involve you, to be specific?

you don't even remember meeting him but he's gone and created a life for the two of you in his head already. for five years, if i must add. like... that's bloody crazy innit?

and he's also british.

yeah so😝

don't worry, he's crazy devoted! some might call him a yearner, others say he needs to be amditted to a hospital. whatever! they just don't understand him.

but you do, don't you? you have to! you're his one and only (one sided)! he's already planned the both of your weddings out, bought you TONS of gifts- you received his presents before right? yeah, those new headphones you wanted? you got it a few weeks back. your college debt? remember how it was mysteriously paid off? yeah, and the fact that you were happy about it must mean that you accept his advances!

yeah! g'luck mate you're going to be called darling REAL soon 🤑 hopefully. jost hope you don't get asked out on a date... he might do a little shanking 😵☝️

[grimrevolution]

@postcardsfromheapside mentioned wanting to reblog this separately and, honestly, i agree that i would rather have it as an analysis of tevinter and the slavery depicted in it. so i'm going to delete the other post and put this up instead.

i believe that veilguard has the most accurate depiction of slavery in all four dragon age games. probably because the writers actually read up on what slavery looks like in a world that has mostly abolished it and realized that we live with that reality right now and most people don't even realize it.

i am going to talk about slavery pretty frankly - but not graphically - beneath the cut, and about why the government of tevinter fights so hard against abolishing slavery.

when people think of slavery, most of the time what they think of is what is called 'chattle slavery'. this is when people are legally owned in a system as property and are treated as property. just like how vandalizing someone's house or shooting a horse would be considered as a crime against the owner, killing a slave brought the same sort of repercussions. the thing about chattle slavery is that slaves bought in this sort of environment were extraordinarily expensive. around the same cost as a modern day vehicle. when people purchased slaves, they were weighing the amount of profit they would make vs. the cost of the purchase. it's why many slave owners in the american south often sold their slaves to other farmers and land owners when their businesses were failing.

chattle slaves of history were rarely killed by their owners. they could have been, but slave owners always thought about their money. it was more profitable to break a person than to kill them, because a broken person would work and, eventually, be an investment.

this is the type of slavery that fenris describes. the minrathous markets, the fact that he was turned into a lyrium knight, how he was supposed to serve 'a greater purpose' until he managed to escape. the problem is, if tevinter participates in chattle slavery why are magisters able to kill so many of them for blood magic rituals? well, there are multiple reasons.

krem in inquisition describes his father's fate as a tailor, how his father was not able to make enough money competing with the governmental slaves, and so sold himself into slavery so that his food and board were taken care of and he could escape poverty. this is called 'governmental slavery'. it's normally enacted in war on prisoners who are forced into labor camps and in prison systems that lend out criminals to local businesses to do work. it is very possible that a rook laidir falls into this category, as galley slaves historically were prisoners working off a debt owed to the public due to some sort of criminal offense. sometimes these people were able to work off that debt and became free again. lof rook never goes explicitly into how they got into that situation or why, just that they 'had to survive' and then 'the lords of fortune took [them] in'.

we do, however, know that tevinter has a system for freed slaves. they're called liberati and, much like lorelei is doing, they can pick up a trade, join a circle of magi, and own property, but they do not have any say in the government nor can they join the military. maevaris brings this up multiple times. she repeatedly says that tevinter is more than just mages, and that everyone deserves to have a say in their government and even sit in the magesterium. she, ashur, and dorian are well aware of their privilege, but they're also the only ones in power that can actually do anything. lorelei even brings this up when you're leaving the shop. she has a whole conversation with bren about how there is a power imbalance but how she - nor anyone who is not a mage - can do anything about it.

however, think about lorelei's position. she is an elf living in tevinter. the shadow dragons have given her a position as a shop owner to make her own money. if she wasn't, who would take her in? how would she get a job? she was a city elf, untrained, possibly very young. did she know how to read when she was first taken? because if she didn't, a slave owner wasn't going to pay for her to learn. knowledge is power, and keeping people ignorant, broken down, and desperate is how the cycle keeps feeding itself.

without the shadow dragons, lorelei would have had no choice but to sell herself back into slavery or try and escape tevinter all together. this is the cycle that tevinter runs on. not kidnapping dalish elves along the border, though i'm sure that feeds into it, but by using poverty to continue the cycle. a liberati is a free person, they go to find a way to make money, no one will take them on whether because they were a slave, they were a criminal, they're an elf/dwarf/qunari, and, without the funds to travel anywhere, that liberati sells themselves back into slavery just to survive.

this is called debt slavery. it is also the most widely spread slavery in the world today. people in debt slavery could have made your lunch today. your dinner. they probably made the components in your computer, the stone of the building you work in, the coal used to make the steel of your car. they are in prisons, they work as dishwashers, they are farmers and quarry workers and butchers. in a city as big as new york? you could have easily passed by ten slaves during an hour walk and never even known it.

this is the type of slavery that tevinter has.

it is not chains lashing people's wrists together, it's not some person being carried in a carriage with mostly naked elves, it is people doing work. because that's what slavery is; it is work. without profit, there would be no slavery. but tevinter makes a profit because slave labor is dirt cheap and so the government can sell it for dirt cheap. they probably pay for a room for the slaves, some food, and that's it.

since they have this circular cycle of the poor selling themselves into slavery, it goes a bit beyond the chattle slaves that are seen as expensive and luxurious property. when slaves are dirt cheap (because they sell themselves to the slaveowners reducing the costs of travel, transport, and other materials) and their prices are fairly inexpensive, you begin to see what is called 'short-term slavery'. this is what happens when people are slaves from an approximate six months to ten years. not because they're freed, but because they die. there's no point to keeping a cheap slave alive. not when there are others that can readily take their place.

dorian himself mentions this in the codex 'minrathous: capital of the imperium' where he says:

Instead there was poverty and desperation. Hands that reached for the coin I offered, the scrap of uneaten food—nothing to me, and everything to them. I've lied to myself about it, made excuses for it, but I've known for a long time that Minrathous is not one city, but two.

the slaves are worth less than the labor they provide and, with so many people in poverty, one slave can easily be replaced by another. zara can kill a hundred slaves for a ritualistic bath because the cost of their blood was less than the market price of lyrium.

this is why blood mages can easily use slaves to fuel their sacrifices. it is also why aelia targets dock town; the people there are poor. to the rich, they might as well be slaves already.

after all, it's only a matter of time.

---

if you liked this miniature essay and are interested in ways that you can help fight against modern day slavery, please consider looking into free the slaves. there is also end slavery now, which has dedicated a portion of their website to searching for charities located around the globe working to abolish slavery.

books about human trafficking/modern day slavery:

human trafficking around the world: hidden in plain sight by stephanie hepburn and rita simon

human trafficking: the complexities of exploitation edited by margaret malloch and paul rigby

migrant crossings: witnessing human trafficking in the u.s. by annie isabel fukushima

blood and earth: modern slavery, ecocide, and the secret to saving the world by kevin bales

[partheniad]

So, a thing that just crystallized about power rankings here. The whole reason people have fun with it, for the most part, isn't using DBZ scanners to figure out who has the biggest stats. It's just a splinter of the form of play you had when you were bashing action figures together and telling a fight as a child.

See, the real answer in any story of who could beat who is just, "Whoever the writer fucking wants." (You can see this sort of meta-power weaponized in characters like Squirrel Girl or One Punch Man.) We all know that Author Fiat is the deciding factor- so powerscaling is kinda useless.

Except, as I said, as a form of play. It's fan fiction. When you are talking with someone about X vs Y, I'm less curious about the canonical lore than I am the other person's read. Let them paint me the tale of this conflict and why they think it would go a certain way. Let me bring up counter arguments for them to spin off of. (What will Batman do if Bugs does his drag routine?) This is the core fun of the activity for me. I'm less interested in who is stronger than someone telling me how they'd script this brawl.

And it's fine if folks don't enjoy this type of style of play. It's often prone to debate and argument, and fun can rely on a vast familiarity with niche and foolish things. But I do fucking loathe the whole "Oh, well Batman wouldn't fight them" argument... Because that's not just saying you don't want to play. It's taking the ball and going home.

And it's not even your ball.

The annoying thing about Batman is that he takes the option of short-circuiting dumb powerscaling arguments by pointing out that those two characters would logically never fight each other completely off the table when he's in play. "Batman wouldn't fight" yeah, he would. There's a non-zero chance he canonically did.

[marauder-misprint]

Hi I was wondering if you write for James potter, if don’t please ignore this. But I’ve been obsessed with Alex Warren’s new song ordinary it literally is such a James potter love song to me. And I don’t know maybe a story about this song with James and the reader like maybe they are friends and one day it’s just clicked in James head it’s always been her. I don’t know the song is just so beautiful

Hi! thank you for the request! I do write for James ❤︎

Also, I love this song! Love, love, love.

I don't think I've done the song justice, but here it is!

Win for me

James Potter x reader

2.1k words

cw: fluff, lil bit of pining

No one questioned when you called James, he came. You were his oldest friend. You were practically neighbors, just living two streets away from each other. You had gotten lost, turned down the wrong street, and James helped you get home. There weren’t too many kids in the neighborhood so you and James latched onto each other and pledged to be lifelong friends. 

Your friendship didn’t waver or falter when you arrived at Hogwarts and got sorted into different houses. You still spent plenty of time together. You’d study together and sometimes sit together for meals. There were plenty of times when you were invited to hang out with his new roommates. You got along with all of them, although none quite as well as James. Merlin, you would describe him as your person, except he wasn’t yours. 

That idea passed through your mind several times as you got older. You never acted on it though; your friendship with James was too important to you. You didn’t flirt with him or act any differently than you would’ve for him. That being said, you were still closer to James than you were to anyone, let alone any other guy. 

James was the reason you wore Gryffindor colors to quidditch matches, even when they were facing your own house. Those games you sat with Sirius, Remus and Peter; otherwise you sat with your house. James was the reason you knew so much about quidditch. He would ramble on and on about it before you even stepped foot onto the Hogwarts campus. James was the reason why you occasionally got detention. He was the reason you passed several classes over the years, and you were the reason he passed some as well. 

“What’s going on between you and Potter?” a boy had asked you once.

“Huh? James?”

The boy nodded.

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug. “He’s just my best friend.”

“You’re not dating or nothing?”

You laughed. “No, we’re not. Haven’t you heard though? He fancies Lily.”

“Ah, didn’t know that. Then how about you ‘n’ me, Hogsmeade?” 

For some reason, whenever a conversation like this happened, a boy asking you out, your brain immediately went to the pipe dream of hoping that maybe one day James would like you back and you would be more than just friends.

“No thank you,” you said.

You’d give the boy a polite smile before walking away. Your friends always questioned you about it later. They didn’t understand why you turned away guy after guy. There was a decent variety of them, enough to disprove your ‘not my type’ excuse. Except that your type was James, and you just couldn’t tell anyone that. 

---

“Capt, your girl’s waiting for you!” Gideon yelled as he entered Gryffindor’s changing room.

Gryffindor was facing Slytherin today. You wanted to wish James good luck, as you did before every match. You knew he would appreciate it extra today with everything that rode on this game. By everything, you meant his pride. He would essentially disappear for a week straight if they lost today, and you weren’t going to let that happen. 

“Hey you!” James cooed when he stepped outside.

You flung your arms around him. Out of habit, his arms wrapped themselves around you and he rested his chin on top of your head.

“Good luck, James. You’re going to crush it out there, I know it.”

“Thank you, love,” he murmured into your hair.

You gave him an extra squeeze. “Win for me?”

“Just for you.”

He gave you a bright grin as he pulled back and out of your arms. You waved to him before turning to join the herds making their way up into the stands. James watched you until you disappeared from sight, slowly blending in with the crowd. Only once he couldn’t see you, James returned back to the changing room. He ran a hand through his hair. 

Marlene grabbed his shoulder as soon as he walked in.

“So when you come to your senses and ask her out?” she asked him.

He gave her a confused expression. “What d’ya mean?”

“That was the first time you didn’t yell ‘Not my girl’ when going to Y/N. So you’ve stopped harassing Lily and asked out the right one, right? When’d you do it?”

James shook his head with a small smile on his face. “Not my girl,” he whispered before pulling away from Marlene to grab his broom. 

He needed to give his pre-game speech to the team. He shook his head again. You weren’t his girl. You didn’t want to be, right? He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about you from time to time. No, you were his best friend. You were closer to him than Peter, than Remus, than Sirius. So he stopped himself from even entertaining the idea. You were his girl friend, not his girlfriend. 

James gave his speech, just like he planned to. The team was hyped. They thrived on the energy from the stands when they exited their locker room. The cheers from the crowds were almost deafening. The team mounted their brooms and met the Slytherin team in the air. James let his focus waver for a moment, flicking to where he knew you would be standing, cheering for him. 

Then the match started. James had laser focus, and you could tell that nothing was going to distract him. He was on his A-game. It was always mesmerizing to watch him in the zone. He was so nimble on a broom. He had such control over it, not even considering how easily he caught and threw the quaffle. You cheered and yelled yourself hoarse as James scored goal after goal. 

When Gryffindor’s seeker caught the snitch, you joined every Gryffindor as they stormed the pitch. There were so many people pushing and shoving. You were afraid you wouldn’t be able to make it to James where he stood at the center of it all. 

Then you heard your name being yelled. It was louder than the cheers. You looked around, trying to find the source. Then you saw him. James. He was pushing through everyone to get to you. He took the pats on his back and the ruffling of his hair in stride, but he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from getting to you. 

You let yourself get pulled into a sweaty hug.

“You won!” you yelled in order for him to hear you.

“Just for you,” he replied, just as loudly. 

Although James pulled out the hug, he still held onto you. His arm remained draped over your shoulder as he maneuvered through the people congratulating him. You passed by Lily and Marlene and James didn’t even pause long enough to say anything, just flashing them a smile and moving on. Lily looked at you more than James and she gave you a wide grin, like she knew something that you didn’t. You didn’t linger on it though. You were just with your best friend.

He kept you glued to his side until you got to the Gryffindor Common Room.

“I’ll be right back, love. Going to shower,” he said, giving you one last sweaty hug before disappearing up the stairs. 

You looked around the common room, looking for someone you knew better than a name. It didn’t take long for the rest of the Marauders to return, carrying a crate of butterbeer and firewhiskey. 

“Oi! Where’d our Captain go?” Sirius called to you when he spotted you leaning against the wall near the stairs.

You jerked your head toward said stairs. “Showering.”

Sirius nodded and continued to help Remus and Peter set up for the party. You just watched. You didn’t see Lily, Marlene or Mary around so it was just you. Soon enough though, James returned and you had to take a second look. It was a casual outfit, but it was fashionable. Not only that, but he looked good. He looked like he made an effort. 

“Wow, Prongs, trying to impress Evans?” Sirius asked when he saw him.

James gave you a fleeting glance before saying, “Something like that.” 

Of course, he was trying to look good for Lily. You knew that you were just his friend. You knew this and you accepted it. At least you told yourself that you did. That didn’t keep you from his side while everyone finished setting up for the party. In your defense, you were standing just as close to Sirius, Remus and Peter. As a group, they didn’t know what personal space was. 

“There she is,” Peter said when Lily came down from the girls’ dorms with Marlene and Mary. 

Your stomach churned briefly, although you opted to ignore it. James looked toward the stairs, but it was only for a moment. Then all of his attention was back on the conversation the group was having. 

“Need another drink?” he asked you, dropping his head so he was speaking into your ear. 

You could his breath hot on your skin. You swirled the little bit of butterbeer foam that sat at the bottom of your cup.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, handing it to him.

He smiled and got up. You hated how you immediately felt cold without his presence next to you. You looked around the room and sawa that Lily was at the opposite end of the room. She was as far away from the drink table as she could be. So he was just being nice. Yup, that’s all it was. Your best friend being a friend. 

When he came back, James offered you a hand, rather than your cup.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Everyone in your small group stopped talking and at looked at James. 

“Erm, yeah.”

You took his hand and stood up. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as James led you upstairs to his dorm. It wasn’t too odd, in your opinion. You’d been in his dorm before and it currently offered privacy that wasn’t available while a party was occupying the common room.

“What’s up, Potter?” you asked after the door closed behind you. 

“I’ve been an idiot,” he stated after he set the drinks down. 

You crossed your arms and leaned back against one of the posts at the end of his bed. 

“Sad to report that’s not new news.” 

He laughed and stood in front of you, less than a broom’s length away. 

“I like you.”

“Um, we’re friends. I’d really hope you like me.”

“No, um, not quite like that,” he said, taking an uncertain step toward you. “You know I’ve liked Evans.” 

“I think all of Hogwarts knows you like Lily,” you replied dryly. 

“That’s where I’ve been wrong. Been an idiot. A real, dense idiot.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You dragged me away from a party, your party, to tell me that you’ve moved on? So who is it then? Marlene? Mary? Emmeline? Lucinda?” 

James took another step toward you. He reached out and tucked some of your hair behind your ear. Your breath hitched at the unexpectedly affectionate contact. You met his gaze to find even more expected affection. You can’t remember a time when James has looked at you with such softness. 

“You,” he breathed before gently pressing his lips to yours. 

You didn’t respond right away, frozen beneath him. Then, as his lips lingered on yours, you kissed him back. You felt James’ hands move to grip your hips. You gasped as he squeezed them. You pulled backwards, feeling breathless. 

“Me?” you asked as James rested his forehead against yours. 

“Merlin, you’ve been in front of me this whole time. How did I miss you?”

“What about Lily?” you asked meekly. You hated yourself for asking it as soon as the words left your mouth.

“A distraction, I guess. But, being around her, I’ve never felt like I do when I’m with you. And you… You get me. And I get you. Fuck, you’ve been my girl before I even considered it.”

“I’m your girl?” you breathed, each word dripping with confusion. 

“If you want to be,” he said softly before adding more confidence to voice. “I mean, I did win the game for you.”

You laughed and pressed your lips to his again. This kiss was brief and much softer than your first. 

“Every game you’ve won has been for me,” you teased, which was true being that you asked him to every time you wished him luck. 

You and James didn’t return to the party. Instead, you spent the night talking, snuggling and sipping the drinks James had grabbed before bringing you to his dorm. It was just like being best friends, except now you kissed him from time to time. 

[jiminbility]

Because of her

Pairing: Idol Boyfriend!Mingi x Idol Girlfriend!Reader

Word count: ~2.6k

Genre: actually just smut with a little plot

Warnings: smut, cursing, lowkey mean mingi(we love it), fingering, light ass play, light spit play, unprotected sex(DON'T), let me know if I forgot anything

MDI!

"Why the fuck does she look at him like that?" You scoff at the sight in front of you. It was nearly midnight now, the party on full blast. Your group finished performing at a big festival here in Korea. It was successful and you wanted to celebrate it with friends and other idols together. Mia's brother organized everything, he is like the manager of your group. You and Mia were sitting at the bar, drinks in hand, alcohol already in your system watching people dance, having fun or just talking. You spot your boyfriend leaning against the wall at the other side of the dance floor. He is taking a sip of his beer, laughing at something Yunho said. He looks good, too good. He is wearing a black shirt, sporting it with dark grey baggy jeans. Different types of rings decorating four on his right and three on his left fingers. Several necklaces finishing the look. Fuck you want to devour him. But how it looks like, you weren't the only person who has her eyes on him.

It was her.

The girl who is always in your business. The girl who thinks the world revolves around her. What a bitch.

The way she stands next to your boyfriend, the way she looks up at him. The way she laughs at everything he says. You could puke. It's not like it's a secret that you and Mingi are in a relationship. The whole kpop industry and many people from all over the world know about it. And yet she still tries to have a chance with him. You could puke again.

Mia laughs next to you. Your eyes turn away from the obnoxious girl to look at the leader of your group. "What?", you ask with a raised eyebrow. "You're getting too carried away, he's not even paying attention to her." She raises her chin towards their direction. You look over again. Mingi isn't paying any attention to her, actually he is keeping a distance but it doesn't stop her from moving closer to him. As if sensing your gaze, Mingi looks in your direction. Your eyes meet, he shoots you a small smirk followed by a wink. Her eyes follow his and she now looks at you too. Her expression changed immediately. The corners of her mouth dropped and she scoffed. You laugh to yourself. You blew him a kiss and winked back. He grinned, whispering something in Yunho's ear and makes his way towards you. He walks past her without acknowledging that she was about to say something to him. Her mouth remains open and she stares at him in disbelief. You can't stop yourself from grinning. Mia was observing the encounter, a hint of amusement lingering in her laugher. "Your deadly stare worked I guess. I'll let you two lovebirds alone." She gets up from her seat and walks over to the other two members of your group. Suddenly two hands are gripping your hips, your attention now on the person infront of you. Mingi makes himself comfortable between your legs, his scent filling your nostrils.

"Baby, I felt your eyes all the way back there. Everything okay?" He asks with a grin. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "Everything's okay, but it would be even better if she would back the fuck off." You frown. He is kissing your cheek and whispers in your ear. "You know that I only have eyes for you baby, anyone can come, I'm only interested in you." A shiver runs down your spine. Your fingers playing with one of his three necklaces. A pout forming on your lips. "I think I need a little reminder on how much I'm interesting to you." He grins mischievously. "Let's not waste any time then."

He takes your hand and helps you down from the chair. Hand in hand, you walk through the many people dancing on the dance floor towards the other side of the floor to the back rooms. On the way there, you and her eyes meet. Her gaze was full of anger and jealousy because it's not her who he is holding hands with. You smirk devilishly.

Hah. What a bitch.

Mingi suddenly stops and presses you against the wall. One hand on your waist, the other on your neck. His right leg opening your legs, his thigh right between your core, moving it up and down. The pressure making you gasp.

"Did I even congratulated you on how amazing you were today, you killed the stage baby. You were wonderful as always." Mingi was kissing you from your neck up to your ear. "I'm hell of a lucky guy to have you, how many others would love to call you their girlfriend." You close your eyes, enjoying his kisses and touches. "You are fucking mine" he whispers hotly against your ear. Before you can answer him, another voice interrupts you. "If you're going to fuck, please don't do it here." You both look in the direction where the voice came from. It was Yuhno who had interrupted you, a sly grin on his face. Mingi rolls his eyes, takes your hand and pulls you into an empty room. You giggled, the alcohol starting to kick in. The room wasn't very big, room for a few boxes and a small table. Mingi pushes you against said table, his own body pressed tightly on yours. "Now, where were we?" He chuckled with a smirk.

♡

"Mhh Mingi", you sighed. He was kissing your neck down your shoulder, leaving little bites before kissing the spot again. His fingers were working on the button of your jeans, opening it before pulling down the zipper. He wastes no time, pushing his fingers down your thong and pressing down on your clit without much effort. A gasp leaves your lips. He grins devilishly at your already fucked out state. "You are so dirty baby, wanting to get fucked at your own party while everybody is probably looking for you." You were biting on your lower lip when his fingers start to rub your clit faster. His right leg opening your legs wider, allowing him more access to your cunt. Your arousal starting to grow the more he toys with you.

"Answer me baby, he whispers, are you my dirty girl?" Just as you wanted to answer he pushed two fingers inside you making your eyes roll back. "Fuck". Unable to speak, you could only nod but he wasn't satisfied with your answer. He grabbed you by the neck and pushed your head forward, his forehead touching yours. "I need words baby", he grunts, fucking you faster with his fingers. "Yes, please fuck me Mingi", you panted out. Satisfied, he continues finger fucking you at an inhuman pace. It was all too much for you. His fingers deep inside you, his scent, the way he was looking down on you.

Him.

"Cum baby, I need you to cum for me", he groans against your ear. His thumb pressing down on your clit at the same time the tip of his fingers rubbing the spongy spot inside you. The moment your orgasm hits, it draws a long moan from you. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably. Mingi leans forward to catch your lips with his own.

"There you go, always so good for me", he whispers. His now spit covered lips are ghosting over your own, a small smile on them.

He pulls your pants together with your underwear down, granting him better access to your soaking cunt. In one swift motion he turns you around grabbing you by the neck, shoving your upper body into the table.

"Arch that fucking back baby and don't let me tell you twice", he grunts. His grip on your waist makes it impossible for you to do otherwise. And at the sound of his voice you are doing it without much thinking, like muscle memory.

"Yeah that's a good girl." Mingi opens his pants in one quick motion, freeing his hard arching cock and stroking it leisurely. His other hand grabs your ass cheek, pulling and smacking on it hard. You whine when you feel his thumb toying at your other opening.

"M-mingi not there", you whimper. You shiver when the tip of his thumb enters your tight hole. Mingi chuckles before collecting spit in his mouth to let it dribble down to where his thumb and your hole connect. You moan at the feeling. You secretly love it, and he knows you love it, too.

"Such a good girl", he whispers. His pulls his thumb out and uses the same hand to open you up for him. He groans at the feeling of your wetness, coating the tip of his cock and making it easier for him to push in. You moan and arch your back, gripping the edges of the table. "Fuck", he moans. "You have to let me in angel, fucking open up for me." You try to relax your muscles, he is just so fucking big. When he feels your body relaxing he pushes in with one steady thrust, filling you to the brim.

Your eyes roll back for the second time, a long moan leaving your lips. "Too much", you wince but Mingi only laughs.

"Don't act like it's too much", he grabs you by the hair, pulling you towards him making you unable to move. "It's never too fucking much for you. You are begging me to stretch you out, to fuck you stupid, to pump you full of my cum". You shudder at his words. Clearly remembering the times where you couldn't get enough and just wanted more and more. As if he could read your mind, Mingi chuckles and puts you back in your original place. "Thought so", he growls, pushing his cock more inside you for you to feel the head of his cock nudging your cervix.

"Oh fuck", you whine. It hurts so good, you love it.

His thrusts are deep and in a steady rhythm, every clash of his thighs against your own making your ass jiggle. He grabs your arms and twists them around your back, your left cheek now planted on the spit covered table.

His pace becomes faster, he is fucking you in his own liking. Your moans were getting louder with every hard thrust. "So good baby", he whispers, putting pressure on your hands. "Taking me like a good girl. You're my good girl baby, always so ready for everything I give you."

He lets go of your hands and leans down, grabbing your throat and pulling you towards him. Your muscles were screaming for him to stop but how could you when the darkened gaze of your boyfriend's eyes bored into your soul. How could you when his thrusts were getting faster and more restless every second. How could you when he was sticking his thumb inside your mouth and telling you how much he loves you. How could you stop? You can't. And you won't.

You bite his thumb when he hits the spot that makes you squeeze his cock and your legs feel like jelly.

"Shit-"

"Don't stop", you plead with tears building in your eyes. "Please Mingi". He lets go of your throat and puts his hands back on your hips.

"I'll be damned if I stop. Come on baby, already creaming my cock so good. Make a mess on me", he grunts. His grip gets tighter, his pace faster. The only thing on his mind is to make his baby cum on his cock. Your moans and whines are getting louder.

You are meeting his thrusts by throwing your ass back. "Fuuuck", Mingi moans and throws his head back. It takes a few more thrusts when you feel yourself coming. A high pitched moan leaves you at his final thrust making you unable to move. Mingi's lips left a few curses while helping you riding out your orgasm. You are squeezing him so tightly, making it hard for him to continue his movements.

"F-fuck baby, if you don't stop I-" His words were cut off when you pushed yourself back into him, his still hard cock seated deeply inside your cunt. You are grinding your ass against his pelvis, trying to look up to him in your position. Your eyes meet, he is sending you a warning glare. But it is soon replaced with him closing his eyes and his face changing to pure bliss when he feels your walls squeezing his cock.

"Yeah, that's it", he grunts. "You gonna take it baby? Yeah I know you do". Mingi is grinding his cock deeper inside you, making you whine from overstimulation. "You're my baby, of course you gonna take it", he mumbles to himself, too immersed at the feeling of your warm tight cunt.

He suddenly groans, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back as he cums. His cock twitching and pulsing inside of you, filling you deep with his cum. You whine at the feeling of the warm liquid filling you. Mingi slowly pulls out, admiring the mess between your legs. He puts your thong back into place before turning you gently around so he can face you.

His nose is caressing the tip of your nose, gently stroking your hair and whispering praises between kisses. "You good baby?" Your boyfriend's thumb is caressing your cheek, his eyes scanning your face of any form of discomfort. You close your eyes, enjoying the deep tone of his voice and his warmth around you. "Mhm, I clearly feel better now." You open your eyes and see him smiling at you. He lets out a chuckle and helps you putting your clothes back on.

After making sure you both look at least a little bit presentable you decide to go back to the party that still was going on. "Wait", you paused him before he can open the door. He looks at you questioningly. "I have to go to the bathroom. I can't walk around with your cum still inside me." He smirks and pulls you towards him. "Oh baby, we all know that's a fucking lie. You can and you fucking will. It wouldn't be the first time for you to walk around with your cunt stuffed full with my cum." Your eyes widened at his remark and with that he opens the door and guides you forward closing the door behind him.

It's gonna be a long night, all thanks to her.

°

°

°

Authors note:

I thought I would never write a fic this long (yes it's long for me for my first time)I really hope you enjoy reading it and please don't mind the grammatical errors, English isn't my first language so I struggle a bit with when and how to use the correct tense. Anyways, feel free to share your thoughts or suggestions for improvements with me. 💕

[thedensworld]

Out The Door | l. c

Pairing: Idol Chan! x Reader!

Genre: exes au!

Type: angst, fluff

Word count: 15k

Summary: Chan was certain that you two should never have broken up. So, he made up his mind—he was going to find a way to be with you again.

Chan smirked at the bouquet of roses sitting on his counter, the vibrant petals almost mocking him. He felt betrayed—by himself, by the memories that refused to fade. Who was there to blame? It was February 14th, after all. A day that used to mean something. A day when he’d pick out flowers for you—never chocolates, because you didn’t like them.

Now, he was on the verge of laughing at himself. How pathetic was it that, even after a year, he still remembered every little thing about you? The way you preferred lilies over roses but accepted them anyway because he had terrible taste in flowers. The way you’d roll your eyes at grand gestures but secretly adored them. The way Valentine’s Day had never really mattered to you—until it did.

And yet, here he was, staring at a bouquet that wasn’t even meant for you, feeling like a fool.

"That's pretty," you had said a year ago, your gaze lingering on the red roses displayed in the flower shop window as you passed by.

"You want it?" Chan had asked playfully, his tone light but his intent obvious. He would have gotten them for you in a heartbeat.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's no reason to get me flowers."

Chan had only smiled, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he steered the wheel with his other hand. His voice was soft yet certain when he said, "I don't even need a reason to give you the world."

Now, standing in his kitchen, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. How pathetic. How utterly ridiculous that even after a year, the memory still clung to him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

Pushing himself up from the barstool, he grabbed the bouquet in one swift motion. His strides were long and deliberate as he walked to the bin, gripping the same exact roses you had once admired. Without a second thought, he tossed them in.

The petals rustled against the trash bag, a quiet, almost mocking sound. Chan stared for a moment longer, then turned away, jaw clenched.

It was just a bouquet of flowers. Just another February 14th. And yet, it still felt like letting go.

The doorbell rang. Chan let out a sigh, already knowing who it was. It had to be Hansol and Seungkwan.

Dragging himself toward the monitor, he glanced at the screen and chuckled when his guess was confirmed—his two friends stood outside, waiting.

"Go," Chan muttered as he pressed the button to let them in.

He barely lifted his finger before Hansol’s amused laughter came through the speaker, followed by Seungkwan’s dramatic whine. "Why? We brought chicken!"

Shaking his head, Chan unlocked the door. Moments later, they strolled into his living room like they owned the place, setting down a box of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table. Chan simply stood there, watching them move around, as if they had done this a thousand times before.

"Why are you guys here?" he finally asked, settling onto the couch.

"Can’t we visit our favorite little brother?" Seungkwan teased, grinning.

Chan cringed. "Never say that again."

Hansol chuckled, stretching his arms before reaching for a can of beer. "There’s a new chicken shop nearby. Everyone says it’s good."

Chan smirked at the excuse. Yeah, right. Deep down, he knew the truth.

A year ago, they were here too. Sitting in this very spot. Eating chicken. Drinking beer. Trying to distract him the night you walked out of his life.

*

Chan stepped into the bakery, his eyes instinctively scanning the space. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the nervous hammering in his chest. His breath hitched at the thought of seeing you again.

Hansol—completely out of sobriety that night—had blurted out something that caught Chan off guard. His so-called "new favorite bakery," the one where he always grabbed kaya bread before practice, was your bakery.

"She opened a bakery?" Chan had blinked, his voice laced with disbelief. Opening a bakery had always been your dream.

Hansol had nodded, looking almost guilty. "I've known since, like, half a year ago."

Seungkwan had chimed in with a sigh, "We’ve known. I told him about the bakery… and we met her."

Chan had tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"

Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head. "No—I mean… That’s great news. She always wanted this." He let out a forced chuckle, but the nervous energy lingered. "I just don’t get why you’re telling me now."

Seungkwan and Hansol exchanged glances before Seungkwan exhaled. "I met her last week," he admitted, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And… she asked about you."

Chan's stomach twisted. He swallowed.

"Now—hear me out," Seungkwan pressed on, his voice softer, more careful. "I know the breakup wasn’t great. I get it. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you two still have feelings for each other."

What made him say that?

Had he been that obvious? Had he been showing everyone that he still had feelings for you?

Chan didn’t like the thought of it. The idea that his emotions were visible—that anyone could see right through him—made his stomach churn. He didn’t want people to think he was pathetic, still holding on to someone who had walked away.

Still loving someone who had already left him.

"What can I help you with?" a shopkeeper asked as Chan wandered through the bakery, his eyes subtly scanning the space.

He turned his head, expecting—hoping—to see you. But it was just the shopkeeper.

Forcing a polite smile, Chan bit down on his lower lip, trying to push away his disappointment. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked, shifting his attention to the employee.

The shopkeeper's face lit up as he gestured toward the sandwich section. "Here’s our new menu! We have tuna, beef, and bacon sandwiches—perfect for breakfast."

Chan nodded absentmindedly, barely registering the words. "I’ll take ten bacon and ten beef, please." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, handing over his card.

The shopkeeper quickly packed the order, then, to Chan’s surprise, handed him a cup of Americano with a bright smile. "This one’s on the house. Thank you so much!"

Chan hesitated before lifting the cup slightly in acknowledgment. "Oh, you don’t have to… but thanks," he murmured, accepting the drink.

Once he settled into his car, he glanced at the neatly packed boxes of sandwiches in the backseat. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic.

Taking a sip of the Americano as he pulled onto the road, he let the familiar bitterness settle on his tongue—except, something was different. His brows furrowed as he pulled the cup away, eyeing it curiously.

That taste.

Americano with berry syrup.

Your favorite.

*

Chan scrunched up his face the moment the taste hit his tongue.

You burst into laughter at his expression, quickly pulling the cup away from him. "Why do you look like that?" you teased, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"It's weird!" Chan exclaimed, wiping his lips as if that would rid him of the lingering taste. "It’s bitter, sweet, and sour all at once. Coffee shouldn’t taste like this."

You smiled, holding the cup close to your chest. "No… it tastes good. It has everything—the sweetness, the bitterness, and the tang of berries. Just like life."

Chan let out a chuckle, raising a brow. "Since when did you get this sentimental?"

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Excuse me? I’ve always been a sentimental person!"

Chan shook his head, giving you a playful look of disbelief. "You? Sentimental?" He scoffed. "You literally just leave my goodnight texts on read every night."

You giggled, tilting your head at him. "That’s because they’re too sweet. I was speechless."

Chan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you were so speechless that you couldn’t even type a single reply?"

Chan shook his head, exhaling as he tossed the empty cup into the trash before stepping into the practice room.

From across the room, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the plastic bags in Chan’s hands. He recognized the logo instantly—it was your bakery. His gaze flickered to Chan, suspicion creeping into his expression.

Hansol, however, was too excited about the food to notice anything. The moment he got his hands on a sandwich, he eagerly unwrapped it and took a huge bite. "This is delicious!" he mumbled, already reaching for another.

Seungkwan, still observing Chan, took a bite of his own.

"It does taste good. Where did you get this, Chan?"

Before Chan could answer, the other members in the room—who had also helped themselves to the sandwiches—started chiming in.

"Whoa, this is really good."

"I could eat this every day."

"Seriously, where did you buy these?"

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the growing pile of empty sandwich wrappers. He hadn't planned for this much attention.

"This is from the place where I always get my kaya bread," Hansol said nonchalantly, taking another bite.

But the moment the words left his mouth, his chewing slowed. His eyes widened as realization sank in, and he snapped his head toward Chan.

"Wait—really?!"

As if finally processing his own words, Hansol immediately glared at the younger, his eyes practically screaming, You went there?!

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Hansol’s accusing stare. He knew this was coming. Meanwhile, Seungkwan let out a knowing exhale, arms crossed, as if he had expected this exact scene to unfold.

The other members, noticing the sudden shift in Hansol’s behavior, exchanged confused glances.

"What’s up with him?" one of them muttered, glancing between Hansol and Chan.

Seungkwan, ever the smooth talker, quickly waved them off with a casual grin. "Ah, you know Hansol. He’s just being a little extra again."

Hansol scoffed but kept his mouth shut, though the way he kept side-eyeing Chan made it obvious—this conversation wasn’t over.

*

"He came again today."

You glanced up as you packed the leftover pastries into the boxes Sunoo had set up on the counter. You knew exactly who he was talking about—Chan, your idol ex-boyfriend. But for the sake of keeping up appearances (and maybe your own pride), you feigned ignorance.

"Who?" you asked, keeping your voice light.

Sunoo shrugged, his legs dangling off the counter like a kid who had just discovered something amusing. His knowing smirk didn’t help.

"That well-known ex of yours," he mumbled.

You snorted. "No one even knows we were dating. Never got caught." There was a hint of pride in your voice, as if that secrecy had been some kind of achievement.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. "I mean that well-known person who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Stop pretending you're not affected! He’s been coming here almost every day for a week."

Your hands stilled for a moment, but you quickly resumed packing, forcing a chuckle. "Maybe he just really likes the sandwiches."

Sunoo gave you a deadpan stare. "Right. And I’m the Crown Prince of Korea."

"And?" you asked, sealing the box filled with leftover donuts before heading to the sink to wash your hands.

"And you’ve been hiding in the kitchen every single time he comes in, i thought you still love him." Sunoo huffed in frustration, arms crossed over his chest. The pout on his face made him look even cuter than usual, which only made you laugh.

"I do..." you admitted, drying your hands.

Sunoo’s eyebrows shot up. "Then?"

"That’s it," you shrugged, lifting the box into your arms.

Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing another box and trailing behind you as you made your way to the exit where your car was parked.

You popped open the backseat door and carefully placed the boxes inside. Tonight, you’d be dropping off the leftovers at the nearest police station—something you did regularly.

Sunoo, still not letting the topic go, leaned against the car with a pointed look. "With him constantly visiting, don’t you think it’s time to get back together? I mean, he might feel the same way."

You froze for just a second before turning to face him. Sunoo shifted under your gaze, suddenly looking unsure.

"Having the same feelings isn’t enough to get back together," you said softly.

Sunoo shrugged. "But at least it gives you a reason. Isn't love about finding a reason?"

You chuckled at his comment. "You're right. But how do you know that? Didn’t you just graduate high school?"

Sunoo snorted as if you had just said the dumbest thing he’d heard all year. "I might’ve dated more people than you, and I only graduated high school."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his voice softened. "But really. Stop denying your feelings. That’s what’s hurting you the most."

You sighed, slipping into the driver's seat. Sunoo stood there, watching you expectantly, but you simply started the car and drove away.

You weren’t denying your feelings. You never had.

You let them flow, like water, even after breaking up with Chan. You still celebrated his birthday and his band’s anniversary by preparing special treats at your bakery. You still kept up with his activities on social media.

You never once denied the warmth that still lingered in your heart.

But you refused to give yourself false hope.

The idea that Chan might still feel the same way—it was too dangerous to entertain. When Seungkwan and Hansol had shown up at your bakery out of nowhere, catching you off guard, they reassured you that they held no resentment toward you. Then, just as casually, they mentioned that Chan had gone through the hardest year of his life after the breakup. That he hadn’t shown a single sign of moving on.

And that was unlike him.

This was Chan—a man who had never let himself be alone for long. A man who, before you, had always found himself in a relationship.

Yet, a year had passed since you walked out that door. And he was still alone.

*

Meeting you at the police station wasn’t something on his to-do list—not today, not this month, not even this year. Yet, here you were.

Chan had just been about to step out, his younger brother trailing behind him, when he saw you standing there, frozen in place, holding a box of what he assumed were pastries. The sight of you made his heart race, and he felt a mix of surprise and anxiety.

Beside him, his brother cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the reason Chan was here in the first place.

Great. Another reason to slap the remaining puberty out of his high school brother:

1. Getting into a fight with another student.

2. Making Chan come all the way here to pick him up.

3. And now—leading him straight to you.

Also, what the hell were you doing here with pastries?

Chan's mind raced. He hadn't seen you since the breakup, and now, here you were, looking as beautiful as ever.

Before either of you could speak, an officer approached, breaking the thick tension hanging between you and Chan.

"Ms. Ji, good evening. Long time no see," the officer greeted politely.

Chan immediately shifted his gaze, suddenly very interested in the interior of the police station. He kept his expression neutral, but his ears burned at the sound of your name.

You smiled at the officer, handing him the box of pastries. "Good job for today, Officer. Thanks for the hard work." Your voice was soft—just like it used to be when you’d ask him if he had eaten after a long, exhausting day.

The officer beamed at you. "You didn’t have to come all the way here for this, Ms. Ji. But thank you so much!"

Then, as if only just noticing the thick, unspoken air between you and Chan, the officer glanced between the two of you.

"Do you two know each other?" he asked, clearly curious.

Chan stiffened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry.

But you? You barely hesitated.

"We’re acquaintances," you replied smoothly, sparing Chan the briefest glance before looking away again.

"I should go, good evening." You bid the officer goodbye with a polite nod, turning on your heel to leave. The officer walked you out to the entrance.

Chan looked conflicted, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his hair. Then, with a pointed look at his younger brother—a silent command—he made his intentions clear.

Go hail a cab.

For once, his brother didn’t argue. He simply sighed, pulling out his phone as he stepped toward the curb. Thank goodness. Even though he had just been detained for fighting with another student, at least he had the decency to recognize that Chan’s love life was a bigger mess.

Chan, however, had no time to dwell on that. His long strides carried him after you, his heartbeat picking up as the crisp night air bit at his skin.

"Hey."

You stopped.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of your bag before you slowly turned to face him.

"Hey."

It had been over a year, yet your voice still sounded exactly the same—soft, steady, untouched by heartbreak.

Chan swallowed, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. How did you still manage to look so unaffected?

"You, uh… come here often?"

A dry breath of amusement left you as you tilted your head slightly. "If you’re trying to make a joke, that was a terrible attempt."

He huffed out a short chuckle, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, figured." His gaze flickered to the police station building, then back to the box in your arms. "You do this a lot? Bringing pastries to the station?"

You shrugged, adjusting your grip on the box. "Yeah. They work long hours, and I always have leftovers. Seemed like a good way to put them to use."

Chan nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

Of course you’d do something like this. Thoughtful. Considerate. Always looking out for others.

Still the same.

And yet, he couldn’t say the same about himself.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words. The last time you had been this close, it had been different. Warmer. Familiar. Now, there was a distance that couldn’t be measured in steps.

Chan exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "It’s been a while."

You gave a small nod, your gaze unreadable. "Yeah, it has."

There were a million things he wanted to ask. How have you been? Are you happy? Do you still think about me the way I still think about you? But instead, all that came out was—

"You look good."

The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been.

You pressed your lips together before offering a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Thanks."

Chan wanted to say more, to keep you standing there just a little longer, but before he could, a car honked nearby. His brother waved him over from the curb, signaling that the cab had arrived.

You took that as your cue to leave, adjusting your grip on the box before turning slightly. "I should get going."

He nodded, even though everything in him wanted to stop you. "Yeah… me too."

Another pause. Another breath caught between the past and present.

"Take care, Chan."

And just like that, you were walking away.

Chan stood there, watching as you disappeared down the sidewalk, his hands clenching into fists in his pockets.

Funny. He had spent so much time convincing himself that seeing you again wouldn’t change anything.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

*

That night, Chan found himself doing something he never thought he would—scrolling through your social media. The account he had unblocked just hours ago.

You didn’t post often, just the occasional pictures with friends or snapshots of your bakery. But as he scrolled, his eyes caught on the details—the way your hair had grown out before you cut it again, the soft waves framing your face in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest. That image stayed with him longer than he expected, lingering in the back of his mind like an old song he couldn’t shake.

Then his finger stopped.

A photo of your bakery.

Decorated for his birthday.

Chan’s eyes narrowed, his breath catching slightly as he took in the details. His face on the banners, the pastries colored to match his band’s theme—every little thing meticulously arranged. And the post date? Just last month.

Why would you do this?

You had no reason to. You weren’t together anymore. If anything, he thought you resented the fact that he had chosen his career over you.

Wasn’t that why you broke up in the first place?

A strange feeling curled in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was—regret? Hope? Confusion?

But then, as he scrolled further, the feeling twisted into something else entirely.

A group photo.

You, smiling, standing among friends. And beside you, a man.

His arm slung casually over your shoulders. Too casual. Too comfortable.

Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his phone as he zoomed in slightly, analyzing the guy like it was second nature. As a man himself, he knew that kind of touch. It wasn’t just friendly. There was something in the way the guy stood close to you, the way he seemed at ease, like he belonged there.

"Who the hell is this?" he muttered, brows furrowing.

Like a magnet, his eyes kept finding the same man in different posts. Sitting beside you. Standing beside you. Slinging his arm around yours. Even touching your cheek in one picture—something that had Chan’s stomach flipping uncomfortably.

"What’s up with this guy?" He snorted, irritation creeping into his tone.

He tried to check the guy’s profile, but you hadn’t tagged anyone. Not a single name. Smart. Frustratingly so.

And then—

A notification.

You had just posted an Instagram story.

Chan tapped on it immediately.

A simple, cryptic sentence:

“Even if there’s a reason… could it be the reason?”

His brows shot up.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He stared at the words, trying to decipher them, trying to connect them to the birthday post, to the pictures with that guy, to you.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar creeping in—

The unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe—

He had been too late.

*

"That's your problem, Lee Chan. You're too possessive but insecure at the same time."

Seungkwan didn't hold back as he took a sip of his drink, lounging comfortably in his apartment. He, Jeonghan, and Chan had settled into an impromptu drinking session after Chan had shown up unannounced, dragging along bottles of soju and cans of beer—clearly looking for an outlet.

Jeonghan raised a brow, intrigued by the turn of conversation. “That could be true…”

Seungkwan chuckled, shaking his head. “That is true. If you want to have a good relationship, you only need one—either confidence or possessiveness. Look at Mingyu and Seungcheol hyung.”

"Seungcheol is a bit possessive, though," Jeonghan pointed out.

Seungkwan waved a dismissive hand. "That’s just a concept. It makes him look cute."

Chan groaned, running a hand down his face. “But think about it—how could I not be insecure when she never wanted to introduce me to her friends? Was it because of that guy?” His voice tightened on the last part, irritation creeping in.

Seungkwan sighed, exasperated. He pointed a finger at Chan to Jeonghan. “Look at this fool. You’re an idol, Chan. How could she introduce an idol as her boyfriend? Where’s your brain? Did you leave it behind at practice?”

Jeonghan nodded, though he was still weighing both sides. "I actually get where Chan’s coming from, though. Y/n is very beautiful, and she’s competent too—a lot of men want her. But she never really made it clear that she was off-limits.”

Chan’s eyes widened in relief. “Right?! And I was so patient, trying to understand her, trying to make it work. But she was the one who broke up with me?” His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fresh wound rather than something that had happened a year ago.

He put his can of beer down a little too abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of Seungkwan’s living room.

Jeonghan glanced at him, amused but also slightly concerned. “What did she say when she broke up with you?”

Chan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. The memory crashed into him like a wave—too vivid, too raw, even after all this time.

It had been the day after Valentine’s Day.

Chan had just gotten back from a three-day trip abroad, exhausted beyond belief, desperate for nothing more than a proper rest. He had been on edge all day, feeling sensitive after the long flight. But the moment he stepped into his apartment, his fatigue was replaced by confusion.

Your suitcase was sitting in the living room.

Your bag rested beside it.

His heart sank.

Hadn’t you two been arguing all week? Was this about Valentine’s Day? Had it really come to this?

"Let’s not do this," Chan had said the moment he saw you emerge from the bedroom, another bag in your hand.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. You simply walked forward, grabbing your luggage as if he wasn’t even standing there.

Chan moved quickly, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. “Where are you going?”

Your expression was unreadable when you finally met his gaze. "Home."

Chan’s chest tightened. "This is your home," he insisted.

But you shook your head. "Let’s take a break."

Chan had never believed in breaks. There was no such thing in his dictionary. A break was just a softer way to say breakup. And if you wanted to break up, then he deserved to at least know why.

"Is this because I chose work over spending Valentine’s Day with you?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.

You frowned slightly. "That’s what you think of me?" A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Then let’s say that’s the reason."

Chan’s frustration spiked. "What do you mean? At least explain it to me!"

You just shook your head again, gripping your luggage and moving past him.

"How can I let you go if you don’t tell me the real reason?"

That was when you turned to face him, your voice quiet but firm.

"You said it yourself— you chose work over me. That’s the reason."

Chan had stared at you, searching for something in your face. A crack in your expression. A hesitation. Anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it.

But you nodded, steady. Unwavering.

"Yeah."

And then you walked out of the door, left him.

Back in Seungkwan’s apartment, silence stretched between the three of them after Chan finished recounting the memory.

Seungkwan was the first to break it, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it."

Chan shot him a skeptical look. "Why? She said it herself."

Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You know… sometimes women don’t tell the truth—not because they want to lie, but because they don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.”

Jeonghan, who had been silently listening, hummed in agreement.

"And maybe," Seungkwan added, his voice softer, "that was the least painful thing she could say to you."

*

"I'm sorry, but we're clo—"

Your words faltered the moment you saw who stood in front of the entrance.

Chan.

There, standing just beyond the threshold, was Chan. His presence felt almost out of place against the warm glow of your bakery’s lights, his frame silhouetted by the dim streetlamps outside. He held a paper bag in one hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. He looked unsure—out of place, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be standing there at all.

For a second, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was filled with things unsaid, memories neither of you had dared to touch for too long.

Then, finally, you found your voice.

"Chan… Hey," you greeted, pushing open the counter divider to step closer to him.

You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. The bakery had closed an hour ago, yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like he had something important to say.

"I haven’t come here in a week," he said abruptly, as if that explained his presence.

You nodded, already aware of it. It wasn’t hard to notice when someone like him stopped showing up. He had been coming almost every morning—until that night at the police station. After that, he disappeared.

Your eyes flickered to the bag in his hand. Before you could ask, he extended it toward you.

"I was in Italy for a week," he said, shifting slightly. "I got you a bottle of wine from a local winery there."

Surprise flickered across your face as you carefully took the bag from him. You peeked inside, fingers tracing over the sleek packaging before your eyes landed on the label.

Made in 1999.

Your lips parted slightly. That was the year Chan was born. The wine was as old as he was.

"You didn’t have to," you murmured, glancing up at him. "This must’ve been expensive."

Chan shrugged, his eyes darting toward the bakery’s interior instead of meeting yours. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For the birthday event. The fans must’ve loved it."

Your heart clenched at that. He was referring to the special decorations you had set up last month—his face on banners, pastries in his band’s colors. At the time, you weren’t even sure why you had done it. Maybe it was just an old habit you couldn't shake, or maybe it was something else.

You bit your bottom lip, your gaze shifting to the wine glasses sitting on a cabinet nearby.

Without thinking, you walked over, grabbing two and setting them on a small table near the counter.

"Let’s drink it together," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.

Chan immediately waved his hand. "No, it’s a present. You should keep it."

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. "It’s okay." A small chuckle escaped your lips. "I don’t like drinking alone."

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Because once upon a time, he had been the one you shared drinks with. Late-night conversations, quiet moments, the kind of familiarity that felt effortless.

And now, standing across from him, you weren’t sure if you were trying to relive a memory—

Or trying to forget one.

"Your worker..." Chan started, his voice casual yet laced with something unreadable.

You turned to him as you poured the deep red wine into his glass, the rich aroma filling the small space between you. He looked as charismatic as ever, effortlessly commanding attention even in something as simple as denim pants and a loose white shirt. His long hair, tucked neatly behind his ears, framed his face in a way that made your breath hitch—a sight you hadn’t expected to affect you so much. Unfair. So much unfair.

"Sunoo?" You guessed, already knowing your overly enthusiastic employee was the likely subject. Sunoo had a knack for keeping the bakery alive with his energy and charm, but sometimes—just sometimes—you wished he’d mind his own business, that little menace.

Chan nodded, confirming your suspicion. "Yeah, I think it’s Sunoo. He always makes me that Americano with berry syrup."

You froze.

Oh, dear god.

You needed to sit down. Or disappear. Preferably both.

Internally, you launched into a full-scale attack on Sunoo. That little rascal. That absolute traitor. You should’ve known better than to trust him near the espresso machine unsupervised.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Oh my god. Chan, I am so sorry. You hate that flavor, don’t you?"

Chan chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah, but it’s fine. He didn’t know."

"No, it’s not fine!" you wailed dramatically, gripping the wine bottle like a lifeline. "I can’t believe he’s been sabotaging your morning coffee all this time. What should I do to make it up to you? Free pastries? Free coffee for life? A legally binding contract that bans Sunoo from touching the espresso machine ever again?"

Chan laughed, shaking his head. "You don’t have to do all that."

"No, I do," you insisted. "And while I’m at it, I might need to stage an intervention for Sunoo. What was he thinking? Who just decides to put berry syrup in an Americano?!"

Chan grinned, watching your mini meltdown with mild amusement. "Maybe he was just trying to be creative?"

You pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. No. We do not encourage Sunoo’s creative coffee experiments. That’s how we ended up with the Matcha Espresso Disaster of last year."

Chan laughed even harder, and for a moment, the bakery felt a little lighter, like you weren’t two exes dancing around old wounds.

Still, you were going to have a very serious conversation with Sunoo in the morning.

"Have dinner with me."

Chan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the bakery, steady but carrying something unspoken—something heavy.

Your breath hitched for just a second. "I’m sorry, what?" The words tumbled out before you could catch them, your brows furrowing in disbelief.

Chan didn’t flinch. He only nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet urgency. "Have dinner with me this weekend. You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?"

A soft, nervous laugh escaped you, but it did nothing to ease the sudden tension that thickened the air. "Chan… I don’t think—"

"As a friend," he cut in, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. "Just as a friend. Please." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the counter. "It’s been a while since we really talked."

Your chest tightened. You glanced down at the glass in your hand, as if the deep red of the wine might offer you an escape. "We’re talking now, aren’t we?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

Chan let out a breath—part scoff, part something else. Then, he leaned in just slightly, the warmth of his presence making it impossible to ignore him.

He licked his lower lip, eyes still on you, unwavering.

"Are we?"

*

You stepped into his house just as the clock struck seven. Chan’s eyes immediately landed on the plastic bag in your hand—probably filled with your favorite food, just like always. It was a habit of yours, bringing something to eat whenever you came over, as if his kitchen wasn’t enough. It was something so familiar, so you, that it almost made him forget how long it had been since you last stood here.

He held the door open as you slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room.

"It's clean…" You remarked, your eyes scanning the space with mild surprise.

Chan let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick. "Yeah… I try to keep it that way. But, you know, sometimes a hectic day hits, and it turns into a shipwreck."

You chuckled, settling onto his couch like you belonged there. And maybe that was what threw him off the most—you still fit into this space.

Chan swallowed and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen. He quickly grabbed a couple of containers for the food you brought, his hands moving on autopilot. But as he reached for a dish towel, he caught himself—he was stalling. Wiping down a bowl he’d already washed an hour ago just to keep busy, to calm the subtle panic creeping up his spine.

Because if he stopped moving, he’d have to face the fact that this was completely insane.

It had been an impulsive text, one he barely thought through before hitting send. Asking his ex to come over and hang out in his barely put-together apartment on his day off? He should’ve known better.

But what shocked him more was your response.

"Sure."

So casual. So effortless. So unlike the emotional mess he’d expected.

Chan had to check his phone twice to make sure it was actually you who replied.

And now here you were, sitting on his couch like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he stood in his kitchen trying to push down the ridiculous amount of effort he put into cleaning just because you were coming over.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Or maybe… he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Chan approached you, setting the containers down on the coffee table before crouching beside you to help unpack the food. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he pulled out a box, and for a moment, he wondered if you noticed. If you cared.

"You didn’t have to bring anything," he commented, glancing at you as he reached for another container. "We could’ve just ordered something."

"You say that like you don’t miss my good taste," you teased, but there was something softer in your voice—something familiar.

Chan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. But the moment his eyes landed on what you’d brought, he froze.

His favorite snack.

He blinked, his fingers still hovering over the box as realization settled in.

"I brought this for you," you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "It’s from your favorite place."

Chan finally looked up at you, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "That’s pretty far…"

He knew neither your place nor your bakery was anywhere near the restaurant.

You shrugged. "I went there this morning and got this on my way home. It’s already cold, though."

Cold? Did he care about that? Not at all.

The only thing that mattered was that you thought of him. That you saw the place, remembered him, and stopped to grab something for him.

His chest felt tight, like something warm was curling inside it, something he couldn’t quite name. Instead, he exhaled a quiet laugh and nudged the box closer to himself.

"You remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

And for the first time that night, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he still had a place in your heart.

Chan cleared his throat, pushing away the warmth creeping up his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on it—not now, not when you were sitting here in his living room, casually unpacking food like old times. So instead, he latched onto the first neutral topic that came to mind.

"What about your bakery?" he asked, picking up a piece of the snack you’d brought. "Who’s taking care of it while you’re here?"

You glanced at him before reaching for a pair of chopsticks. "It’s closed today."

"Really?" Chan raised a brow. "You barely take a day off."

You nodded, leaning back slightly against the couch. "Sunoo, my part timer, his grandmother passed away. He went back to his hometown for the funeral."

Chan’s expression softened at that. He remembered that part timer, the one that always gave him americano with berry syrup. "Ah… That’s tough. He must’ve been close to her."

"He was," you said, stirring the food absentmindedly. "She basically raised him. That’s why I went to his hometown this morning—to pay my respects."

Chan stilled for a second, his grip on his chopsticks tightening just slightly.

You went all the way there?

His eyes flickered to you, studying your face, but you looked calm—like it was only natural for you to go.

Of course. That was just the kind of person you were. Always showing up for the people you cared about.

Chan exhaled, setting his food down. "You must be exhausted then. Going all the way there and then coming here?"

You tilted your head, as if just realizing it yourself. "Maybe a little," you admitted. "But it’s fine."

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You should’ve just gone home to rest."

You shot him a small smirk. "And miss the chance to see your shipwreck of a house? No way."

Chan let out a laugh, finally letting the warmth settle. Once again, maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to things that felt familiar.

*

Chan woke up feeling refreshed this morning. He stretched his limbs, tossing and turning in bed to shake off the lingering sleepiness before finally rolling out and heading to change into his workout gear.

On his way to the gym, his fingers were busy scrolling through his phone, instinctively opening your chat from last night after you went home. He hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send you a message.

A morning text? Too much.

A witty text? Maybe something playful—

"Hey... I dreamed about you last night ;)"

Chan grimaced. Nope. That sounded like a terrible idea for a text to an ex.

Before he could think further, his thumb betrayed him.

"Hey.."

His eyes widened. He gasped.

Did he just—

Chan stopped in his tracks, staring at his screen in horror. Maybe if he deleted it fast enough—

Ding.

Your reply came almost instantly.

"Hey."

Chan blinked. Then exhaled, pressing his lips together to suppress a stupid smile.

Chan: In your bakery?

You: Yup!

Chan: Can I visit after my gym session?

You: Sure. I'll get your sandwich ready then. Bacon?

Chan: Perfect. See you then!

Chan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling oddly lighter as he continued his walk to the gym.

Upon arriving, he spotted Jihoon—a rare sight at this hour. Given that it was still their day off, the older guy usually wasn’t functional before 1 PM.

"You’re here early," Chan noted as Jihoon finished his set, placing the dumbbells down with steady breaths.

Jihoon nodded. "Got an agenda this afternoon."

Chan smirked, whistling playfully. "Oh? That sounds suspicious—"

Jihoon shot him a glare. "Don’t look at me like that as if you weren’t with your ex last night."

Chan’s smirk instantly dropped. His eyes widened. He stepped closer to Jihoon, lowering his voice. "How do you know?"

Jihoon gave him a flat look. "I saw you sending her off. We live in the same area, genius."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Right. He forgot about that.

Jihoon tilted his head slightly, arms crossed. "So… you two back together?"

Chan shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever was running through Jihoon's mind. "We’re just talking again. As friends, I guess? Yeah..." He nodded, as if saying it out loud would make it more true.

Jihoon hummed, wiping his hands with his towel. "Uh-huh."

Chan shot him a look. "What?"

Jihoon shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."

Chan rolled his eyes and checked the time. "I don’t know why I still talk to you."

Jihoon chuckled. "Because you need someone to call you out on your denial."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in denial."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Jihoon said, patting his shoulder before grabbing his own water bottle.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally giving in. "Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what happened."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Go on."

Chan leaned against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I invited her over. It was kind of impulsive, but she said yes."

Jihoon nodded, waiting for more.

"So, I spent the whole damn day cleaning my place—like, deep cleaning, man. I don’t even know why, but I just wanted it to look nice."

Jihoon smirked but didn’t interrupt.

"She showed up with food, her usual thing, right? But this time, she brought my favorite snack. And guess what? She got it from that place across town—the one that’s way out of her way."

Jihoon let out a low whistle. "That’s commitment."

Chan ignored the way his stomach flipped at that. "I didn’t even know what to say. I just—man, she thought about me while she was out there. That kind of messed with me a little."

Jihoon gave him a knowing look. "And you’re still calling this just talking?"

Chan shot him a glare. "Let me finish."

Jihoon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Continue."

Chan exhaled. "We talked, she told me about Sunoo, her staff—he’s dealing with some family stuff, so she visited his hometown earlier that morning."

Jihoon’s expression softened. "Oh, that’s rough."

"Yeah, she closed the bakery for the day because of it. Which means she didn’t even have to be up early, but she still went out of her way for all that."

Jihoon hummed, the teasing tone fading slightly. "She cares, Chan."

Chan rubbed his neck. "I know."

A beat of silence passed before Jihoon smirked again. "And then this morning?"

Chan let out a short laugh. "Woke up feeling... I don’t know, refreshed? Like, it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t exactly normal either."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You felt happy."

Chan groaned. "Why do you have to say it like that?"

Jihoon chuckled. "Because it’s the truth."

Chan shook his head. "Anyway, I’m stopping by the bakery after this. She’s already making my usual sandwich."

Jihoon grinned. "She remembers your usual? And you’re still trying to act like this is casual?"

Chan shot him a look. "Hyung."

Jihoon laughed, slapping Chan’s shoulder. "Alright, alright. But I’m telling you, man, this? This is not just talking."

Chan sighed but didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.

*

Days passed, and without either of you realizing it, things started to shift.

It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic change—it was subtle, natural, as if the distance that had settled between you was melting away piece by piece. Conversations stretched longer, laughter came easier, and before Chan knew it, you were slipping back into his life the way you always belonged.

And then, one night, it happened.

A kiss.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t talked about—it just happened. Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you laughed, maybe it was how the night air felt warmer with you by his side, or maybe it was just that deep, undeniable pull that had never really left.

But the moment his lips met yours, he knew.

This is it.

This was the cue. The silent signal that everything was starting again, that whatever had broken before was slowly, steadily piecing itself back together.

From then on, Chan didn’t hesitate. After his schedule, he would drive to your bakery just to pick you up, sometimes without even texting beforehand. He’d lean against the counter, watching as you wrapped up the last orders, his presence so familiar that even your staff stopped questioning it.

"Long day?" you’d ask, handing him a cup of tea or whatever you’d decided he needed that day.

And he’d smile, nodding as he took the cup from your hands. "Better now."

Sometimes, the two of you would just drive around with no real destination, the quiet hum of the car and the city lights making everything feel weightless. Other times, you’d take slow walks through empty streets, talking about your days, about nothing and everything at once.

It felt easy. It felt right.

And Chan?

Chan felt like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost all this time.

You.

Chan stepped inside your house, his gaze instinctively sweeping over your living room. It looked different from last year. The cute trinkets and soft pastels that once decorated every corner were gone, replaced with a more refined, mature aesthetic. The change was subtle, but he noticed. It wasn’t just the decor that had shifted—something about the entire space felt different, as if time itself had settled into the walls.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a few dishes sat in the sink, remnants of breakfast still lingering on the counter. Maybe you hadn’t gotten around to cleaning, or maybe you’d spent the night experimenting with new recipes for your bakery. Either way, it was lived-in, real—you. And Chan liked that. It felt warm, like home, like the way you used to make his kitchen feel.

"You want tea? Coffee?" you asked, already moving toward the kitchen.

Chan shook his head, stepping closer. "No need to get your hands busy. Just sit with me," he murmured, tapping the empty space beside him on the couch.

You hesitated for a second before joining him, barely getting comfortable before he pulled you into his arms.

"I like this…" he muttered, his voice low, as if he was admitting something to himself more than to you.

A soft laugh escaped you. "Like what?"

"This," he whispered, arms tightening around you just enough for you to notice. "Being here with you again."

Your breath caught for a moment. His warmth, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne—it all felt so natural, so right. Like something neither of you had ever truly let go of.

You sighed, relaxing into him. "I missed this too."

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of your breathing against Chan’s chest. His arms tightened around you slightly, as if grounding himself in this moment, as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, and Chan’s gaze met yours—warm, searching, lingering. His fingers brushed lightly along your arm before trailing up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You’re staring," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation, his lips curling into a small smile. "I missed looking at you."

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart betraying you with the way it picked up pace. There was something so effortless about Chan, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the world with just a look.

"Then make up for lost time," you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation flashing in his features for just a second—one last moment of restraint before he closed the distance between you.

The first brush of his lips was slow, careful, almost like he was testing the waters. But the second? The second was deeper, fuller, laced with all the unsaid words and emotions that had been hanging between. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to his as he pressed in closer, his thumb stroking gently along your cheek.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed—it was unhurried, savoring, like both of you wanted to memorize this moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a fleeting dream.

Chan sighed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Tell me this isn't just nostalgia," he whispered, voice slightly breathless.

You shook your head, brushing your fingers through his hair. "It’s not."

Relief washed over his face before he captured your lips again, this time with more certainty. Like he wasn’t just falling—he was diving headfirst. And this time, he wasn’t afraid of the landing.

Chan woke up with you in his arms almost every morning. Not that he planned it every time, but he tried—and he could. Sometimes he crashed at your place, claiming it was too late to drive home. Other times, he dragged you to his, using the excuse that his bed was bigger, softer, warmer. The truth was, he just wanted to see you first thing in the morning.

Like now.

He blinked against the morning light filtering through your curtains, the weight of your body pressed against his chest grounding him in the best way. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your hand lazily resting on his hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly in your grasp as if even in your sleep, you didn’t want him to go.

Chan smiled, his fingers brushing along your back, tracing idle patterns. You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips before your body relaxed again.

"You're staring," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah. I like looking at you."

"You say that too much," you whined, but the way your fingers curled against his hoodie betrayed the warmth spreading through you.

"Then you should get used to it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop."

You sighed, tilting your head up just enough for your lips to find his. It was slow, lazy—like the morning itself, like neither of you were in any rush to move, to leave the bubble of warmth you’d created. Chan sighed into the kiss, his hand slipping under the hem of your sweater, resting against the bare skin of your waist.

"You have to open the bakery today?" he asked between kisses.

You hummed, but made no move to pull away. "Not until ten."

Chan smirked. "That means we have at least two more hours."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile as Chan flipped you onto your back, leaning over you with that mischievous look in his eyes—the one that always, always made you weak.

"Two hours," you reminded him, though the way you pulled him closer told a different story.

"Plenty of time," he whispered before capturing your lips again.

*

"You're back together."

Hansol mentioned it too casually one day during their recording session for the next comeback, his voice carrying over the hum of instruments and the quiet chatter of the producers.

Chan raised a brow, glancing at him from his seat. "How do you know? Jihoon hyung told you?"

Hansol furrowed his brows. "Jihoon hyung knew?"

Chan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean—he saw us. So..."

Hansol nodded slowly, then sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I saw her in your clothes this morning. That shirt—I gave it to you."

Chan’s mouth formed an "O" as realization hit. Right. That oversized, faded gray shirt you had grabbed from his closet before rushing out the door.

"You're right..." He huffed a laugh before shrugging. "And yeah, we’re talking again."

Hansol smirked. "Isn’t it a bit much to be wearing your clothes in the morning while still in the ‘talking again’ phase?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "Hey, respect all the effort. It took me a whole year to finally realize everything."

Hansol’s smirk softened into something gentler. "Well, I’m happy for you, though." His voice was quieter now, more sincere.

Chan met his gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up. It felt nice, hearing that from Hansol—like the pieces of his life were finally clicking back into place.

"Did Seungkwan know about this?" Hansol asked suddenly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Chan blinked, then quickly shook his head. "Haven’t told him yet."

Hansol snorted. "Oh, that’s gonna be fun."

The next day, Seungkwan strolled up to Chan with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was about to deliver some sort of life-altering news.

"You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday," Seungkwan started, watching Chan’s face closely.

Chan barely looked up from his phone, tapping out a quick message before pocketing it. "Who?"

"Wonha."

That got Chan’s attention. He blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to place the name properly. Wonha. His ex from his early twenties. One of the few exes he actually had a good relationship with after the breakup.

"Huh," Chan muttered, tilting his head. "How’s she doing?"

Seungkwan raised a brow. "She’s doing well. And—" He leaned in slightly as if dropping a bombshell. "She asked for your number."

Chan blinked again, this time in mild surprise. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Said she wanted to catch up."

Chan leaned back in his chair, processing that. Wonha had always been a good friend, even when they realized romance wasn’t for them. There was no dramatic fallout, no resentment. Just two people who grew apart but still wished each other well.

"Did you give it to her?"

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "Would I be telling you this if I didn’t?"

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."

And so, he waited. Not anxiously, not with any particular anticipation, but with a vague curiosity. He knew he wouldn’t reach out first—that wasn’t his style. If she really wanted to talk, she’d text.

And she did.

A simple Hey, Chan! It’s been forever. How’ve you been? popped up on his screen later that evening.

Chan hesitated for half a second before typing back.

Hey, Wonha! Yeah, it has been. I’ve been good. You?

The conversation flowed easily after that, casual and familiar. Like two old friends catching up. Because that’s all it was. A friendly catch-up.

Or at least, that’s what Chan told himself.

The next day, Chan found himself spending the entire afternoon at your bakery, pretending he was just there to help out but mostly just looking for excuses to be near you. He chatted with Sunoo, stole a few samples of the new pastries you were testing, and even helped clean up when things got a little messy in the kitchen. But really, he was just waiting for the clock to hit nine.

And the second it did, he was already grabbing your coat from the rack and tossing it over your shoulders.

"Let's go," he said, nudging you toward the door.

You raised a brow, amused by his impatience. "I need to close up first, you know?"

"I’ll help," he insisted, already moving to flip the sign to closed and gathering whatever needed tidying up.

It barely took five minutes before he was pulling you to his car, a familiar routine by now—one that neither of you questioned anymore.

"Where to?" he asked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at you.

You hummed, thinking. "Han River. Convenience store. Instant noodles and maybe a can of beer."

Chan grinned, nodding as he shifted gears. "Classic."

The drive was smooth, city lights blurring past as the two of you fell into easy conversation about your day. It was moments like this that made Chan realize how much he had missed this—the late-night drives, the effortless company, the way you made him feel like no matter how exhausting his schedule was, this was always worth it.

When you arrived, the convenience store was quiet, only a few other night owls scattered around, either enjoying their own late-night snacks or lost in their own worlds. Chan grabbed a basket, filling it with your usual picks—two cups of instant noodles, a can of beer for you, and a bottle of water for himself. He threw in a bag of chips for good measure before heading to the cashier.

As you both settled at one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river, the crisp night air wrapped around you, but it wasn’t cold. Not with Chan beside you.

"You ever think about how we always end up here?" you mused, watching the steam curl up from your noodles.

Chan chuckled, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. "Yeah. It’s like our thing, isn’t it?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "Our thing."

Chan watched you for a moment, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe it had always been this simple. Maybe it had always been you.

After a while, between bites of noodles and sips of beer, the conversation flowed effortlessly—talking about anything and everything, teasing each other, reminiscing old memories. The laughter came easily, and for Chan, it felt like breathing.

Then someone approached.

"Chan?"

He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Wonha?"

She smiled, standing there with casual ease, as if running into him was the most natural thing in the world. They greeted each other, the familiarity still lingering despite the years apart.

Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity flickering in her expression. "And you are...?"

Chan blinked. He hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about how to define this, to define you. Girlfriend? Ex? Friend? What were you now?

"We're close," he finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

You, ever composed, simply smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n."

Wonha shook your hand, offering a polite nod. The conversation that followed was friendly—catching up, lighthearted small talk. Wonha mentioned she was back in town for a while, talked about work, asked about Chan’s schedule. But despite the casual nature, there was an underlying awkwardness, a tension Chan couldn’t quite shake.

And when Wonha finally excused herself, the silence she left behind was even heavier.

You didn’t say anything at first, just finished the last of your drink, eyes focused on the rippling water of the river. Chan shifted in his seat, glancing at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.

Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke.

"Let’s go home."

It was simple, but it carried weight.

Chan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Finally, the silence is cut.

He nodded, standing up and grabbing the trash, his mind racing as he followed you back to the car.

*

Chan couldn’t reach you for almost a week. At first, he thought you were just busy. He texted, called a couple of times, but the replies were short, if they came at all. He even stopped by your bakery, only to have Sunoo mention in passing that you had gone on a business trip to another town.

That was when the uneasy feeling started creeping in.

You hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to him. And worse—when he thought about it, he realized you had been slowly distancing yourself for the past week. Maybe even longer.

He wanted to believe he was overthinking, but deep down, he knew better. You were avoiding him.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, another problem decided to make an appearance.

That morning, his phone was bombarded with notifications—texts, calls, mentions. At first, he thought it was just another work update or a group chat going off. But then Seungkwan's name flashed on his screen.

"Congrats, man. So, when were you planning to tell us?"

Chan frowned. "Tell you what?"

Seungkwan sighed dramatically. "The dating news, obviously. Your article is everywhere."

Chan's heart dropped. He pulled up social media, and there it was—a headline with his name splashed all over the place:

"Seventeen's Dino spotted on a date? Rumors of a relationship surface after café sighting!"

Accompanied by a picture.

A picture of him sitting across from a girl at a café.

And the girl in the photo?

It wasn’t you.

It was Wonha.

Chan froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. His members started chiming in one by one—congratulations, playful teasing, all assuming the article was true.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "This isn’t true."

The only thing he could do now was call the company, demand a clarification, and make sure the world knew that Wonha was just a friend.

But even if he could fix this problem, there was still you.

And right now, you were already slipping away.

"Why don’t you ask the girl you met at the café about her?"

Sunoo’s response was sharp, his words slicing through the tension in the air. Chan had barely stepped foot into the bakery before being met with that cold remark.

It had been a week since the scandal broke, a week since he had last seen you. And now, here he was, standing in the familiar warmth of your bakery, trying to explain himself.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Chan started, his voice firm but laced with frustration. “The media twisted it, like they always do.”

Sunoo didn’t look convinced. He crouched behind the counter, rummaging for something, before standing back up and placing a small sign in front of the register.

Chan furrowed his brows, reading the words aloud.

"House reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."

"Wait—this is a thing?" Chan asked, blinking in disbelief. He had never seen that sign here before.

Sunoo nodded, arms crossed. "House rule. F&B industry stuff. You wouldn’t understand since you come from entertainment."

Chan let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You keep talking about industries. Why don’t you just tell me where Y/n is?"

Sunoo’s expression hardened. He leaned against the counter, gaze unwavering. "Why? You want to see her? Talk to her? Do you always check in on your ex like this?"

Chan felt his breath hitch. "What are you talking about?"

But before Sunoo could respond, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. In an instant, his demeanor shifted.

"Welcome!" Sunoo greeted with a bright, polite voice, flashing a smile at the guest. But just before he turned away completely, he cast Chan one last glance—one filled with something unreadable.

And just like that, Chan was left standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady.

"He's gone..." Sunoo murmured, still watching through the bakery window as Chan disappeared down the street.

You stepped out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel before settling onto one of the bar stools. Your expression was unreadable, but Sunoo could see the tension in your shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

You let out a chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Why wouldn’t I be okay?"

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, you’ve been avoiding him for a week. And second, you were just hiding in the kitchen the moment he walked in."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was busy."

"Right," Sunoo drawled, crossing his arms. "Too busy to tell him you were going on a business trip? Too busy to tell him you're upset?"

You exhaled, resting your elbows on the counter as you looked down at your hands. "What do you want me to say, Sunoo?"

"Maybe the truth?" he suggested. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."

You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything.

Sunoo sighed, softening his voice. "You know, whatever it is you're feeling, you're allowed to feel it. You don’t have to act like nothing happened."

You glanced at him, eyes flickering with something close to hesitation. Sunoo didn’t push further, but he didn’t back down either.

"Just… think about it," he said before turning back to work, leaving you with your thoughts.

*

You went home, exhausted, only to halt in surprise at the sight of Chan squatting in front of your unit, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his furrowed brows, but the moment his eyes caught yours, he stood up immediately.

"Now we meet," he said, his voice firm. You could hear the frustration laced in his words, see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But you were more upset than he was, and in your mind, he deserved every second of silence you'd given him.

"You're just going to give me the silent treatment? Like you always do?"

Your hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"I thought we were over a year ago," you said, your tone indifferent.

Chan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "And here I thought we had a chance."

You crossed your arms, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "What do you want, Chan?"

"You have no idea how crazy I’ve been this past week. After everything between us, you just disappeared, like you always do. This isn’t how you handle things. You don’t just vanish when things get tough."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. "Oh, sure…" Lifting your head, you met his gaze with something sharp, something cold. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Playing with someone’s heart."

Chan's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you trying to say?"

"You’re good at it," you said, voice unwavering. "Messing with people's feelings."

His frustration cracked into something closer to disbelief. "You’re the one who left me. A year ago and now. Don’t make it seem like I was the one who walked out that night."

Your jaw clenched as you turned away, gripping the door handle once more. "You have no right to tell me that."

"Grow up."

You stopped.

"Nobody in this world is a mind reader," Chan continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "So grow up and say what’s in your head. I can’t guess what you’re thinking, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong, what needs fixing. I know I lack a lot, but after everything—after seeing you again—I want to be better. But the way you treat me... it's making me feel small."

You didn't respond immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hit you in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Have you ever thought," you started, voice softer now, "how things would’ve been different if you had asked me to stay that night?"

Silence.

You let out a breath, your lips curling into something bitter. "You wouldn’t know, would you? Because you never even tried. And that’s what hurt me the most."

Finally, you turned fully to him, looking straight into his eyes. "You never knew how hard it was to speak my mind just to be ignored. And that’s why you never understood how much it hurt."

Chan exhaled sharply, as if your words had physically struck him.

"And now, you want me to speak?" Your voice didn’t waver, but there was a slight tremble in your fingertips. "Tell me, Chan, if I do—will you actually listen this time?"

Chan stared at you, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but no words came out. The weight of your words sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He had spent so long trying to understand you, but he had never really asked himself whether he had truly listened.

His silence was enough of an answer.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned back to your door. “Exactly.”

Chan stepped forward, desperate. "I know I messed up. I know I should’ve done things differently, but Y/n, do you really think I didn’t want you to stay?"

You let out a dry laugh, gripping the doorknob but not turning it yet. "Wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things, Chan. And I waited—God, I waited for you to just say something. But you didn’t."

"I was scared," he admitted, voice raw. "I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without being selfish. I thought maybe—maybe if you left, you’d be happier."

You turned around, eyes narrowing. "And who gave you the right to decide what would make me happy?"

He faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I—"

"Chan," you sighed, your voice softer this time, tired. "I don’t want to do this again if it's just going to end the same way."

"Then don’t let it," he pleaded. "We can be better this time. I can be better. But I need you to talk to me. No more running, no more silence. Just us—figuring this out together."

You searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation, the regret. But was it enough?

"You broke my heart," you whispered.

Chan swallowed hard, his own heart aching at your confession. "I know," he said quietly. "But if you let me, I'll spend however long it takes putting it back together."

The air between you was thick with emotion, the past lingering like a ghost neither of you could quite shake. The choice was yours now. To let him try—or to walk away for good.

You let out a quiet sigh before pushing the door open wider. "Come in."

Chan hesitated for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to actually let him in, but he stepped inside nonetheless. You didn’t want anyone witnessing the two of you arguing in the hallway, and frankly, you were too tired for a public spectacle.

The door clicked shut behind you as you walked to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. You didn’t look at him. Instead, you focused on the smooth surface of the table, tracing invisible patterns with your fingertips.

Chan, meanwhile, stood by the window, three meters away. His hands were in his pockets, his back against the frame, his posture tense yet composed. His eyes weren’t on you either. The space between you was filled with silence—thick, suffocating, and louder than any argument you could’ve had outside.

Seconds stretched into minutes, neither of you speaking. The weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, settled heavily in the room.

Eventually, Chan broke the silence. His voice was quieter this time, hesitant but firm.

"Why did you leave that night?"

Your fingers stilled against the table. You swallowed, debating whether to answer honestly or give him the same indifference you had been holding onto.

"Because I was tired," you finally said. Your voice was calm, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable.

In the past, you had always known that Chan was friendly and well-liked. That wasn’t the problem. The problem started when you kept hearing from other people—friends, fans, even strangers—that he was still close with all of his exes. Some people even made jokes about how he had never been single for more than a month before jumping into another relationship.

At first, you brushed it off, trusting him. But over time, it started to bother you—not just the rumors, but the way Chan never reassured you about them. Instead of addressing your concerns, he dismissed them like they were insignificant.

“Why are you listening to those people? You know me.”

“Come on, it’s just people making up stories. Don’t let it get in your head.”

“So what if I’m on good terms with them? It’s called being mature.”

Every time you tried to talk about it, he shut it down, making you feel like you were overreacting. He never cheated, but he never made you feel secure either. And that’s what hurt the most—his failure to recognize that trust isn’t just about being faithful, it’s about making your partner feel like they’re the only one who matters.

As months passed, you tried to hold on, tried to trust him, tried to ignore the way doubt kept creeping into your heart. But it became exhausting—feeling like you were the only one fighting against the rumors, the only one trying to hold the relationship together.

Then, there was one final moment that broke you. Maybe it was another passing comment from someone about him still being close to a particular ex. Maybe it was seeing a picture of him with one of them, looking too comfortable, too familiar. Whatever it was, you tried one last time to make him understand.

“Chan, I’m tired of always hearing about you and your exes. I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing with ghosts.”

But instead of listening, he got defensive.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why are you making this such a big deal?”

You sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I was tired of fighting with my own thoughts. Because whenever I tried to bring them to the table, you brushed them away.”

Your voice was steady, but Chan could hear the exhaustion beneath it. That quiet kind of hurt—the one that lingers long after the wound is made.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I did that?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. And I started to feel alone. Alone… alone… while you were out, hanging out—a lot—with your exes. And I was left by myself. I saw you that night. You were with your friends, and there was her…”

You didn’t have to say her name. He knew exactly who you were talking about.

Chan exhaled sharply, looking away. The weight of your words pressed against his chest, tightening like a vice.

He remembered that night—the night everything between you fell apart.

He could still hear his phone ringing, your name flashing on the screen. He had answered casually, thinking it was just another call. You told him you were at his place. You wanted to talk.

He said he’d be home soon. But he hadn’t meant it.

Instead, he stayed. Another drink. Another story. Another hour.

When he finally did go home, you were already waiting—but not in the way he had expected. You weren’t curled up on his couch, waiting to be held. You weren’t upset, demanding an explanation.

No, you were standing there—rigid, distant, already pulling away.

And before he could even process what was happening, before he could even reach for you—

You ended it.

Just like that. No screaming, no accusations, no dramatic fights.

Just quiet devastation.

“You didn’t trust me.” His voice barely broke the silence.

You met his eyes, and it sent a shiver down his spine. There was no hesitation when you answered.

“You’re right.”

The finality of it crashed into him like a wave.

Chan clenched his fists, his mind spiraling back to that night. He had stood there, watching you walk away, unable to move, unable to say a single word. Because at that moment, he was too caught up in himself.

He hadn’t thought about you. About how you had tried—again and again—to tell him what was wrong. About how you had begged, without ever raising your voice, for him to reassure you.

Instead, he had let his own frustration consume him. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were the problem—that you were overthinking, being irrational, asking for too much.

But now, hearing you say it so plainly—

You didn’t trust him. And he had given you every reason not to.

His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You never told me why…”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—hurt, regret, maybe even disappointment.

“Because you weren’t on the same page as me.”

Silence.

And it was deafening.

Because he knew it was true. Even if you had explained back then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would’ve dismissed it, convinced himself that you were just being insecure.

But this wasn’t insecurity.

This was trust breaking, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.

And suddenly, he realized—you hadn’t left because you wanted to. You left because, at that moment, you had no other choice.

And that realization hurt more than he ever thought it would.

Chan knew he had lost you once because he failed to listen. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He stood there, leaning against your window frame, the weight of everything sinking in. The silence between you was thick—so many words left unspoken, so much hurt neither of you had truly acknowledged until now.

But this time, he wasn’t going to brush it aside. He wasn’t going to let his own emotions overshadow yours.

Chan took a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with raw sincerity. “I was selfish.”

You didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch in your expression told him you were listening.

“I thought I was doing enough just by being with you. I thought… if I wasn’t doing anything wrong, then there was nothing to fix. But I never stopped to ask myself if I was making you feel safe with me. If I was making you feel like you mattered.”

He pushed off the window frame, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough to show you that this time, he wasn’t running from the conversation.

“You were right to leave me that night,” he admitted. “Because I wasn’t ready to hear you. I wasn’t ready to understand. But I am now.”

The room felt smaller with Chan standing there, his presence filling the silence between you. The weight of everything—the past, the heartbreak, the unspoken words—pressed down on both of you, but for the first time, neither of you looked away.

You exhaled slowly, your arms still crossed, the shield you had built around yourself refusing to fall so easily. "You say all the right things now," you muttered, your voice quieter than before. "But words don’t erase what happened."

Chan nodded, his expression serious. "I know." He took a cautious step forward, just enough to close the emotional distance without overwhelming you. "I know words aren’t enough. But I’m not saying this just to make you forgive me. I just... need you to know that I finally get it."

His voice carried none of the frustration or defensiveness you had once been so used to. Instead, there was something raw—an understanding, a regret that felt real.

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "It took you losing me to understand?"

"Yeah," he admitted, a small, humorless smile on his lips. "I guess I had to lose you to really see how much I took for granted."

Your shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in your chest loosening. You weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. But something about the way he was speaking—**without excuses, without pushing blame onto you—**made you feel like, for once, he was truly listening.

He glanced down at his hands, exhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I don’t even expect you to give me another chance. But if you ever think there’s even the slightest possibility of trusting me again..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Then I want to be someone worth trusting."

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as suffocating this time. The anger that had once flared between you had softened into something else—something uncertain, something hesitant, but no longer painful.

You sighed, finally lowering your arms. "I don’t know if I can just believe you overnight."

Chan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into the smallest, most understanding smile. "Then let me prove it to you. No rush, no expectations. Just… let me be here. This time, I’ll listen."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he would.

*

"Have you seen this?"

Attached was a screenshot—an official announcement from Pledis Entertainment.

"Dino of SEVENTEEN is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. We ask for your support and understanding."

The news took you by surprise.

Your name wasn’t mentioned in the official announcement, but you knew. You were the non-celebrity. The one the world was suddenly talking about. The one they were wishing happiness for.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—friends, acquaintances, even people you hadn’t spoken to in years, all reaching out with the same excitement. "Is it true?" "Are you really dating Dino?" "How did this even happen?"

You stared at the screen, overwhelmed, heart racing.

And then, there was the photo. The one of Chan in an apron, standing behind the counter of your bakery. Box on his hands, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile as he handed a customer their order. It had been taken just last weekend, completely candid. You knew because you had been standing right beside him, laughing as he struggled to tie the apron properly.

You weren’t sure how the photo got out. Maybe a customer had snapped it. Maybe a fan had recognized him. Maybe it didn’t even matter anymore—because now, the world knew.

And surprisingly, they were happy for you.

You had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what people might say, of the scrutiny that would come with being associated with him again. But as you scrolled through the comments, you saw nothing but excitement, nothing but support.

"Dino looks so happy!"

"He really found someone special."

"He’s literally boyfriend goals, helping out at her bakery like that."

"I hope they stay together for a long time."

Your chest tightened. It felt surreal.

It had taken months to get here. Months of hesitation, of slow conversations, of learning to trust again. Months of Chan proving to you—through actions, not just words—that he had changed.

That he had finally understood.

You thought back to the first time he had shown up at your bakery. He hadn't said much, just stood there awkwardly, asking if you needed help. You had been hesitant, but you let him stay. Then he kept coming back. On his free days, between schedules, whenever he could.

And somewhere in between rolling dough, wiping flour off his face, and sneaking bites of pastries when he thought you weren’t looking—he became part of your life again.

Not as an idol. Not as the Chan you once fought with. Just as him.

You put your phone down, heart still racing.

Chan had yet to text you about the announcement. He was probably waiting, letting you process it on your own.

And for once, you weren’t afraid.

You looked toward the kitchen, where he was now—tying his apron, completely unaware that the world had just found out about you two.

You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and smiled.

"Hey, boyfriend," you teased, leaning against the counter.

Chan looked up, confused for a second, before his phone finally buzzed. His eyes widened.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, concern flickering in his gaze.

You nodded. "Are you?"

He exhaled, then grinned. "Well… at least they got my best angle."

You rolled your eyes, but you laughed. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking at the past anymore.

At first, you weren’t sure how things would change.

Chan had always been social, always surrounded by people, and a part of you feared slipping back into old patterns. The nights where you’d feel left out. The moments where you questioned your place in his life. But this time, things were different.

He made sure of it.

The first time he invited you to hang out with his friends, you hesitated. You still remembered how it felt before—watching from the sidelines while he laughed with people who had known him longer, had history with him in a way you didn’t. But Chan noticed.

And instead of brushing it off, he reached for your hand.

"Hey, come here," he had said softly, pulling you into the conversation. "They’ve been wanting to meet you properly."

Properly.

Not as someone in the background. Not as just another presence in the room. But as his girlfriend.

From that day on, he never made you feel like an outsider. You were part of his world now, not just someone looking in.

Whenever he was with his friends, his arm always found its way around your shoulders. If you were feeling quiet, he’d gently pull you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, whispering, "You okay?" If he laughed at an inside joke, he’d take the time to explain it to you. If his friends teased him, saying he had changed, he’d just smile and say, "Yeah. I did."

And then there were his exes.

Chan never cut them out of his life—not because he was holding onto the past, but because he had learned how to balance things. He didn’t hide it from you. He was transparent, always telling you if he happened to run into them, if they caught up once in a while.

But the difference now? He never let it make you feel small.

If his exes were around, he made it clear where he stood. His hand in yours. His attention on you. His presence next to you, always.

"You don’t have to worry," he’d say, eyes sincere. "I know what I want."

And he showed you.

When someone brought up his dating history, he never entertained it. If an old friend joked about how he’d never been single for long, he’d only shrug and say, "That’s in the past."

And if there was ever a moment—even the smallest second—where doubt crept into your mind, he always knew.

One night, after a dinner gathering, he noticed how you grew quiet as an old conversation about his past relationships resurfaced. He didn’t wait for you to bring it up.

In the car ride home, he reached for your hand and held it against his chest.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

You sighed, unsure how to put it into words. "I know you’re close with them. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s insecure about it. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes it still lingers?" he finished gently.

You nodded.

Chan didn’t get defensive. He didn’t dismiss it. He just squeezed your hand and said, "I get it. And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings. Just… let me remind you, whenever you need it."

You looked at him, heart softening. "How will you remind me?"

He turned to you, eyes full of certainty.

"Like this."

And before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

Not rushed. Not just for reassurance. But because he wanted to. Because he chose you.

And he would always make sure you knew that.

*

Seungkwan had absolutely nothing in his head as he stood near the break room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. It was one of those rare moments where his brain wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour—no schedules to stress over, no members to yell at for losing their things nor refusing to take their vitamins. Just mindless scrolling.

That was until he overheard Hansol’s voice from inside the room.

“She sent me some pictures. It looked good.”

Seungkwan barely paid attention at first, but then Chan’s voice followed, casual as ever.

“Yeah, she was developing a new recipe last night. She told you about that? Jeez, you’re still her favorite member, hyung.”

Seungkwan’s thumb froze mid-scroll.

She?

Recipe?

His eyes narrowed. He replayed the sentence in his head, dissecting it like a scientist analyzing a new discovery. There was only one “she” in their circle who was obsessed with baking.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

His brain took a second too long to process the words. The next thing he knew, he was barging into the room, his eyes darting between Hansol and Chan.

"WAIT, WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!"

Chan looked up lazily from his phone, blinking at Seungkwan like he had just asked if water was wet. "Uh… what do you mean?"

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. "DID YOU JUST SAY SHE—AS IN Y/N?!"

Hansol smirked but said nothing, sipping his drink.

Chan nodded, still looking completely unbothered. "Yeah? Why?"

Seungkwan’s face contorted in a mix of betrayal and disbelief. "YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"

"Uh-huh."

"AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!"

Hansol chuckled, leaning back. "Dude, it’s been months."

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "Months?!" He placed a hand on his chest as if he had just been personally attacked. "And I was the last to know?"

Chan shrugged, completely unfazed. "We didn’t exactly keep it a secret. You were just… too busy freaking out over the whole scandal thing."

"Busy freaking out—Chan, I lost SLEEP over that! I thought I ruined your life! I was having nightmares about it!" Seungkwan clutched his head as if reliving the trauma. "And the whole time, you two were just happily together behind my back?!"

Hansol patted his shoulder, failing to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, man. You really stressed yourself out for nothing."

Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Unbelievable. This is betrayal. I feel so betrayed." He pointed an accusatory finger at Chan. "You should’ve told me! I deserve better than this!"

Chan chuckled, finally setting his phone down and walking over to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair. "Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you. How about we all hang out at the bakery tomorrow? She’s testing out her new recipe."

Seungkwan’s ears perked up slightly, but he kept up his sulking act. "...The one with the cream filling?"

Chan smirked. "Yup."

Silence.

"...Fine," Seungkwan muttered, crossing his arms. "But only because of the food."

Hansol shook his head. "He forgives fast."

Seungkwan scoffed but didn’t deny it. "You’re lucky I love desserts. But I’m still mad at you."

Chan laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Sure, sure. I’ll let her know her favorite member is coming by."

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "liar. You said it was Hansol earlier." But he couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.

And just like that, the weight of the past lifted, leaving only laughter, warmth, and the start of something even better.

End.

[aleskie]

THE WAY I LOVED YOU | Charles Leclerc x Reader

SUMMARY: You will never love anyone the way you love Charles Leclerc.

Warnings: None. Just a lil angsty Author's Note: This fic was originally written and published for another athlete/character, but I don't write for them anymore! But I thought it was too good to stay hidden forever so I changed some details to make it suit this setting more! I hope you like it!

“You hate him,” Charles says, his voice low but certain.

He’s talking about your boyfriend, Levi, who you’ve been with for a little over a year now. The one you brought back home with you. He gets along with everyone swimmingly. He finds things in common with your mom—they’ve apparently been texting for a few months now about embroidery—and he effortlessly talks business and stocks with your dad. He plays with your nieces and nephews, throwing himself into their games without a hint of self-consciousness.

Even when your ex-boyfriend’s family showed up to dinner, he handled it with grace—no jealousy, no drama. 

He’s perfect. 

Absolutely perfect.

So why are you hiding on the back porch with said ex-boyfriend? 

“I don’t hate him,” you say, eyes shifting away to the night sky. “He’s good to me. He’s…” Your voice falters, just enough for him to catch it. “He’s it for me.”

Charles scoffs, his tone tinged with frustration. “I was it for you. He’s just nice.”

You and Charles were childhood sweethearts with a love story set against the charm of the Monaco riviera. It was the type of romance people dreamed about—two kids growing up together, sharing dreams, making promises, finding warmth and love in each other amidst a world of fast cars and even faster summers.

In these types of stories, they stay together forever. They get married, have kids—they build a life together and spend their golden years watching their grandchildren play by the sea. 

You wanted that with him. A fairytale story with a fairytale ending: the home, the family, a life wrapped in shared memories. You thought you had it.

But reality has a way of ripping those dreams apart before you even realize they’re gone.

“What do you even want from me?” Your voice is laced with exasperation. “We both know you don’t want to be here.”

Charles shrugs, not even looking at you, his nonchalance only making your heart ache more. 

“Let’s not forget the facts, Charlie.” The nickname feels bitter on your tongue, the affection you once felt now tangled in hurt. “You ended it. You left me.” You can feel the tears starting to well up, but you force them back. You refuse to let him see you break again. “You might always be ‘it’ for me, but you don’t get to blame me for trying to rebuild my life after you.”

Charles broke your heart. Plain and simple. 

You would’ve preferred a slow death for your relationship, something you could have seen coming, prepared for. Instead, it was a quick burial. He’d made it into Formula One and suddenly, you weren’t worth fighting for anymore.

One day, his arms were wrapped around you, his voice soft as he whispered sweet nothings—feeding you dreams of a future, of leaving the country and traveling all over the world together. The next day, he was gone. Packed up his things and took your heart with him. 

He didn’t even say goodbye.

So when he shows up out of the blue, all chocolate eyes and chiseled face and that same boyish smile, it feels like a cruel joke. Like the universe is testing just how much you can take. You tell yourself you won’t fall for it—for him—not again. But then he looks at you, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all. The years melt away, and you’re back on that same street where everything began.

“Run away with me,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like you don’t have a life now. Like you aren’t a part of a community, of something—anything. Like you’re his again.

You hate how he can say it so easily, like no time has passed. 

You hate how a part of you wants to run with him

The silence stretches, broken only by the sound of birds and the wind chimes that hang near the door—the same ones you made when you were sixteen, back when you were together. You make a mental note to take them down.

“I hate you,” you say, your voice threatening to break at a moment’s notice, “I hate you. I hate that you think I can just leave everything behind for you. I hate that you think I don’t have a life without you. I hate you.” A pause. “I hate you.” It’s resigned, almost a whisper.

“Mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, so familiar. It’s the Charles you remember, the one who knew how to make your heart ache in all the right ways. “You don’t hate me.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “That’s the worst part. I can’t.” You feel a tear slip down your cheek and quickly wipe it away. “We weren’t good for each other,” you continue, your voice trembling. “God knows we fought all the time. Never agreed on a single thing.”

You chuckle, the sound hollow. “You broke me. And I still love you. I wish I knew why.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. “Do you think we would’ve made it if I’d given us a real shot?”

Your breath hitches as you consider the question. “I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “You never let us try.”

It takes a beat before you stand, wiping away any lingering tears. There was no more room for what-ifs. You were adults now. You couldn’t afford to dream anymore. 

When you re-enter the house, Levi’s smile greets you instantly. His arm wraps around your waist, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. You try to focus on him, on the warmth of his touch, but all you can feel is the numbness creeping in.

You catch the looks from Charles’s brothers, the ones that seem to see straight through your carefully placed smile. You shove down the guilt—the guilt of letting him occupy your thoughts when your perfect boyfriend is standing right beside you

You ignore the echoes of youth flashing through your mind as you spot Charles re-enter the party. 

You ignore the memories of you and him slow dancing in your bedroom and driving around the city and kissing in the rain. You ignore the memories of the fights, short-lived and fiery and passionate, always ending with a tender kiss and a promise to do better. You ignore the memories of matching bracelets and midnight runs to the store and sneaking into each other’s bedrooms after curfew. 

You ignore everything. You keep smiling, keep playing your part, though deep down you know he can tell it’s all an act.

The evening winds down, and soon Levi is guiding you to the car, saying his goodbyes to your family and friends. You follow along, playing the part of the dutiful girlfriend, hand firmly locked in his hand.

Once inside, Levi turns to you, his gaze soft and warm. “Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?” he asks, smiling at you like you’re the center of his universe.

You offer him a soft smile in return, though it still doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You think that maybe this is what he thinks your real smile looks like. You take his hand in yours, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper.

You know you’re lying. But that’s okay. In the end, you’re the only one who’s hurting. You can smile through the lies, through the ache that lingers, through the painful truth that you could never love anyone the way you loved Charles Leclerc.

[itadore-me]

˗ˏˋBF!Yuji Headcannons!

-I tried to make this as long as possible.. let me know if you want me to expand on any of these! :D

CW: Fem reader.

Yuji Itadori is the kind of boyfriend who...

-PRINCESS TREATMENT is a must! always tries to carry your bags (even if they aren't heavy), always runs up in front of you to hold the door open, gives you his hoodie without a second thought whenever you're cold.. this guy is a straight up gentleman, he will always treat you right!

"let me hold that for you babe!"

"oh don't worry, I only have clothes in here its not heavy"

Yuji obviously pouts and tries to grab the bags anyway, claiming he 'wouldn't be the best boyfriend' if he let you carry your own bags.

-TEXTS WITH LOTS OF EMOJIS! Pretty much cannon that he honestly didn't have a phone before Jujutsu High, so he definitely doesn't know much of the 'texting etiquette' . I feel like he'd be fast to learn all of the online trends but he wouldn't ever let go of his emojis! Totally the type to use emoticons as well!

↡

-hey quick question

-WHATS UP?!( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

-do you remember if the homework is due today or tomorrow? I forgot 😔

-oh.😓 i forgot too.(｡>﹏<)

-lol. thats ok ill ask nobara!

-WAIT NO(っ °Д °;)っ‼️

-..?

-.ITS TOMMOROW!( •̀ ω •́ )y

-oh ok thank you!! ily!❤️:)

-:(

-...

-:((((

- Yuji ur so smart for remembering! this is why i LOVE you SO much. :)) how did i ever get so luck with the strongest smartest guy on EARTH?

-( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ ❤️ I LOVE YOU MORE!! :)))

-omg yuji ur so dumb i love you

-not nice :(

-LOL

(he totally didn't ask Megumi)

-plus, he ALWAYS texts back IMMEDIATELY even if its like 3am, he has a special notification sound for you so he will always wake up and answer you! Never misses a call or text, even if he's on missions, so if he does miss one... maybe you should find him and see if he needs help.

—

-ALWAYS LISTENS! No matter what kind of person you are, listener, or yapper like him, you are a perfect match! He talks.. A LOT. so if you like to just listen, he has you covered! he will always talk your ear off. And if your a yapper like him? EVEN MORE PERFECT! because that means you can talk each others ears off and never run out of conversation! HE loves to talk, he could literally make a career out of it, but if you ever need a person to just listen while you talk, he loves it too! he loves you, and loves your voice, so he is 100% paying attention.

-CUDDLES! Don't get me wrong, when you guys are first starting off in the relationship.. its gonna be a little awkward from both of the shy parties. Even then, though, he always wants to be with you, next to you, listening to you, 24/7. Whatever it is, if it involves you, sign him up! So, the second you both get more comfortable with each other, you wont be able to keep him off of you! a just loves hugging you, and he loves receiving your kisses.

-KISSES! YES! he LOVES your kisses. Anything and everything he does is in hope you will reward him with a kiss. he doesn't even care where! forehead, cheek, nose, hand , neck? if its on his body, it wants kisses!

-HUGS! i'm telling you, one of this guys hugs would HEAL ME. i just know he hugs GOOD. His hugs are the kind that are just the right amount of tight that they give you all of the comfort you need. Sometimes, if he's on a mission for a long time, he will hug you super duper tight and twirl you around, as if it was one of the Disney princess scenes!

-NEVER FORGETS! Yes, Yuji is kind of klutz, he can forget things and is extremely clumsy, at times. but best believe he will never forget ANYTHING when it comes to you. I'm not even talking about the big stuff like birthdays or anniversaries. I'm talking about stuff you mentioned you liked ONCE. if you mentioned your favorite snack in passing, he will 100% remember it and buy you it every chance he gets! and if you happened to mention your favorite color or animal? Anything he sees of it, like a keychain, he buys!

↡

"-oh yeah, there's this cafe i've been meaning to try! it looks so good, i heard they have the best iced coffee in the city! i LOVE iced coffee!"

Yuji will then rush to the store later, to buy all supplies he needs to make you the perfect iced coffee every morning to surprise you with before class!

—

-SEES YOU IN EVERYTHING! Because he remembers every little thing about you, if he sees a plushie, or keychain, sticker, etc., that happens to have a little something that you mentioned you liked, he always thinks of you! A certain flower that happens to be your favorite color? Well obviously it remind him of you, not just because of the color, but because of its magical beauty!

-ACTS OF SERVICE! He just loves doing things from you, even if he doesn't get anything out of it for himself. It doesn't matter how big or small it is either, he will do it! Things like going to the store if you ran out of something, cleaning up little messes he sees in your room, carries bags, opens doors, gives you his hoodies...Literally anything and everything!

↡

You finished your makeup, leaving a complete mess of different pallets, lipsticks, eyeshadows, brushes etc. all over your vanity. not to mention the pile of clothes that were thrown to the floor when you struggled to find the right outfit. you decided you didn't have enough time to fix it all now, so it'd have to wait for later.

Fast forward a few hours later, after you finished hanging out with Nobara. You walked into your room, shopping bags in hand, only to find your boyfriend, Yuji, sitting on your freshly made bed, next to a clean vanity, and swept floors. When you check in the closet and the drawers of your vanity, you find out that Yuji paid so much attention, that he had arranged and organized every piece of clothing, and makeup product, just like you do.<3

—

-ALWAYS ON TOP OF YOU! Every time he sees you, he will almost always, 100%, walk up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and place basically all of his body weight on top of you. There is no doubt this man is heavy AF, so he only does it for a second, but sometimes he does it out in public. He LOVES PDA.(only if ur comfy with it tho :D) He will straight up be basically right on top of you when you walk. :P

-LOVES TIKTOK! Literally, he LOVES it. HE practically sends you his entire For You page, and every single funny video that winds up on it. Make sure you respond to each one though, because he gets a little grumpy when you don't. He likes thinking he made you laugh. :) He also LOVES doing Tik Tok trends with you. Challenges, Dances, Pranks, etc. He has soo many videos, and he honestly has a pretty good following!

-LOVES TAKING PICS! On the previous note, he LOVES to take Pictures and videos of you. His entire camera roll is filled of you! It can be embarrassing at times, because there is some on there that you didn't he took/ you didn't prepare for.. But he swears up and down that those little impromptu videos and photos are the best ones of you!

-TALKS ABOUT YOU! He always is finding ways to work you into every single conversation he has with others! Nobara and Megumi are so annoyed with him because he can't stop talking about you. Some one mentions wanting a show to watch? "You should watch this one! It's my girlfriend's favorite show so it must be amazing!" Or if somebody mentions your favorite cafe? "Oh you should get this! My girlfriend always orders it." Some people think that he is either 1) so totally in love (he is) or 2) always under watch and is forced to mention you, because you're so jealous. I guess he just loves you so much.

-HANDS! If playing with your hands or sleeves was a sport, he would be an Olympian! If you're in class, you have to give him your hand to play and fidget with, otherwise he can't focus. If you're a sorcerer like him, he is always running his thumb over the scars in your hands, adoring the subtle difference of the scarred and normal skin. Plus, he loves it when you play with his hands! He will always give you his hand for you to draw on, he even encourages it! He will protect those drawings with his LIFE. He will do his total best to try and wash around them, as to not fade or smudge them.

-TEST SUBJECT! You will always see Yuji looking at you, intrigued, when you do your skincare and makeup. One day, you happen to mention being 'sad' that Nobara wouldn't let you put makeup on her.. and obviously, he can't stand having you 'sad'. So he excitedly volunteers! Whenever you want to do makeup, he will sit as still as possible while you push his fluffy Kirby hair back with a headband. And when you do skincare, he patiently waits for you to finish doing the step on your face, before you turn to do the same on his. He looks a little silly, but he loves the feeling of your gentle fingers applying moisturizer on his face, rubbing it in his skin. And he LOVES the ticklish feeling of the brush when you add contour!

-ADOPTS MANNERISMS! If you speak a certain way, say certain things, or have little quirks. He will 100% adopt these mannerisms as his own! At first, he does it so you have more in common, but at some point it becomes subconscious! Like, if you are brain rotted, he will always play along and joke around with you too! If it's brain rot, he will totally act like a parent trying to be "hip" with the kids at first, but he gets it eventually. If it's something like tapping/chewing your pencil when you think in class, he'll adopt that too(pretty sure he already chews his pencils tho)

- if you have a morning routine you mention to him, he'll be the kind of person to try it out once, just to see for himself how it feels.. but then he'll do it a bunch more times and it eventually becomes his own! Like if you're a sorcerer, you have to stay fit, so when you wake up you do a little yoga, then make coffee.. then take a shower and get dressed..etc. so He'll do the same, just changing out the yoga part for doing some simple exercises with weights.

-SHOPPING! OMG he LOVES going shopping with you. Especially clothes shopping. He loves sitting and waiting outside your dressing room, a pile of clothes and bags sitting next to him, waiting for you to come out and AMAZE him with your next look. It NEVER gets old for him. He is your personal hype man. You would think you paid him! He will always volunteer to go shopping with you and Nobara. And he is always up for going to your dorm, and watching you try on stuff you ordered online too! He calls it his own personal fashion show, and model :) he really loves it when you try on bathing suits! He's always so stunned and amazed by how beautiful you are.

A/N- super sad bc this was a teensy bit longer (only like 3 more tbh) but tumblr didnt save and i lost them :( Anyways!! likes and reblogs appreciated! requests are open!

| RULES | MASTERLIST |